Single and ready to mingle? Ready to get starry-eyed in the city of…celebrities? If you’ve got a lot of livin’ to do and aren’t quite sure where to go about doing it, I’ve got a newsflash for you: There’s a 2%* chance you’re already there. That’s right. I’m talking about the wide open road. That traffic you’ve spent most of your LA tenure b*tching about just might be the one thing standing between you and a life of loneliness and/or cats. (So you might want to think twice before you knock it…down?)
*This statistic has been more-than-slightly padded, and still sounds much less significant than originally intended.
Case(s) in point:
Stewe here. His brother met his wife “in traffic on the highway”, and now little Stewie’s aiming to drive out to “Cali” to “holler” at Mr. Forte’s sister. *young love*
Also, chill bruh.
Malcolm in the Middle apparently endorses flirting while driving – as does a friend of this writer. Or, at least, flirting while waiting many, many hours to drive. Because when it comes to love, it helps to limit your options.
Joe Dilfie met all of his wives in traffic jams. Because there’s just something women like about a pick-up man.
It’s true. Between the ages of 16 and 19, I was sucker for a guy in a pick-up truck – as long as he was also wearing a baseball cap. Don’t ask me why – just know I wasn’t alone on this one. (I’m looking at you, almost-women of Santa Barbara.)
Me, today**. On a single drive up Wilshire - from the beach to Beverly Hills - I got one phone number, one car-to-car dance sesh, and one half of a convo from a pair of adorably earnest dudes, approximately 22 years of age. According to their fake ID’s.
Still got it?
AWKWARD GIRL REAL TALK:
The only downfall to this particular breed of chicken is that sometimes your little dalliance has run its course long before traffic is ready to move. Enter the art of polite eye contact avoidance:
Step 1: Check your rearview mirror.
Step 2: Do a double take, followed by a long, intrigued stare into your rearview mirror. This can be accompanied by an almost-impercetible-but-totally-perceptible nostril flare for extra impact.
Step 3: When a new song comes on, get very down with the (hopefully jammable) beat – but, like, a chill, beach-vibey, introspective kind of down.
Step 4: When Betty Who radio on Pandora cuts out unexpectedly, silently curse a mother*cker, roll back that shoulder-pop-in-progress, and stare in obvious confusion slash slight annoyance at your phone until there’s some concrete sign of movement ahead. Repeat as necessary.
And for God’s sake, keep your eyes on the road, you big creep.
**This selfie moment was recreated once my Prius was safely parked in its spot. Because no one wants that evil on their obituary.