1. It’s called the Land of Beautiful People for a reason.
The fastest, most efficient route to feeling like a soft 4 is to be surrounded by strong 9s, whose body compositions boast 70% water and 30% kale.
2. Hiking is just fancy walking.
Pre-Los Angeles Morgan pictured hiking as a daunting outdoor adventure. One rife with the scaling of various mountain formations in an effort to outrun rabid coyotes and other Californian wildlife. Turns out it’s just walking at a slight incline with brief periods of rock selfies.
3. I can’t drive.
One might think that getting one’s license suspended at seventeen would suggest the idea that one cannot drive particularly well. One would be wrong. Despite my ticket-laden youth, I’ve always considered myself an above-average driver. That assessment came to an alarmingly screeching halt once two-lane highways evolved into six-laners. But how many people can say they’ve dissolved into a panic attack in the fetal position on the shoulder of the 405? Holler.
4. The Rain. My god, the rain.
Oh, the rain. Mother of Jesus and all of his disciples, the rain. The people do not tolerate rain. A light drizzle is akin to a Category 4 hurricane. Panic ensues. Picture one of those SpongeBob episodes in which Bikini Bottom collapses into a state of anarchy. People running around frantically, cars flipped on their sides, buildings ablaze. That one guy who always screams, “my leg!” It’s an absolute show.
5. They like the environment.
Do you ever feel like a plastic bag? No, Katy Perry, I don’t. Primarily because plastic bags are not eco-friendly and Los Angeles is not permitted to sell them.
6. They can’t talk.
It all boils down to Mom. Yes, you read that correctly. Mom. The Californians with their cute little accent often interpret the word as “M-aw- m,” but we Midwesterners know better. The long, drawn out “M-aahhhh- m” is truly the only way to address one’s beloved procreator. Nice try, folks.
7. I miss the seasons.
If by “miss the seasons,” you mean “bathe in the daily ecstasy that is life without seasons.” Here’s the thing about California. We have seasons- we just skip the shitty one. Not that you’d know, of course, considering most residents don parkas and sheepskin Uggs when it dips below 60. Anyway.
8. People suck more out here.
The west coast may be the best coast, but it’s certainly not winning any awards in the friendliness department. In the Midwest, you give a smile as you pass by a stranger on the street. You let that car hop in your lane. And you don’t just know your neighbors—you know their birth date, garage code, and shoe size. I don’t even know my neighbor’s name. I couldn’t pick him off the street. He might be Asian, but possibly Hispanic and maybe Jewish, actually? Oh, it’s a girl? Cool beans. Therein lies the stark contrast in social interactions between the best coast and the middle of farmland. People just aren’t as nice. And it is awesome.