The Loo Line Lad.

So there's this guy.  (go ahead, groan.)

We met at a party last winter, both waiting in line for the bathroom.  Hilarious and delightful banter ensued, somehow we ended up with each other's phone numbers.

We talked, for a little while.

However it happened, he quit the communicating and I forgot about it.  Classic LA brush off.  Well then, imagine my shock when I get a nonchalant message from him in late August.  Six months later, mind you.

I didn't think much of it; he probably just got bored.  Twist: he hasn't let up, since!  He also hasn't really made a  move.  He came close, last week, asking if I was too tired to come over for dinner after I told him I had had a mere 4 hours of sleep the night before.  I told him I had dinner plans, but suggested a bite or drink another day.  He balked at the insinuation of being a 'second hand date'.  Oh LAWD.  Attraction plummets when insecurities surface preemptively.  Take note, gentlemen. (ha, like any men read this blog! I kill myself.)

Communication has been spotty since, but still not dead.  Normally, all of this nonsense would barely be noteworthy, but there are a few aspects to the situation that intrigue me.

First of all,  I really like his name.  This is a stupid reason to engage.  But, sometimes, I am quite a stupid girl.  Second of all, I haven't seen this man at all since the first time we met, and laughed uproariously while timing people in the bathroom (side note: laughing is the worst thing to be doing while waiting in line to pee).  Third, I don't really remember what he looks like.  See, being in line for the bathroom at a party usually means that you have had a few beverages, enough to warrant 'breaking the seal' if you will.  I was already three glasses of wine deep when we met and all I remember is this really great jacket he had on.

So to sum up, I entertain the idea of maintaining contact with this wishy-washy fellow because I have this deluded-too many rom coms-over imaginative fantasy that someday soon we might actually see each other after a full year of whatever it is we have been doing, and that the year of bad communication will lead to a funny and dysfunctional interaction upon that first meet.  Of course, this will be mostly just useful as material for the sitcom I will eventually write. .... or my memoir.