Alicia

The year was 2003. I was 24 years old and just out of college. And, once again, I found myself single -- just as I had throughout most of my college years.

When my generation arrived at college in the fall of 1998, we were filled with the hope of several years of sustained economic growth (thanks, Bill Clinton!) and the promise that this prosperity could last at least another four years.

Large companies were hiring liberal arts majors left and right. It was because liberal arts majors were well-rounded, college recruiters told us. In 1998, it wasn't uncommon to find someone with an art history degree working at a Fortune 500 company, pulling down $50,000 a year.

When I graduated in four years, I was going to be that guy. I had it all figured out.

Then 9-11 happened. And the economy tanked. And suddenly having a BA in English didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. But there was no way I was going to start all over again. I mean, I only had a couple of semesters left before I graduated. Surely I would find a job. Or at least I'd teach. Or something.

Well, I did eventually graduate with that English degree, and found myself right back where I was in the summer of 1998 -- living with my parents. My contemporaries and I were the boomerang generation. We graduated and moved back into our parents' basements because there was nothing else for us to do. Sure, we could find jobs, but they were rarely of the sort that paid more than $9 or $10 an hour -- not really enough to live on.

I worked a series of crappy jobs for a while. Substitute teacher, convenience store clerk, retail electronics sales, and even spent some time as a costumed character at Six Flags.

Yes, really. Side note: teenagers suck. Especially when you're a costumed character at Six Flags. They like to punch anything furry. Not cool, teenagers. Not cool at all.

Anyway, at that point in time, my life was missing something. And magically enough, a coupon for eHarmony showed up in my inbox one day. Three months for $40.

"What the hell, I'll try it," I thought, disregarding the fact that I had, at most, $43.29 in my checking account.

Ten weeks later, and not a single date. Which, in retrospect, isn't surprising, since on average, people on eHarmony tend to be older and more mature. And more established. I mean, jeez, I was living in my parents' basement, cobbling together a laughable income from a series of part-time jobs, and had absolutely no clue what I was going to do with my life. And I was being matched with mostly 28 and 29 year old women. I had no idea what to expect out of adulthood, as I still had my head planted firmly up my ass, where I was desperately searching for a way to continue my college-era life. My 30 year old self is just as interested in dating a 24 year old living in her parents' basement as those other women were in dating me -- not interested at all. I don't blame them one bit for politely passing me by.

I feel I should point out that the aforementioned standards (from the last post) did not apply in 2003. The aforementioned standards are actually a direct result of 2003.

All hope seemed lost. Granted, I was a total wreck of a person at the time, but hopes and dreams aren't just for people who don't suck at life. Everything started to look up when I was contacted by a woman the same age as me. Alicia was her name.

She was in a similar life situation -- living with her mom, working a part-time job, finishing up school. She had a bunch of pets, and worked as a veterinary nurse. We got to know each other online, and then decided to meet up for a movie.

Things went well. We got coffee after the movie. After all, what good is a date that only involves watching a movie? You don't get a chance to talk.

She talked. A lot. She committed a classic first-date error. She overshared.

She told me all about her massive amounts of credit card debt. And her issues with her mom. There were a lot of mom issues.

The thing about oversharing is that it is contagious. When one person does it, it becomes easier for the other person to justify it. So, obviously, I told her about my similar situations. And how I hated living at home, but I couldn't afford to go elsewhere because I couldn't find a decent job and didn't know what I wanted to do with my life and blah blah blah blah blah...

Surprisingly, we went on another date. Again, a movie. And this time, we went to dinner, too.

With my friends.

That may have been a bit awkward -- bringing the friends into date number two. But they invited us along. It wasn't really my idea.

We discussed a third date. She said to call her and set up plans.

So that's exactly what I did. I called. And I left a message. And called. And left a message. And called again. And left a message. In the messages, I pointed out that I thought she was great, that I'd really like to see her again, and apologized for springing my friends on her on our second date.

Finally, about a week later, she e-mailed me.

Thanks for the compliment. It's very sweet! **blush** :-) And by the way, your friends are nothing to put up with. They're very entertaining. I had a great time on Friday, honestly. That said, there's something else I should say. Okay, I want to be up front and honest with you. You're totally awesome, and I've had a great time when we've hung out. But, I'm not really feeling a romantic connection. A friendship connection, definitely. I don't know, I'm pretty sure it's coming from my end. Maybe I'm not as ready to be in a relationship of any kind as I thought I was. Right now, nothing seems to be as I've thought it was.

She went on to describe how she also didn't know what to do with her future, how she was reconsidering her earlier career choice, etc., and acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, she realized that she and I both needed to get our shit together before we could be in a serious relationship.

Rejection.

Let's look at the play-by-play:

Thanks for the compliment. It's very sweet! **blush** :-) And by the way, your friends are nothing to put up with. They're very entertaining. I had a great time on Friday, honestly.

Translation: "you're not a terrible person, and your friends are cool too... And things Friday were good, but..."

That said, there's something else I should say.

Translation: "There is something I should have said after the first date."

Okay, I want to be up front and honest with you. You're totally awesome, and I've had a great time when we've hung out. But, I'm not really feeling a romantic connection.

This is the standard "it's not you, it's me" (INYIM) turndown. It starts by building the rejected person up by telling them about their redeeming qualities, and then comes back around to the rejecter's feelings -- something that the rejected person cannot verify or contest.

A friendship connection, definitely. I don't know, I'm pretty sure it's coming from my end.

Translation: "If you want to still talk to me, that's fine, but I'll probably ignore you, and I will never have sex with you."

Maybe I'm not as ready to be in a relationship of any kind as I thought I was. Right now, nothing seems to be as I've thought it was.

This is a reinforcement of the earlier INYIM, this time referencing not her personal feelings, but the general sense of chaos that surrouded her at that point in her life.

At the time, my 24 year old lizard brain thought this reason was total bullshit. But now, I realize she was right. Neither of us was ready for a relationship. We both had lots of stuff that needed to be sorted out.

I never heard from Alicia again, as my subsequent attempts to contact her (and take her up on that offer of friendship) were unsuccessful. And that's something I've learned over the years, mostly thanks to Alicia. When someone you've dated (even if it's just one or two dates) says they want to be friends, they rarely mean it. It's a fake proposal -- an exercise in diplomacy, if you will. Only once has the offer of friendship turned out to be legitimate... But more on her later (pending her approval.)