Hepburn, meet Hong Kong.

I am absolutely and irreversibly awkward.

It's important you know that right off the bat because otherwise we can never become very good friends.

When I had my heart broken (roughly a year or 58 bottles of wine ago, depending on who you ask), I didn't react like a normal human being and cry, scream, hook an IV of Ben & Jerry's to my veins, etc.; I took off for Thailand. And Cambodia. And Laos, Malaysia... Well, you get the idea.

And now that I have recovered and have finally ready to listen to Adele without first relinquishing my firearms, I'm off again - this time to China.

So here I am at the San Francisco International Airport, armed to the teeth with my Pellegrino and nonfat cappuccino in my best Audrey Hepburn black sheath dress and kitten heels. The dress isn't marked by any designer name, but I know I look good after both the lady at the check-in counter and the cop at the table across from mine stop by with their compliments.

For all intensive purposes, this is me.

Policeman: "Hey there."
Me: (Sounds muffled by fist-sized piece of turkey jerky protruding from my Hepburn-esque lips.)
Policeman: "That dress looks stunning on you."
Me: (Elegantly letting bits of jerky fall from my mouth onto the floor.) "Grjkshg!"
Policeman: "Where are you from?"
Me: (Smiling demurely in order to not reveal teeth overrun with meat from a vengeful turkey-god.) "Cali -" *gulp* "-fornia."
Policeman: "And where are you heading?"
Me: "Hong Kong."
(We smile, a piece of gourmet turkey breast gracefully descending from my chin and down the front of said dress. The man blinks twice and excuses himself; I sigh and reexamine my plane ticket. This is going to be a long trip.)

Love and jerky,
A