You know, this post might sound complainy. But it’s not. I dig when things go wrong because they make life and subsequently this blog entirely more enjoyable.

We went on a cruise to the Bahamas. I’ll get to that. Or not. We’ll see.  The last night of our cruise I got seasick for the first time. It. was. awful. I spent the better part of the night trying to find the best way to approach the toilet (sitting on it, head in bucket). Still feeling a little rough the next day, we boarded our JetBlue flight back home. I found myself stuck between my husband and a very large, very angry and very flatulent Russian.

I made him angry.

We sat down and I got all excited and said, “Hey! You’re the dude who won the belly flop contest on the cruise!”

Nope.

See kids? Social Anxiety Disorder serves a purpose! I usually wouldn’t have said ANYTHING, but I felt SO IN LOVE with everyone on the cruise, that I immediately thought we were friends.  It wasn’t like I was going on nothing. The dude that won was 1. Russian, 2. from Virginia, and 3. looked JUST like the guy sitting next to me. I could have sworn we rode the same shuttle back from the cruise and everything.

I’m not responsible for his flatulence. I don’t think.

So about twenty minutes into the flight, I smell something. I was hoping that it was just a present left to us by the angry flight attendant dude that looked about five seconds away from becoming the next FolkHero in the same vein as that other flight attendant dude that blah blah blah. You know where I’m going with this, right? Anyways, no folk status, though he was also unpleasant.

It kept happening. With increasing intensity. It was horrific. Finally, I turned and shoved my face in my husband’s armpit. So. Much. Better.  At the point I where I was sure I couldn’t survive any longer, the airplane goes to land. Just as we start to land…we see the ground…yay ground!…the pilot decides abort the landing and pulls the plane back into the sky. Stomach lurch. For everyone. If that’s not bad enough he didn’t tell us WHY. This, after JUST flying over the 9/11 memorial at the Pentagon. Lance started to squeeze my hand.

Terrorists.

 I’m surprised that the Angry Russian didn’t just go ahead and crap his pants at this point. I almost did.

The captains voice came over the speakers, “uuuuhhhhhhh, yeaaaahhhhhhh sooooo (deep breath) we had a warning light come on sssshhhhhhhhhhhh so we had to abort…not a danger light…soooooo that’s gooooooood.” Wait, what? Why not JUST LAND THE PLANE?! A light comes on and you decide to find out what it is HIGHER UP IN THE AIR?!

We circled down to Dulles International Airport. He decided not to land there, either. Instead, he kept the airplane from hell bouncing nicely in the clouds until the nausia was more than most could take.The girl in the next row over puked. The plane was climbing at this point so all of the throw up slid down the seats to the rows behind her.

Puke Stream.

20 minutes later. We land. At this point I wanted to cheer, but I was much too afraid that the pilot was going to go, “ugggghhhhhhhhmmm, so….psych?”

The wait to get off JetBlue flight AngryRussianPuke seemed like an eternity. I accidentally sat on the Angry Flatulent Russian’s bags on accident. He got even redder. I got off the plane as fast as I could and we staggered to the first bathroom we could find. There was, of course, a long line out the ladies room. I watched as a three year old stood in front of an empty stall and yelled at her mother about not wanting to go pee. Her mother in a sing-songy voice tried to coax her into using the potty from the stall next to the empty one. FIVE MINUTES later, I decide to find another bathroom before I chanced a felony assault charge. Nut up, folks.

The next bathroom I found was crowded and when it was finally my turn I ran in and found myself standing in a puddle of pee. A gigantic puddle of pee. Holding my own hair back, and standing on an island in Pee Lake, I puked all over the toilet.

Take that.