Texas Or Bust: Part I

There's a lot to cover about my trip to Texas, guys. So I'm going to start with the PLANE RIDE OF DOOM. As it turns out, my disproportionate and irrational anxiety about flying on this big hunk of metal completely clouded my ability to see another acute problem: flying on an airplane WITH A TODDLER.

Now there are a few things you should know about this plane first. One: it's LOUD. Like, standing-next-to-an-amp-at-a-rock-show loud. Like, ear-protection-required loud. The other thing to keep in mind is that it's a cargo plane. Passengers can be accommodated, but they're not the norm, exactly. So, seats are...stowable! And bathrooms are...mostly just for men! Oh, and windows? There's, like...two? OH! OH! And the moving, inner parts of the airplane? ARE EXPOSED!

OMFG, YES THEY ARE!

Anyway, back to the toddler. The whole morning, the kids were fully excited, and this continued onto the plane, despite the earmuffs and noise. However, the novelty wore off after about, oh, 45 minutes, and the screaming commenced. This screaming? It was sustained. It was irrational. And it was motherfucking loud. Here is where I shouted to my husband, lifting his headphone momentarily to proclaim my joy for this loud plane. At least the other people on board couldn't hear our little...shall we say...rascal!

Anyway, amidst the screaming, there was another pressing concern: my rapidly filling bladder. Now, I knew there was a bathroom on this plane, but there were a few concerns on my plate. Firstly: it was, ah, STOWED. Yes, it's a stowable bathroom! To match the stowable seats! Someone had even hung a backpack off the thing, so even ASKING to use the bathroom would require notification of a crew member that I had to urinate. Then there was the whole issue of having said crew member picturing me IN THE BATHROOM. Then the subsequent panic of him picturing me, picturing him, picturing me, IN THE BATHROOM. On top of it all, there was only a curtain to provide privacy on the matter. Plus the question of WHERE DOES IT GO?! And will my husband's co-workers have to...my god...CLEAN UP MY PEE?!

 
Yeah, so I held that shit like a champion kegel flexer.

At one point, the ride got a little bumpy, so one of the guys got up to tell us to buckle up. They don't have those nifty "Fasten Seatbelts" signs, you see. Anyway, I instantly panicked (natch) because I couldn't figure out how to buckle my friggin' belt. All those years of mocking flight attendants for that little routine, and I'm suddenly shrieking--mid-flight and inaudibly--WHERE'S THE FUCKING STEWARDESS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD...I'M UNBUCKLED OVER HERE. I'M! UN! BUCKLED!

My husband looked at me in disbelief before grabbing my belt and securing it. Tightly, I might add. I then mimicked for him to demonstrate how to use the oxygen masks, but he did not see my humor plea for help.

After about four and a half hours (these planes fly slower than commercial airliners), I could feel that we were beginning our descent. Of course, without windows to gauge or progress, I was taken completely off guard when we landed, and may or may not have screamed at the sudden jerking sensation. Reflexively, of course!

Ahem.

So, yes, we survived, and I'm as embarrassed by the experience as I expected to be. So, at least there's that. (Whatever that is.)

*****

So as not to overwhelm you all with incredibly important mundane details of my five-day ordeal, I've decided to break this up into a few posts. So, stay tuned for my next installment, where I tell you about my first impressions of Texas, seeing houses with two destructive children, the loss of my child's Teddy, and a bidding war with an agent named Chad, who I think might be a cast-member of Million Dollar Listing.

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Oh, and big thanks to Good Day Regular People blogger, The Empress, for submitting my name to BlogHer for teh funnez last week! I'm in some pretty amazing company there, and was super flattered. If you don't know The Empress, you're missing out on some good writing and good people.