my turn.

I'm back in San Francisco; I have just completed one of the most exhausting trips of my life. Sure, I've been on longer flights in shittier seats, but today I did something I have never, ever, EVER done in my entire life.

I fucking barfed on an airplane.

Yeah, you read that right. Now, of course my stomach could not have picked a more inconvenient time to purge itself of its contents...just as the plane was pulling away from the gate in Houston. I'll start from the beginning.

This morning, I rose, showered, dressed, and finished packing up my suitcase. My sister Heather offered to make me an omelet, and asked me what I wanted in it. "Gorgonzola," I replied, half jokingly.

"Sure thing," she said, and reached into the refrigerator to retrieve some. Of course she had some. Heather is just like that.

"Got any pine nuts?" I inquired.

"Duh. Of course," came the obvious reply. She opened a cabinet and produced some.

"Can ya squeeze some toothpaste in it, too?"

"Yup, and I have some fresh dog feces here as well. Would you like some of that?"

"No, I'm not quite in a fecal mood this morning. Besides, that's more of a night time thing anyway. Can you just stick your face in the frying pan and make gagging noises, though?"

My sister, always a gracious host, complied with my request, making her classic Heather gagging noises...the same ones she's been making since she was 3.

"Splendid!" My mother, listening to all of this, decided she had heard enough, and put down the newspaper and walked into the other room to check on Poppas. Heather finished making my gorgonzola and pine nut omelet, and I sat down to eat it.

Pretty damn good, actually. Maybe it was the gagging.

About an hour later, I started feeling a little funny. It wasn't the omelet, but I knew that Something Just Wasn't Right with me. My head started hurting, and I felt lightheaded. Suddenly, there was a rumbling in my colon that felt a bit evil.

Fuck. "Now I've got it," I thought, "...and I have to get on a plane in less than 2 hours." My condition deteriorated quickly as my dad drove me to the airport. I was feeling weaker and weaker, and more and more nauseated. I knew this was going to be a rough trip home.

The line for security was longer than I thought it would be, and it seems every person in front of me was either completely retarded, or had never, EVER flown before and was baffled by security procedures. "Duh, whadda ya mean I have to take my shoes off? Unbuckle my belt? Honey, did you hear that? I have to undo my belt!" I already had my shoes off, my stuff in a tray, my pockets emptied, belt off, pants down around my ankles, and a bottle of poppers in my hand. Okay, I made that last part up, but I've flown hundreds, maybe thousands of times, and I know how to get through security efficiently, quickly, and painlessly. I barely made my flight...turns out they were holding the plane for me.

God bless you, Continental Airlines.

The first flight was pretty uneventful, but I still didn't feel right. After landing in Houston at (gag) George Bush Intercontinental Airport, I knew I was in trouble. After taking my seat on my second plane, things started to get bad very quickly.

I know myself well enough to know when my mouth starts watering for absolutely no reason, and my nausea travels from my stomach to my throat, I have approximately 20 seconds before my stomach empties itself of whatever is inside it. Unfortunately, when this happened to me this time, the plane had just pulled away from the gate. We had to stay in our seats, and I had to make a choice. Should I sprint for the restroom, or throw up in my seat, subjecting my fellow coach passengers to the sights, sounds, and...um...aromas of me tossing my cookies, or in this case, a gorgonzola pine nut omelet?

Fuck that. Let the people in first class deal with me.

I sprinted down the aisle, through coach, up into first class. I was greeted by 3 flight attendants, who predictably recited, "Sir! Sir! You need to take your seat!"

As politely as I could, I replied, "I know, and I'm really, really sorry. I need to get in that bathroom in the next 10 seconds." I held up the barf bag I had grabbed from the pocket in front of my seat.

"We're taxiing right now!"

I opened the bag and puffed out my cheeks. "Mmmph!"

"Okay, get in there."

I quickly bolted the door, sat down, and let it rip. I had no idea my stomach could hold so much liquid...the bag was almost full when I was done. I was also apparently quite loud, and clearly heard someone in first class huff, "Oh for christ's sake!"

The plane stopped, and I heard the pilot say, "Do we need to turn back?" Oh god. I quickly emptied the bag into the toilet, and flushed. I then threw the bag in the trash receptable, and rinsed my face and mouth. I wiped down the counter, and left the bathroom cleaner than I left it. I opened the door, and stepped out.

"Are you okay?" an attendant asked me.

Grinning, I said, "Fine. Totally fine now. It was just a little warm back there, and I was just a bit queasy, that's all."

"Okay, if you say so."

"I'm so sorry...I know I wasn't supposed to get up, but I didn't want to do that in the middle of coach."

"You know, I actually appreciate that. That was considerate of you." She handed me a cup of water. The first class passengers were glaring at me as I traipsed down the aisle back to my seat.

"Disgusting!" a woman hissed at me.

I almost said, "Honey, if you were the hot shit you think you are you wouldn't be flying Continental," but instead, I bit my tongue and made a sharp Heather Fox gagging noise at her. She flinched.

I know, I know...that wasn't very nice.

Later on, the flight attendants came to see if I was okay. "You know," one of them asked me, "I have to say you are the most polite, considerate, professional barfer we've ever come across. And thanks for cleaning up the bathroom like that...that was sweet."

Smiling, I said, "You're welcome. I hated to be a pain in the ass, though."

"You weren't a pain at all. If there's anything you want, let us know. Everything is on the house. Champagne?"

I puffed out my cheeks.

"Well, how about some ginger ale instead?"

"Maybe with some Jim Beam."

"You've got it!" she smiled.

Anyway, I'm just so glad to be home right now. I'm going to climb into my nice, warm, comfortable bed, and watch informercials before drifting off.

Good night.