Smallville
Hoosier undergoes SoCal changes
Molly Stewart
Hi, my name is Molly but my friends call me Smallville. I’ve been living
in Long Beach for a whole five months now, but for some reason everyone I meet
can instantly tell I’m not from California. My new friend Melissa, who
I met at Barnes & Noble while I was perusing the cheesy, risqué and
downright ridiculous Valentine’s Day books, gave me that nickname.
I was flipping through “The List: 7 Ways to Tell if He’s Going to
Marry You in 30 Days or Less” when she invited me to sit and drink over-priced,
pretentious coffee drinks that are really just milkshakes with cuter names. We
started chatting and, like girls always do, ended up spilling our guts to each
other.”
Two hours later I knew everything about her. Along the way she laughed at how,
despite the time I’ve spent trying to be “chill,” you can take
the girl out of Indiana but you can’t take Indiana out of the girl.
One Californian friend told me I dressed like I was 30. I don’t think that
was a compliment.
He bought me a pair of Rainbows after I told him I didn’t own any shoes
that weren’t high heels. My Midwestern look of crisply ironed shirts, turtlenecks
and black pants had to go. I went on a shopping spree to buy a brand new wardrobe
of jeans, tank tops and baby tees.
A new hairdo with blonde highlights was next, followed by a lot of bronzer to
take away the pasty white glow that illuminated from my pale Indiana body.
At dinner with Melissa and her friend last week, the immense differences between
me, a girl used to marveling at the world’s largest boar at the state fair,
and them, two Los Angeles natives used to seeing celebrities and $300,000 yachts,
were crystal clear. They took me on my first trip to Huntington Beach where we
pulled up beside a Ferrari dealership. I freaked out; I’d never even seen
one in person before.
There is one thing I’ve become an expert at: navigating the freeways. Gone
are the days when I sobbed uncontrollably and started sweating in unmentionable
places just thinking about changing lanes. Now I text-message and swig a Rockstar
with one hand and steer with the other. While I’m still completely naive
and un-cool thanks to my Indiana upbringing, I feel like I’m finally becoming
more SoCal and less Smallville.
Molly Stewart is a freshman journalism major.
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