Last Saturday night, in an attempt to phase out the “drink till this party gets fun” rule I’ve been operating on since I moved to L.A., I opted to hail a cab.  As my ride opted to smoke that second joint at 2am and “hang a while” I grabbed my ridiculously cool (fake!) fur jacket, the last of the vegan chocolate chip cookies, and my “ohmygodguesswhoisawthisweekend!” Monday morning celebrity citing (Does Lindsay Lohan’s fatigued elbow grazing my left boob count as a cat fight?!). As I contemplated how  white my teeth were going to look smack in the middle of page six,  I began to maneuver my way through the chaos of the party and down into the emptiness of what is unmistakably a Los Angeles street on any given night. The party spilled outside onto the street  but as a made my way against traffic looking for a cab I realized I was alone with the nights traffic buzzing by (noting but the lights of the car dealership to guide me) As I forcefully raised my hand into the open air like a frazzled New Yorker trying to make curtain call (mom you’d be proud) a cab turned it’s light on and slowed down.

“Hey, I’ve  got room for you” the cab driver, who sported an uncanny resemblance to Dave Mathew’s Band Boyd Tinsely(not that I like listen to DMB or whatever), hollered out while motioning to his bare front seat. I quickly glanced in the backseat and found a drunk couple (no doubt the victims of bottle service) sprawled out while simultaneously arguing and making up. “Seriously girl, I’ve just got to drop them off down the street and it’s not safe for you to be walking down the street by yourself” I tensed up quickly, I thought I was past the point where I needed other people to tell me whether I was being safe or not.

Cut to rational decision making:

Well I guess it’s not so safe to be walking down the street alone and there aren’t that many cabs, plus it’s cold out and well the cab driver does have dreadlocks, he must be pretty cool…

I was in and we were off; as I imagined  yesterdays tamales patiently waiting for me in my mini fridge and sadly parted ways with the idea that I would be meeting my corduroy wearing, 5 o’clock shadowing having, New Yorker Cartoonist future boyfriend that evening. (Seriously dude, can we just meet at the Pinkberry in Koreatown, Im running out of party dresses and small talk).

“Here is fine bro, we’ll just walk through the drive through” the backseat voice ordered as we pulled up to the 24 hour Jack N the Box (or as I like to call it In N Out’s drunk cousin).  He threw some cash at me and stumbled towards the drive thru (I imagined to get his date a chocolate shake to help wash down her next round of roofies).

“Well” my seatmate happily exclaimed “lets get you home”

“Cool, great. I’m Echo Park” I blurted out, feeling fuzzy at the very thought that I had a home that was all mine.

“Hi Echo Park” he retorted “I’m J”

“Cool J, I’m J to but like Jessie James, except I don’t cheat on Sandra Bu–” my lame joke was interrupted as I inhaled the pathetic excuse for food that Jack N the Box was serving to the drunken masses.

“Eh, Ew, I’m sorry J this smell is so gross”

“Yes, totally” J agreed as we pulled back onto La Brea. “I never touch that food, any of it, I stick with this”

He  held up his reusable Whole Foods bag filled with various nuts and berries.

“I” he proudly exclaimed “Am a Macrobiotic Raw Vegan”

Only in L.A.; the city of “Gluten Free” Angels.

“..then I started soaking my own grains about a month ago, right after I ended my 47 day diet of distilled water and cayenne pepper” My meter had barely broken ten bucks and already I’d felt like I’d learned a million bucks worth.

“So wait you drove cab with nothing inside you but some pepper sprinkled water?” I didn’t buy it, thinking about my newest favorite word “meack” = meal in between a snack.

“You’d be surprised Jessie, surprised how little you actually need to survive”

I could finish off this story by explaining how J asked for my phone number so I could see his “soaked grains” or the fact that I had him drop me off a mile away from where I actually sleep. Yeah, I could describe all this but it wouldn’t fit within the “Random, quirky, life lesson from a stranger” type scenario i’ve worked so hard to set up. Let’s just say I probably should’ve stuck it out at the party, who knows maybe Lindsey would’ve given my other boob a shot.

Meredith Boscaino snapped this on her lunch break today, if you want to get your socks rocked off go to her website; www.littlehazore.com