I just landed in Wrightsville Beach, and just smelling the salty Ocean air made me feel right at home. No, I’ve never lived here, or on any coast for that matter (save for whatever the heck San Francisco is) but this place where I’ve made so many great memories, had so many relaxing days and nights in, takes place in my heart as my home away from home.

Which makes me think that maybe one day, I should formalize it.

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Lila & I, originally uploaded by Aubs.

Do they call it that because it nearly broke ME?

Yes, it was just as insane as you’d expect it to be.

This is a bit overdue, and really won’t cover it all – have about 29389 things I need to finish today so my creativity in writing is quite low, not to mention that I really, REALLY want to accurately describe the inedible food and insane cab drivers that you will only find in Beijing. I want you to feel like you were in that cab with me as we drove in circles, adding to the pollution that has likely rendered me sterile and given my skin the pallor of a death-row inmate. But to do so, I’ll have to concentrate so I won’t forget all the lovely details of the "SHANGIRILA!" hotel and the fact that there is a Starbucks at the base of the Great Wall of China.

Speaking of, click on the photo above – until I’ve got 1,000 words, that’s what you’ve got.

The transcript of my most recent IM:

"Remind me to tell you the story of slow dancing to Love Bites on the rooftop of Hooters with the bartender before I was arrested."

In my hometown, we had four elementary schools, two middle schools and one high school, and kids were divided up by where they lived. Everyone in my neighborhood went to Holly Lane, but since I was in the uber-nerdy GT (Gifted & Talented) program, I was shipped halfway across town to go to Hilliard Elementary School. This meant that not only was I ostracized for being an total geek (and girl geek, at that) at MY school, that all the kids in my neighborhood knew what a tool I was since I didn’t even get to go to their school. Really, growing up as a smart kid sucks. (Though, in retrospect, I’m sitting here in Beijing typing on my PowerBook working for Google where you, kind reader who made fun of this bespectacled 8 year old just because she had to do projects on "Planets" and "Calligraphy", are just waking up to go work at the local Sip n’ Shake. Take that, bucko.)

A result of having to go to a school across town, they exacerbated our geekiness by providing us with a separate bus for all the "misplaced" students; bear in mind that this serviced not just the GT kids, but also the Special Ed and "behavior problem" kids; needless to say, the daily bus ride proved to be nothing if not interesting. Regardless, the ride took over an hour, so I missed a TWO WHOLE EPISODES of after-school cartoons and playtime since the local kids would get home in 10-15 minutes whereas I was stuck on the most radically diverse schoolbus since the dawn of time until nearly 4:30 every day. NOT FUN.

In a feeble attempt to dodge the gleeks and spitballs that were so ubiquitous, I donned my trusty walkman and would listen to my bootleg radio-recorded tapes of my favorite songs; namely, Peter Cetera’s "Glory of Love" on repeat. (Of course, we didn’t have anything like repeat back then; I would simply push "rewind" repeatedly until it went to the beginning of the song. After a while I knew just how many seconds it had to rewind before it went EXACTLY to the beginning. Just in case you were doubting that I have always been this big of a dweeb.) I would be reading my Babysitter’s Club books that I would beg my Mom for every trip we took to Baluk’s (the local bookstore cum candy shop that has forever linked my opinion of books to wonderful sweet treats) and simultaneously mouthing the words as Cetera crooned: "I’ll be the man who will fight for your honor." No matter that I never saw Karate Kid 2 – the lyrics alone taught me that someone, somewhere, would one day fight for my honor. What a beautiful thought – I didn’t need a knight in shining armor if there was a ninja out there who would beat down any and all who didn’t uphold my honor (whatever that was.) At the time, I imagined it to be someone talking smack about my Momma (note that this was at the advent of the "yo momma" jokes, so that makes sense) but these days, I think I’m still looking for someone to fight for something that I believe in.

Then again, I think I just want someone to fight for ME.

Ninja, anyone?

(And to give this some context, I’m in Beijing, where just about EVERYTHING is frightening.)

So here I am, ladida, looking on Google images for something (a picture
of Chicken knuckles, actually – don’t ask) and alas, I decide to see
where I fall for the term "aubrey" in Google Images.

So I type it in and get to these results:

http://images.google.com/images?q=aubrey&hl=en&btnG=Search+Images

Check out the third picture in the top row. (No need to view full size image even, I think the thumbnail size is even pretty damned impressive.)
Then go to the same column, bottom row.
There *I* am.

Never have I been so simultaneously repulsed and honored to appear on the same page. But how great would it be if I was in the same ROW? (Don’t answer that.) Just in case, here’s my attempt to do so; without futher ado, here is a PICTURE OF AUBREY! SEE? AUBREY! AUBREY! AUBREY!

C’mon, Google Bots, do your magic. And don’t worry, you can see more Great Wall pics here!

