I touched down at LAX about 30 min. ago, and already I'm in an I-Hate-America funk. I think it actually started when the plane began its descent - into a lung-pangingly thick blanket o' smog. Going from 100% Pure New Zealand to this dirty, filthy shithole is the real culture shock. Even the view from the plane put me off: malls, car parks, super highways...echhhh.

I can understand why NZ is super strenuous about people bringing fruit into their country, what with farming being their No. 1 industry and all. But will someone please explain to me what a Kiwi-grown orange, whatever contaminants it may contain, could possibly do to US soil? What could possibly be introduced to this writhing, sick atmosphere from my lone piece of fruit?

You've got me, but the orange's presence did get me through customs in my own individual line - for citrus deviants, apparently. The five uniformed guards just looked excited to have something to do besides stare at the wall, and made a huge ordeal about taking my contraband away. I looked over my shoulder just in time to see them chuck it in the garbage can. Now, is that bag going to be labelled "Biosecurity Hazard" and carted out on Antarctic Air to be buried somewhere in the tundra so its toxic inner juices can do no harm to humanity? Or is going out with the pedestrian bathroom trash? Just curious...

Two steps later, I was accosted by a missionary looking for money to feed the children this holiday season. I had nothing on me, but was tempted to tell him where he could find a perfectly good orange.

Speaking of money, U.S. dollars are ugly. Even the NZ exchange lady said so. It took me a minute to register the good ol' greenback.

B. met me at the airport with my suitcases, and we had a beer. She was telling me about her recent speaking gig at a biotech conference, and said something about feeling like a fraud in journalism at times, and we laughed. That's the exact word that's been haunting me this past year - i'm glad to find someone who understands this uncertainty and the anxiety that comes from not knowing everything, but having to come across like you do.

This past week, traveling, I've summed up my reason for being in NZ for a few fellow travelers, and gotten various responses revolving around the current state of journalism. I generally kept my mouth shut, let them say their piece. One guy said, "Well, I just hope you'll be objective." I may or may not have rolled my eyes.

I wasn't ready to leave, and - I'll be honest - I dropped a few tears leaving Queenstown to begin my 23-hour journey to AZ. What a fantastic country. I hope everyone who ever has the chance to go there goes, because it is truly the most fabulous place on earth. And I'm so glad this trip abroad went so swimmingly, after being scarred for life following the London fiasco... I've got my passport, and I'm no longer afraid to use it! And all my pictures and luggage made it home this time!

So, my adventure has come to a close. I know I'll be starting a new one in a few weeks. I'm headed to NYC to intern at Esquire - my absolute favorite mag. However, the 40-hr. work week will not be rewarded with any pay whatsoever. As in, nothing. Nada.

I'm really not at all sure how I'm going to make it work, but I'm doing it anyway. Suffice it to say, my parents are less than pleased. As many times as I told them that people in my field make shit money, I don't think they really believed me. I'm pretty sure they thought this glossy degree would instantly win me big bucks. I'm just hoping my fellow interns are old enough to drink, and we're not stuck opening mail.

Anywho, I need a new get-rich-quick scheme, if anyone has any ideas. That, or I may have to become a lady of the evening.

I met a guy in Qtown who was applying to be a glacier guide, so he can climb during the day, party at night. I tried to explain to him what I'm about to do - work two or three jobs, live on Ramen (again), exist on pennies. He remarked on what a crap quality of life it'll be. After three months of beauty and travel and fun, it really is going to be hard, and am still not completely sold on this. I'm not even sure I'm game for NYC. But I'm trying to psyche myself up. I've wanted this for so long, I feel like it's stupid to walk away.

For now, I'll sit in the airport bar and drink my shitty Miller Lite, wishing it were a honey-ginger-spiced Monteith's Summer Ale, and hope my future is less bleak than it seems. I guess I won't know until I'm living it.