The worst 45 minutes of my life

Late Update: For a better post about an airplane and one of my favorite bloggers my mortal enemies, please go here. He promised me it would cheer me up today, and you know what? It actually did. I'm actually feeling...pleasant again. Or maybe that is just gas.

Last Thursday instead of going to the gym, I decided to head out for some drinks (surprise!). I was hungry, but figured I could get a slice on my way to the bar.

I got off the subway, and before I knew it I had reached my final destination. I had a flight to Minneapolis at 8am from JFK the next morning, so I'd figure I'd stay at my destination for the 2 hours the open bar would last (approximately 2 or 3 drinks of sipping), and head on home for another peaceful night of booze induced slumber.

I must have knocked my head on the way to the bar, because I seem to have forgotten that uh, I don't do "2 or 3 drinks." Cut to 3 Peroni's and a vodka soda (i.e. "Liquid Satan" for me), and I have conveniently forgotten to you know...eat.

Aound 10:30pm I turn to my fellow patrons and declare that I am going home. I have to be up at 5:30am to catch my flight from JFK. I hail a cab home, and then realize I'm drunk. Real drunk. No dinner, 5 beers and 2.5 vodka sodas (one was knocked out of my hand) will do that to you.

I did manage to talk to some people over g-chat that night. Some of you had no idea I was drunk, others knew within the first sentence. Someone finally convinced me to go get pizza thinking that would help me sober up [foreshadowing].

I don't remember any of the conversations had that night, but I was woken up by that leftover woozy drunk feeling at 6am in the morning. I guess when I was drunk I pushed my alarm back thinking I was really drunk and needed more sleep, but forgot that I had to travel to JFK in the morning--an airport that once took me 2 hours to get to because of the fucking Van Wyck ("They say no one has ever beaten the Van Wyck...")

Alright, so it's now 6:30 am, my flight is at 8 am, and I now realize I have to hail a cab if I have any chance of getting to the airport on time ($50...bah!). On the way there, I started to feel a little nauseous. I know that feeling. I am hungover enough to know when I'm going to puke. It's not going to happen in the cab, but I know it is coming soon.

You know when it happens? When I'm in the line waiting for security. Of course I get behind the people who are all, "What? I have to take out my laptop? No I will not take off my shoes? You mean I can't bring an 10 gallon jug of gasoline on the plane?"

Finally I make it to the bathroom, which is of course a public bathroom. Just in time though because I see that toilet and my gag reflex kicks in. I'm like Pavlov's dog, but with vomit.

I kept on flushing the toilet for fear women would think I was bulimic and hearing mothers shield their children's ears while whispering "Sssshh, you don't want to end up like her."

We board the plane, and I'm feeling ok. However, when I am hungover I will keep on puking every 15-30 minutes or so until I fall asleep again. The problem with this is sometimes I need longer than 15 minutes to fall asleep. In the worse cases of hangovers, I was dry heaving every 30 minutes or so for 18 hours. It was horrible.

As soon as I sit down, I know I'm going to need to puke soon. It's 8am, the time of our scheduled take off. We pull away from the gate, and I feel relieved. I close my eyes for a second, on the feel the spins come on. Now I also have a problem the problem that when I get on a plane, I can't stay awake. Yep, I'm the girl you see with her mouth hanging open and head rests uncomfortably on her shoulder. As we're taxi-ing on the runway, I'm fighting the urge not to close my eyes which will only make me puke. Then...we stop. And start moving again. And stop. And start moving again. For 45 minutes. At one point I actually checked for a barf bag, but it seems Northwest was too cheap to keep them in the seat. I unbuckle my seatbelt while we are stopped only to be yelled at, "ALL PASSENGERS MUST REMAIN SEATED UNTIL TAKE OFF!" At this point I note how lovely it would be to puke on that flight attendant's face.

Finally, we're in the air, and the plane is at an angle. I can't hold it in anymore and I stumble in to the bathroom. That same flight attendant tried to motion at me that the fasten seat belt sign was still on, but there was no stopping me. The vomit was coming out whether he liked it or not.

And then I puked. Seat up into the blue water style. While the plane was still gaining altitude.

I guess I was in there for a while cause when I opened the door there were 2 women waiting impatiently to get in. I looked back and realized I left the toilet seat up. I tried to give them a look that said, "I was puking. I don't really have a penis."

I don't know if they bought it, but let me tell you, that pizza was just as good coming back up as it was going down.