I join the mile-high club.

No not that mile-high club, you sex-addled idiot. The real mile-high club.

My girlfriend lived in Santa Fe for a while. I flew out a couple of time to see her. The night before one of my flights my good friend Adam happened to visit me in Arlington, where i was living with my brother. We slammed scotch, went out, had some beers, and just partied till it was time to go. My brother drove me to BWI, and we stopped at our favorite breakfast-sandwich fast-food location, Royal Farms.

I had to fly into Dallas for a connecting flight, and I slept most of the way. Also, I was wearing a suit and cowboy boots, so I looked cool and not out of place here. When I awoke upon landing, however, I had gone from a glazed-over still-drunk-from-the-night before feel to a full hangover.

I walked around the huge circle that is Dallas/Ft. Worth International, got a smoothie, and just tried to chill out. By the time we boarded, I was relatively confident that I could keep it down. I took my seat, and took a nap.

I awoke in a cold sweat halfway through the flight. It was time. Sitting in the window seat, I began making my way quickly but politely to the aisle. I had to vomit, but I had some self-control and dignity left. But as I brushed in front of the last person, a stewardess bid me return to my seat. As a freak mistake of timing, they were now wheeling out the beverages. I sat dejectedly back down and focused on keeping a positive attitude.

My body's patience was wearing thin as I finally shot up to squeeze past the cart. Unfortunately, a visibly lesbian woman had an apparently equally pressing need for the toilet, and brushed in front of me from her seat, locking shut the only bathroom. I was sweating all over, turning red in the face, and about to relinquish control of the situation to destiny.

At literally the final moment she emerged, and I blasted past her, tucking my tie into my shirt and slamming the notch over to 'occupied'. As the vent started venting, I unleashed a torrent of vomit into the metal basin. Confident that I could not be heard over the sounds of the flight, I emptied my stomach and rinsed off my face. The customary post-vomit self-check revealed that I had pulled it off yet again: a secret vomit only feet away from strangers, leaving not a single trace of evidence. On to Santa Fe!