The first discovery on my road to becoming a Californite (sic) was that there are no monograms, pearls, or even a polka-dot adorning anyone, anywhere in the city - the things that make us southern girls quintessentially "southern." Oh and khaki shorts....out of the question (caveat: you will see the occasional cargo short, but that friends, is rare). My fiance warned me that "no one wears shorts in the city." I don't understand. No one wears shorts? The weather here is perfection! Absolute perfection. and I consider myself somewhat of an expert on perfect weather having grown up in the rain forest disguised as Charleston, South Carolina. Humidity. all the time. ick. Also, drab clothes are in here...blacks, browns, tan, grey...these are the uniform. and if you can score an old t-shirt that used to be 100% cotton and is now 50% cotton, 50% holes you are z'man! Crisp white pants = nerd. uber nerd. (um. yeah. guess what SG wore to her first California outdoor concert. yeah. i wasn't winning any "where's waldo" contests. see above) On the plus side, this city seems to be full of accepting people who have lots of patience for us "yuppies." And...as an added bonus, shopping at thrift stores is considered city-sheik. yay! love thifting....it's like a big-girl treasure hunt! So SG finds herself deliciously curious and ever grateful for this wonderful city and its denizens who have welcomed her...as they have also, unbeknown to her, become her muse.
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