Hello my beautiful Californians.

I know when we moved to New York it was a bigger, scarier, version of the city we once knew. The smells were different and the friendly smile was replaced by the infamous middle finger. It will be my two year anniversary this month of living in New York, and I wouldn't change it for the world. It took me two years to adapt to this concrete jungle, but I like to call myself a true New Yorker, with a California ID!

1. There is actually more than one season.

Coming from California, our seasons vary from a mild summer to a scalding summer, and not much in between. When it hits around 60 degrees, the Uggs come out and a wave of the North Face zip-ups takes over the 405 freeway as people scurry home to the fire-place. In New York, they roll with the punches, or should I say snowstorms. From the 100 degree subway commutes, to the 20 degree nights out in the city searching for the perfect pizza, the weather doesn’t control us, we run the weather, and we look damn good in it.

2. Being assertive is winning.

Californians will be nice to your face and talk behind your back. In New York, you say whatever you want, whenever you want, to whomever you want. I first found my voice here in New York when I had to ask a group of angry commuters which way was downtown when I ended up in Harlem after my unexpected, express, 2 hour trip home, that normally took 30 minutes. Of course no one answered and just stared at me, however I had never felt so empowered being able to shout in front of a group, and no one even cared.

3. Sandals are no longer a good idea.

I used to live in sandals — Haviana’s were the way of the west coast, and I thought bringing that to New York would keep my “Cali vibe” alive. Boy, was I wrong. My first day trekking through the city in sandals led to a night of soaking my feet and scrubbing the black tar off my heels. I quickly understood the meaning of commuting shoes.

4. My shoebox apartment is actually cool.

When I went apartment hunting, it had also been my first trip to New York after turning 12. I was so confused how the shoebox-sized apartment was supposed to hold two of us, and could cost more than my life savings. I could cook dinner while brushing my teeth and I could close my bedroom door while lying in bed still. I took it like a champ and knew if I wanted to be a true New Yorker, this is what had to be done. I was a little embarrassed that maybe I was the only one, but after my first year here, I realized mine was bigger than most, and being broke was kind of, cool.

5. I never have to drive again.

I used to love my car. She knew me better than I knew myself. Was always able to get the breeze just right in my hair and play the most beautiful songs. I was sad to see her go when I moved to New York and wasn’t sure how I would get much done. Until I met the subway and those beautiful yellow taxi’s. After a few months of living in New York, I realized the beauty of saying goodbye to those keys and being able to rely on everyone else for transportation, with not a care in the world, until the 7 train is delayed and I'm late for work.

6. I own my Valley girl voice.

I cannot tell you how many times a day I get mocked for my “California” accent. My elongated words, and the way “like” slips between every word. At first I was embarrassed about my accent and my Kardashian vocal fry, but now, I own it. You can take the girl out of California but you can’t take California out of the girl.

7. The bagels are actually better.

I am a bagel fiend. If I could eat a bagel for every meal I would, but I don’t think my thighs would appreciate that any more than they do the pizza. When I had my first New York bagel, delivered so perfectly to my front door at 2 p.m. after a long night, I bit into that everything bagel with vegetable smear and knew I could never go back. Not only are they fluffier and made with that New York love, but also they are on every corner and I never have to see a Noah’s Bagels again.

8. Walking slow is not an option.

Within my first month of living in Manhattan, I quickly realized that I was no longer strolling the Santa Monica pier taking the salty wind in my hair. I was in a stampede made up of business suits and commuting shoes of who could walk faster and how many times my purse could get knocked off my shoulder in one block.

9. PDA is impossible.

I’m a very affectionate person, holding hands makes me happy and stopping for a street kiss reminds of a good romantic comedy. However the guy I’m dating has reminded me numerous times this “behavior” isn’t ideal for the city life. It is nearly impossible for any sort of PDA in New York. If it’s not the wintertime and your hands aren't frozen and glued to your pockets, it’s the summertime and my hands are to sweaty to hold onto anything but the thick air, and my sweat mustache is probably not too appealing. Alright, I’ll save the PDA for the air-conditioned room’s honey.