On My 25th Birthday, I Became a California Citizen

Well, more accurately: On my 25th Hebrew birthday, I received my California driver's license in the mail. I am not sure how I feel about this. Also, to invalidate my New York license, the California DMV punched a heart-shaped hole through it. A heart.

Saddest L.A. discovery: Trader Joe's pizza dough isn't kosher here. When I go home for winter break, I am taking some back with me. Sort of like when I had my mother send me a block of American cheese when I was in Israel for the year.

Also, as far as I can tell there is no good sesame chicken here. You know, the Chinese dish that involves chicken fried in sweet-ish sauce with broccoli on the side? Nope, haven't found any near approximation here. If it's not deep fried, it is not sesame chicken.

I am pretty sure I have spent about half of my time in L.A. thus far in Target. Yesterday, I went to use a rain check for a pot set (exciting stuff, I tell you) and the cashier couldn't figure out how to apply the rain check. I made a suggestion that worked. She told me I should work in Target. Which was exactly my career goal.