Your prefab tract house was built much earlier than those ones in Aliso Viejo, so you feel the need to snoot it up in front of them as you jog past, wearing a used Fitbit you found on eBay.
Sure, you could drive matching his-and-hers Bentleys down to the sand, but that's what uncrowded late-winter days in Huntington and Corona del Mar were made for: slumming it when no one's looking. Besides, why bother with the shore when Jorge just laid new 24-karat tile in the Jacuzzi?
Eight months after moving here to study film at Chapman U, you've given up on classes to raid thrift shops and practice with a cover band specializing in classic punk. Your drummer might get the group a gig at the International Street Fair, but you can’t make it, since you’ve already committed to pouring beer in a "German Town" tent.