1. You’ll buy a car.

Feel your blood run cold as you hurtle down the 110/101 interchange (AKA: the concrete ribbon of death) for the first time. You’ll savor the special triumph that is exiting the freeway in one piece. Then curse the parking gods for your inaugural street-cleaning ticket.

2. You’ll find yourself working out so much that trainers and yoga pants become your daily uniform.

Between Runyon, Soul Cycle, and Cardio Barre, it just makes sense.

3. You’ll be so thrown off by the weather; it will take at least a year to understand you’re not on vacation, THIS IS YOUR LIFE.

But do try to understand. Because rent. And Moon Juice.

4. You’ll have no trouble finding a hiking partner. At 2pm. On a Wednesday.

Because your new friends are pilates instructors and photographers. And freelance pot farmers. Altogether now, “Tiiiime is on my siiide, yes it iiis…

5. You’ll grow wary of people who ID movies by their stars and not their directors.

And talk through a rental. Or go to the bathroom without pressing “pause.” How dare they not take your city’s local industry seriously.

6. You’ll start wearing flip-flops to work.

And booty shorts. Pajamas even. In LA, it’s all business casual. Until the New Yorkers come in for a meeting. Then you’ll wear your “nice jeans.”

7. You’ll never go to the beach.

Because the water’s too cold and your Pasadena apartment is an hour from the ocean. Sans traffic.

8. You’ll see a news story about a blizzard in Chicago and earnestly pose the question, “How can people live like that?”

Like your cold weather days were oh so long ago.

9. You’ll spend half your salary on kale salads and “toast” at places like Superba, before realizing the best food comes off a truck.

The more nondescript the street corner, the better. If a burrito’s more than five bucks, move along.

10. You’ll learn with great disappointment that movies aren’t made in Hollywood.

But broken dreams are. And really bad nightclubs that make your prom look badass.

11. You’ll tell your new friend you can’t WAIT for her birthday drinks. Then flake last minute.

Without a courtesy text. Because living in LA means never having to say you’re sorry.