they didn’t have one for Orange County, but most of these still applied.
You Know You’re From LA When…
You’re driving on the 101 and see a clear cut definition of where the smog begins and ends
You go to a karaoke bar and battle with seven year old divas-in-training who are trying to steal your thunder
You’re sitting in traffic for at least an hour at any given part of the day
You go to the beach and see that real lifeguards actually do look like the lifeguards from Baywatch
You begin to “lie” to your friends about where you are (i.e. “Yeah I’m like 20 minutes away”) – when you know that it’ll take you at least an hour to get there).
You eat a different ethnic food for every meal
You mourned for Tupac and not for Biggie
You know it’s best not to be on the 405 at 4:05 pm.
Getting anywhere from point A to point B, no matter what the distance, takes about “twenty minutes”.
You know what neighborhood someone lives in by the degree of damage incurred during the riots.
You’ve inadvertently learned Spanish.
You’ve got to bring the cat/plants in when it drops to 55 degrees.
In the “winter”, you can go to the beach and ski at Big Bear on the same day.
You’ve bumped into a celebrity at El Pollo Loco.
You know what “sigalert”, “PCH”, and “the five” mean.
Your pizza delivery guy is also on contract with Warner Bros.
If your destination is more than 5 minutes away on foot, you’re definitely driving.
You have a gym membership because it’s mandatory.
Your TV show is interrupted by a police chase.
You can’t fall asleep without the lull of a helicopter flying overhead.
When tourists ask where they can get souvenirs, you direct them to Venice Beach.
You know someone named Freedom, Rainbow, Persephone or Destiny.
You’ve trespassed through private property to get to the “Hollywood” sign.
You’ve partied in Tijuana at least once.
You know Hollywood has a “lake”.
You don’t stop at a STOP sign, you do a California Roll.
You’ve lost your car in the Century City Shopping Center parking lot.
You’ve ever bought oranges, flowers, cherries or peanuts on a freeway off-ramp.
You think that Venice is a beach.
You drive next to a Rolls Royce and don’t notice.
You’ve started crossing a street and returned to the curb when the DON’T WALK sign started flashing.
You’ve never listened to NPR.
Calling your neighbors requires knowing their area code.
You have a favorite Thai restaurant.
You think Johnnny Rocket’s is an accurate depiction of a diner.
You think Manhattan is a beach.
You eat pineapple on pizza.
You’ve been to Disneyland more times than Downtown.
When giving directions , you follow up with the phrase: “With/Without traffic.”
You classify new people you meet by their Area Code. An “818” would never date a “562” and anyone from “323” or “213” is ghetto/second class. Best area code: “310.”
Driving along, you see a high-speed police chase approaching in your rear view mirror. You don’t panic or even flinch. Instead, you call your friends on your car phone and tell them you’re on TV.
You know that if you drive two miles in any direction you will find a McDonald’s or a Starbucks.
Your cell phone has left a permanant impression on the side of your head.
You never, ever go into the water at the Beach. You barely touch the sand.
Everyone you know has 3+ phone numbers. Home, Office, mobile, pager, two-way, voicemail…..
It is not unusual for your waitress at a restaurant to have blue streaked hair, a dragon tattoo and tounge piercing.
You are awakened in the middle of the night by a moderate earthquake. Your reply: “That ain’t even a 5-pointer” and go back to sleep.
You think you are better than the people who live “Over the Hill”. It don’t matter which side of the hill you are currently residing, you are just better than them, for whatever reason.
You live 10 miles from work. It takes you 60 minutes to get home.
Walking out of Jamba Juice, you see that a movie is being shot on-location across the street.
You are not happy, or even slightly exited that there may be a movie star there. You just say, ” They better not be blocking my parking space.”
You have to yell at your bank teller through a 2 inch thick wall of plexi-glass.
That last one goes for your local convienience store man, too.
You go to Las Vegas for a weekend getaway and the whole trip cost you $50.
You personally know at least 5 people with agents.
You personally know at least 3 people who have been in a movie or TV show.
You know what In N Out is and feel bad for all the other states because they don’t have any.
You know that not everyone in Beverly Hills is a millionaire.
You know who the tinsel underwear dude in Venice Beach is.
You’ve done something on a street corner in an attempt to get money (i.e. sang, tap danced, told jokes).
You’ve gotten parking tickets from parking in the red zone in front of your house.
You say you live in LA when really you live in a subsection of a subsection of a subsection of southern LA.
Any major movie star is picking out the best portobello mushrooms next to you at the grocers and you don’t notice.
The guy at 8:30 in the morning at Starbucks wearing the baseball cap and sunglasses who looks like George Clooney IS George Clooney.
You really can never be too rich or too thin.
The gym is packed at 3pm…on a workday.
The workday starts at 10am…or whenever you get out of your therapy session.
Any invitation comes with, “Starts at 8pm or as soon as you can get through traffic.”
You have never met a waiter that wasn’t really an “Actor.”
You never go to a coffee house without a copy of a script – any script.
It’s sprinkling and there’s a report on every news station about “STORM WATCH ’05”
You call 911 and they put you on hold.
You have to leave the big company meeting early because Billy Blanks himself is teaching the 4:30 tae-bo class.
The three hour traffic jam you just sat through wasn’t caused by a horrific 9 car pile-up, but by everyone slowing to rubberneck at a lost shoe lying on the shoulder.
A nurse can look at you in all seriousness and ask, “you don’t drink or smoke, right?”
All the “cool gyms” allow pedestrians on the street a full-view of those working out. Literally, you can’t drive by Wilshire without staring into L.A. Fitness. Perhaps a new form of window shopping?
The hot seasonal party favor is a candied apple from Neiman’s. The apples are called “Skinny Dippers.”
The waitress asks if you’d like “carbs” in your meal.
Bars card. For real.
You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Los Angeles.