In cab in Beijing. They are playing whale nature videos in the sun visor with Richard Marx’s “Right Here Waiting” (instrumental) in the background as the dolphins jump waves and the humpback whales…um, the whales, uh, hump?

It is a romantic song, after all. Can’t say I blame them.

For God’s sake, I was in Shenyang, NORTH KOREA.

Beijing is my humid, sandstormed Mecca.

Yeah. I have NO IDEA.

So I left Seoul to head to Beijing, allthewhile thinking “hell yeah, Great Wall, bring it.” You see, I was to arrive in Beijing tonight about 9pm local time. So, being the conscientious traveller, I arrived at the airport early, had a glass of wine or two, a piece of tiramisu and called it ‘dinner.’ Yum.

So boarded the plane. Had some apple juice (strangely popular here), read a bit of my book and decided to snooze in true Aubrey fashion. Woke up when we touched down, tried to REALLY wake up when we were taxi-ing, and then the plane stopped. We weren’t at the gate, but people got up and collected their bags so I assumed that despite the 777 nature of the flight, maybe in China they forego jetways and it would be a “bus to the gate” sorta deal. I’m a savvy traveller, nothing really phases me these days.

Until now.

So the man across the way resumed his rousing game of (what I assume to be) poker. The attendants started serving water, apple juice (see? Strange obsession!), beer and sprite (I thought it was sparkling water, damnit.) They began playing “The Family Stone” on the tv screens. And, finally, they made an announcement. In Chinese.

Fast forward twenty minutes. Nothing is happening. Joe Chinaman is now apparently winning at poker, I have dry-mouth and there’s a police-looking car outside. Um….

Say it with me folks, WTF??

So I’ve had enough. Given that I don’t speak a word of Mandarin (and I think it’s too late to listen to my “mandarin for beginners” podcast), I politely ask a flight attendant what is going on. She speaks English about as well as I speak Mandarin, and I get the following: “weather. We return to Beijing when done weather.”

Um, RETURN? We’re not IN Beijing? (These are not just questions for emphasis, dear reader, they are what I ask her.) She laughs. “No. No Beijing.” Ok, she thinks I’m funny. “Where are we?” Her answer starts with an “s” but isn’t Shanghai. Ok, so from what I can tell, we’re NOT in Beijing, we’re in some random “S” city (or hell, country), we are stuck on this plane with no ETA to leave. And the dummy I am ordered a friekin’ SPRITE!!!

So wish me luck, Internet. Your favorite blonde former-Ohioan/North Carolinian/Georgian is somewhere in Asia, stuck on a plane with no English speakers, and is in a city starting with “S” while the flight attendants find me amusing.

If this isn’t the latter-day Carmen Sandiego, I don’t know what is.

While we take a break from our regularly scheduled programming (read:
more to come on Seoul, just as soon as more happens), I think it’s due
time to talk about the event that is surely circled and starred and
highlighted galore on all y’all’s calendars: my birthday. After all, a
girl only turns 29 once! (Ok, so that’s not exactly true. I will be
turning 29 many, many times in the future. This, however, is the only
‘official’ 29th anniversary of my birth, so I suppose it should be
extra-special.)

Anyway, as usually happens every May, people start asking me what I
want for my ‘big day’, which immediately sends me into a tizzy of
wish-list creation, website trolling, and gift-seeking only to find out
what I already know: there’s not that much that I want. (Ok, there’s a
LOT that I want, but if we were being realistic, I don’t know how many
of you can produce me a menagerie-loving Michael Vartan relatively
unclothed at my front door. Then again, if you can, let’s chat. NOW.)

So I’ve taken my trusty steed (read: PowerBook) and self and hit Amazon
to see just exactly what I want. Ok, there’s a few things, but I’ve
realized I’m very similar to my Dad in that I tend to buy what I want
instead of waiting for others to do so. (Yeah, that Camera you see on
there? I assure you it will likely be self-purchased before you could
even have a chance to contemplate doing so. Then again, if you’re even
CONSIDERING dropping $500 on me, we need to chat. NOW. I need to find
out where you live so I can come over and shower you with my adoration.
Strangely enough, the behavior stays the same if you’re spending $5 on
me. I’m a very rewarding person, after all.)

Another realization I’ve come to face is that I may have to put the kibbosh on "The Month of Aubrey." (I’ll wait while you get some kleenex to wipe your tears. Waiting…) You see, when I was in Atlanta (where the Month of Aubrey originated), I was the only person in my group of friends whose birthday was in June. That, coupled with the fact that I seemed to always be travelling on my actual birthday, spawned a month’s full of festivities, aka, "The Month of Aubrey." However, as much as my liver is applauding the sunsetting of this tradition, I’m sad that it may be put to rest. Apparently, you see, there are many, many friends who share in having June birthdays (Go, Geminis, GO!) and while I do love to be the center of attention, I think it’s only fair, in true Romper Room style, to learn to share. At age 29 (for the first time), I think it’s about time.