Yesterday was a milestone for me. It was my very first earthquake. Well, the first one that counts. Seismologists tell me I’ve been through others. But earthquakes are like electro-shock treatments. If you can’t feel it, it doesn’t count.

And here is the one true fact about earthquakes: They suck. A lot.

3.4 is, according to the USGS, mild. And frankly, I’m offended.

Okay, no buildings fell down. No pictures fell off the walls. But come on, people! My apartment building – I swear to God – hopped. It hopped. And then it made some very unpleasant creaking noises. And THEN (and only then) it shook. My $19.99 “silk” Wal-mart special ficus tree swayed. There was definite swaying.

And definite queasiness on my part.

I IMed my husband. (That’s instant messaged for those non-techno readers over 35. Hi, mom.) Working on the 19th floor of an office building that was built to jiggle, jaggle, dance and waddle through seismic events, he feels a lot more of these things than I do in my 3rd floor rigid stucco structure.

Me: Was that an earthquake?
Him: Yep, think so. Our building wiggled.
Me: I don’t like this.
Him: (laughs)

I’m from Missouri. And although the end-of-the-worlders keep claiming the Ozark Mountains are about to do the seismic mambo the likes of which California has never seen, it hasn’t happened. The ground stays put. The cows don’t sway. Sometimes the soybeans sway...but that’s just wind. The point is shaking is reserved for martinis, as God intended. And being a Mid-westerner, I found myself shockingly unprepared for what to do. First of all, I had to double-check that it was indeed an earthquake. And once established, it was over. For a brief moment, while my Wal-mart special ficus was doing the Wave, I thought about running for a doorway. But I was oddly rooted in my chair. Clearly, I need some ingrained earthquake training. Stop-drop-and-roll, I’ve got. I know what to do in tornados. (Thanks, Missouri.) And hurricanes. (Three years on the Texas gulf coast covered that one.) But California has woefully under prepared me. There needs to be a handbook or something. Some sort of official California greeter to explain these things.

“Hi! Welcome to California. Here are your sunglasses, your extra-loud car horn, a copy of “The Hollywood Reporter” and “Earthquakes and You: A kindergartner’s guide.”

I wouldn’t be offended. Bring on the pictographs, baby. I want a cartoon squirrel to explain earthquake safety to me using short sentences and small words. And preferably before the ground gets another case of the wiggles.