Desperate for attention, should I text back a one-night stand?

5 months into the COVID-19 shutdown, at 9 a.m. on a Thursday, I acquired my first “Ex Textual content.” Besides I don’t have any exes. I’ve by no means been in a long-term relationship.

Alas, it was mid-July, and I hadn’t had any romantic contact with anybody of the alternative intercourse since March 15, 2020, the day the restaurant I labored at shut down and a man I assumed I favored confirmed as much as eat in my part.

The title popped up throughout my minuscule iPhone 6 display: Jack.

No final title.

Immediately my coronary heart stopped racing. Upset, I noticed who it was however I nonetheless felt the necessity to play it cool.

“Yeah,” I responded to his query. “Who’s this?”

“Ha, it’s Oisin. Scroll up except you deleted me.”

Sadly there have been no messages to scroll as much as. I used to be on my fourth telephone in three years. I knew the final time I had seen Jack/Oisin was in March 2017, three years earlier than the pandemic.

I performed coy for a couple of rapid-fire texts, extracting info out of him for my very own amusement. I needed to listen to the story, which I’ve retold numerous instances, from his viewpoint.

Jack supplied minimal effort by stating the fundamentals: We met at E.P. & L.P., the debatably still-trendy rooftop bar recognized for its glamorous views of L.A. and for being the place to fulfill up with that man from Hinge.

As he slowly however absolutely pieced collectively elements of the puzzle that have been already organized in my mind, I reluctantly threw in bait — a major plot line of the story that solely I knew.

“Oooh, I bear in mind now. You bought me pregnant.”

I laughed alone in my house for 5 minutes till I noticed he wasn’t ever going to reply except I despatched a follow-up textual content to eradicate his fears.

“JK. Lol.”

The three dots appeared tentatively on the display adopted by a coping mechanism that would solely be described as an try at humor: “That’s why I’m texting you. Somebody dropped this child at my doorstep.”

I additionally deal with humor, so I added: “You imply toddler?”

Of all of the individuals to return from my previous, I used to be most shocked to listen to from an Irish man who has two names with whom I had been acquainted for only one evening.

In any case, it had taken a lot of my psychological capability to place my evening with him (and the ensuing being pregnant scare) to relaxation. Was it ironic that I took my first-ever being pregnant take a look at on Good Friday? I wouldn’t put it previous my Catholic guilt. Fairly tragically, I needed to face each my mom and God that day post-Plan B.

The evening Jack and I met was the evening my finest buddy from USC, Sam, was visiting from Amsterdam. Shortly after arriving on the glitzy weekend night scene at E.P. & L.P., Sam waltzed as much as a scorching surfer dude and instructed him she favored his fedora. The new surfer dude had a less-hot-but-still-cute Irish-accented buddy, Jack/Oisin. The 4 of us guzzled cocktails, posed in a photograph sales space and ended up at an afterparty on a mini farm in Laurel Canyon.

On the farm, Sam and I have been launched to the couple who owned the home and their canines, goats, chickens and Google House encompass sound (and multicolored lights) system.

I used to be in awe till I discovered myself in a scorching tub the place I had regrettable, condom-less intercourse with Jack.

Years later, I rarely considered it — till I discovered myself a couple of months right into a pandemic determined for male consideration. I requested Jack if he had texted me just because he had lastly gotten to the letter O in his contacts.

He mentioned no, and I believed him. We continued to talk over textual content, and all of a sudden the dopamine hit me.

I used to be hooked on speaking to boys once more.

Nevertheless, summer season rapidly changed into fall throughout what appeared like an infinite quarantine, and we nonetheless had not met up for a date, drink or … properly, something.

One evening in October, Jack FaceTimed me and I instructed him to only come over already. It had been months of speaking, and we each had a human urge and now a seemingly destined prophecy to satisfy (or so I wishfully thought).

Jack grunted, providing no excuses, as he watched me throw frozen vegan nuggets right into a much-neglected oven. I begged him once more. “Simply come. Over.”

Brentwood to Hollywood.

It actually wasn’t that tough.

Exasperated from not with the ability to elicit a transparent, resounding “Sure!” from him, I hung up and gorged on my nuggets. It was by no means going to occur.

I instructed Jack to kindly f— off telepathically, and I downloaded the golden trifecta of courting apps — Hinge, Bumble and Tinder — for the primary time in over a yr. Plan B to the rescue as soon as once more.

In 2022, telephone No. 5 buzzed with a textual content from Jack: “You continue to in L.A.?”

I chuckled as a result of I wasn’t certain what was extra comical: the persistence of this long-lost pen pal or the considered me ever leaving L.A.

This time I conserved my telepathic power and left the textual content holistically unanswered.

4 Julys post-“Not a Actual Ex Textual content,” I’m about to show 30 and I’ve a boyfriend for the primary time after courting in L.A. for some time. For higher or for worse, I, Olivia, pledge my religion to the L.A. courting sport. And I readily encourage you to do the identical.

The writer is an actor, author and comic. She lives in Hollywood. She’s on Instagram and TikTok: @olivdislife

L.A. Affairs chronicles the seek for romantic love in all its superb expressions within the L.A. space, and we need to hear your true story. We pay $300 for a broadcast essay. E mail LAAffairs@latimes.com. You will discover submission tips right here. You will discover previous columns right here.