Monday, February 11, 2013

Six Excellent Reasons To Break My Leg On The Way To The Airport

I’m going to Detroit tomorrow for work and I might shit my pants. Seriously. I’m dreading this trip but not because of work. I like my job. I really, really like the people I work with. They are awesome and fun and nice and my job keeps me busy so I pretty much hit the jackpot here. I’m dreading this trip because:

  1. I’ve had a stomach thing going on for almost two weeks that involves incredible amounts of horrific, intestine twisting pain and acid gas.
  2. I’m allergic to just about every food out there and always starve when I go on trips. Being forced to starve by a world that doesn't give a fuck about food allergies makes me feel stabby. If there’s a chance, though, that starving will cure this stomach thing I'm down wit it. Jiggy. That's me.
  3. I don’t know how to sleep while waiting to be murdered in my hotel room without Sidekick pressed up against my back so I will sleep a total of 6 hours in 3 days which will result in me fucking up work, over sleeping and missing a flight because that’s how shit goes down when I travel. Once, I fell asleep in the terminal and missed my flight. The Crumb at the desk said they paged me like 10 times. HELLO! I. Was. Right. There!!!
  4. I’m traveling with my own coconut milk in juice boxes (see item #2) which means I have to check my bag which also means that the milk will explode in my suitcase so I wrapped my clothes in a garbage bag but someone will turn my suitcase upside down and the milk will get into the garbage bag and all over my clothes, leaving me with nothing but the clothes on my back to wear until the end of the week. And because the milk exploded I will have nothing to eat but black coffee and dry rice chex all week. I suppose I could put the rice chex in the coffee while I quiet cry.
  5. I have anxiety disorder and don’t function without my dogs. I have trouble making decisions such as Pants or No Pants on a good day. This week is going to be a fucking shit show. I won’t remember any of it by Friday.
  6. Odds are very good that I will shit my pants in Detroit because this is the sort of stomach ailment that comes with the kind of gas you can’t trust (see items 1 and 2). Am I gonna fart or am I gonna shit? Oh, I see. Both. I’m going to do both. I packed extra underwear and socks.
Advance apologies to everyone on my plane tomorrow.

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