The Coping Mechanisms of a Thirtysomething

The Karaoke King wanted to see me before I went out of town for July 4th weekend so we made plans for lunch on Thursday. During the conversation about when/where to go he insisted on being extremely flexible. I get it, he’s super laid back in general and was only working part time since finishing up his MBA. I, however, was busy and was therefore forced to make all the decisions (which I didn’t have time for). I had to mention it, which led to him asking me what my sanity reclamation activities were, given that he’d forgotten his since he hadn’t been in the real world for so long.

Overlooking the obnoxiousness of someone who is so relaxed he can’t even remember being stressed, I genuinely answered his questions. The condensed version went like this:

1. Running. Regular running usually takes care of any general stress I may have accumulated during the day. And when I'm running regularly, I often don't get to the point where I need to escalate my stress handling. If it does, though, we go to (2).
   
   
2. Toss up between alcohol and good friends. Usually one or the other helps, or often I find the combination especially useful in at least offloading (if not finding solutions to) extra negative energy.
   
   The trick to me is, sometimes I don't want to be consoled. I just want to vent and yell and be fussy. Usually when I am in that mode I opt for alone time, see below, because my well meaning friends want to tell me things will be fine and I won't have it.
   
   
3. Alone time. I need a decent amount of alone time in general, I have a tendency to start to feel smothered when I am constantly surrounded by people, so when I'm really stressed I usually need a break and I hide out a bit. Sometimes canceling plans and just doing whatever I feel like doing completely re-sets me.
   
   
4. Cleaning. When my house is clean my life is in order.
   
   
5. Food. Usually in combination with alone time, ordered directly to my casa. This is not a preferred coping mechanism as it negatively affects my waistline while only marginally making me feel better.
   
   
6. And finally Crying. When I have not appropriately handled stress over a period of time I usually end up crying.

Here’s what he wrote back: Well I hope to be part of the solution whether you're venting down the phone or in person, need a running mate, a dinner date or just a snuggle bear.

Did he just write snuggle bear?! What about the above list could he possibly have taken as an indication that I wanted to be smothered? Did I not, in fact, explicitly indicate I have a tendency to feel smothered? And I’m pretty sure I was clear that alone time was key. Why would I want him to go with me on my runs? And what about actually responding to my coping mechanisms? I took time to write actual personal insights and he just wants to be part of the solution. But he's clearly going to be a problem.

I’m starting to get a bad feeling about him. Especially since I have to leave to meet him for lunch. Right now.

A Nice Save

Either I had misinterpreted The Karaoke’s Kings propensity to smoother me or he picked up on my low tolerance for it during my early morning mumblings, because when I heard from him next it was Saturday morning and he invited me to watch some soccer with him. Not only had he chosen a during-the-day activity (with substantially less likelihood of slipping into drunken making out), he chose a location that served PBR (which he knew I loved from my OK Cupid profile) and had free popcorn (which he soon realized was another fave of mine). Obviously I accepted.

In the sober yet still dimmed lights of the Irish pub, I tried to analyze whether I had a connection with the Karaoke King that extended past delicious Italian snacks. Truth be told, once I got past feeling guilty about having gone out with someone other than Summer Boy I wasn’t even sure whether I had genuine interest in him. I would have loved most of our first date no matter who had been sitting on the balcony with me. I felt mixed about whether we had a good physical connection, too. I mean, he had a decent amount of facial hair, which is not my scene.

I remained on the fence; throughout the ridiculous - and terribly unclever might I add - soccer chants being yelled as the US sadly got beat, as we walked around his neighborhood, stopping in at the Walgreens to pick up band-aids for the knee I had skinned earlier in the week falling off the bus in the rain, and even as we ate mini-burgers and talked about what had brought him to Chicago from New York (combo of girlfriend and job opportunity, neither of which had worked out as planned).

I declined his offer to go up and see his place, so he somewhat reluctantly kissed me on my check and put me in a taxi before the sun went down. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but I definitely felt a bit of relief as I sped away down Lake Shore Drive.

I had enjoyed spending the afternoon with him, but I was also feeling that dreaded difference in interest level. He was sure he wanted to spend more time with me. I wasn’t sure we were a good fit. Or whether I would be able to get past his snoring if it turned out we were. Or whether I wanted to rock the boat with Summer Boy.

Wait a minute. The Karaoke King had made a nice second move, and he deserved some credit for that. I was the one getting ahead of myself, and I deserved a swift kick in the ass for falling back into that trap. Done. And done.

Hangover.

The first thing I thought when my eyes opened in the pre-dawn hours to the sound of the Karaoke King’s alarm (I vaguely recalled he had said something about a part time job requiring him to be in the office at 4am) was “I need more sleep. And an Excedrin.” The second was “Shit.”

When I woke up a few hours later I had a bit of a headache. Also, I felt guilty. Guilty about harmless making out with the Karaoke King. It felt like a violation against my sort of spoken but not really enforced agreement with Summer Boy that if and when we got involved with someone else we would tell the other person.

But I hadn’t. Gotten involved, that is. Not enough to warrant having to tell Summer Boy about it. And certainly not enough to feel guilty about. In fact, now that I think about it, it’s his fault I needed the extra making out in the first place!

I should mention that around this time Summer Boy and I were heading into a series of weeks/weekends where at least one of us was unavailable. We were both of out of town one weekend and then the next weekend he had a wedding. He was dog sitting out in the burbs one week, I was away at the lake house the next. We had discussed our schedules so we both knew it was coming, but although I attempted to make more of an effort to see Summer Boy before the sexy time black out it didn’t seem to be a priority on his social calendar.

It was a teeny bit frustrating. You can’t give a girl access to awesomeness and then take it away from her cold turkey. Especially not to watch someone’s DOG. I had figured it wouldn’t hurt to just meet the Karaoke King. So it stands that I shouldn’t feel bad about making out with him, either.

I am going to have to do something about this headache, though. The Karaoke King is a snorer, so despite all the wine I got a terrible night’s sleep. I’m also a bit nauseous, but I think that’s because as he was leaving he whispered something mushy and smothering like “Let’s do this again at my place tonight. What time shall I call you later darling?” Excuse me while I go throw up.