Los Angeles California, the birthplace of me. Or, I got a new job and had to move.

I now look like this:As we were cruising south on Interstate 5 at a comfortable speed of 71 mph through the majestic landscape of Oregon, we were stopped at the California border and asked what fruit we were smuggling into the state. Just then, I noticed my skin began to darken and my hair suddenly became a healthy jet-black. I had the overwhelming urge to cover my luscious locks with a thick coat of pomade and my teeth looked like I had gargled with bleach. I think the transformation was the result of exposure to the California sun and the consumption of too many Wheat Thins.

It was at this moment I realized I would have to start pumping my own gasoline and paying sales tax again. The road then became a dangerous place for me to be on. I was so distracted by my new state of handsomeness, that I couldn’t stop looking in the mirror. Due to all the swerving and my slow pace, I decided it was in my family’s best interest to let my wife drive the remaining 14 hours of our 15-hour trip to Los Angeles.

We finally made it to our new little home nestled between the 405 and the I-90 freeways. It’s a quiet little place with all the comforts of home. The constant sound of the traffic above is as soothing as the ocean, there’s plenty of barrels for fires, lots of cans filled with fish bones, and concrete as far as the eye can see for our kids to play on. And it’s a steal at only $2,700 a month.

My wife was pretty tired after the long drive, so after she carried me into the house, we rested a bit before we began the arduous process of unpacking. Needless to say, we made it safe and sound and we’re ready to give California a try until the next layoff.