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June 25, 2005

Disease of the Seas

I'm going on a gay cruise. There, I said it. And I can't wait. I need a vacation. I always say that but I really NEED one especially after my last one. And I'm not just talking about long weekends somewhere or a week spent with family. That to me is not a real vacation (especially if there are babies involved). A real vacation is spent with friends or lovers, lasts at least two full weeks and involves NO drama whatsoever.

Now I know what you're thinking, a boat full of gay men is going to involve lots of drama. I'm sure there will be drama but it will not involve me. No, sir. No way. Been there, done that. Nope. I will have no part of it. This is not a circuit party event for me. I know there will be that element there but I will read a book, hang out in the water, enjoy a meal with friends, meet new people, play ping-pong with muscle bears, chill out and relax, enjoy new places and have hot sex with the wife my partner. That's all I want.

I've never wanted to go on a cruise. Just never appealed to me. However, when I heard there was a cruise going to TWO places I've always wanted to go AND lasts TWO weeks, I knew I had to kill two birds with one stone. By the way, that's a terrible expression.

I took a mini "vacation" back in March to San Francisco. We have some friends there and Rob had a conference so I hitched a ride. We try to go at least once a year cuz we do love it there. I also realize the weather is hit or miss. It was definitely a miss this time around.

We get there late one night and check into our hotel. I wake up at 3 in the morning to the sounds of severe nausea. Apparently, Rob has contracted some stomach bug or food poisoning or tape worm or demon possession or something. Welcome to San Francisco! He is a wreck. This occurs every 20 minutes for the next 12 hours.

Luckily, Rob starts feeling better the next day so he joins us while we continue to walk around in the cold rain. We went out to dinner with our friends, Matty and Michael who are terrific (and have a beautiful place there). We also got to attend a party by the infamous Todd and we got to play with the beagle. It was worth the price of admission just to spend time with those guys.

The last evening there we went out to dinner to a place called "Home" but a more appropriate name would be "Outhouse." They seat us in this large room and then it hits all of us at once. The wonderful smell of feces. We ask the waiter what the deal is. He tells us that a sewer line has broken and they are "working on it." Ew, okay. Can I have my chicken pot pie to go, please? Thank you.

Rob and I head back to the hotel and pack for our early departure at 6am. Then. At 3am I awoke to an unpleasant feeling. Bye-bye, pot pie! I realize I have picked up whatever Rob had at the beginning of our "vacation." Every 20 minutes. I am terrified. How the hell am I gonna fly home today? Rob could barely move when he had this illness. Now I have to go the freakin' airport and interact with humans. Calgon, take me away!

I suck it up and do my best to get through it. I just wanted to be home in bed with my blanky and pacifier.

We inform the flight crew of my dilemma. The head flight attendant asks me, "Are you really sick or just hungover?" What did you say, you insensitive slut? I wanted to throw my flask of gin at her head. Instead, I said, "I'm really sick." She asks if I think I am able to make it through the flight. I told her I thought I could. Actually, I didn't know but the thought of having to reschedule my long trip home would make me puke even more. "Well, I hope so cuz we don't want to have to divert the plane cuz of you," she said in a snotty tone. Then I added, "It's worse than having a Manhattan Furball." She said, "Huh?" I said, "Nevermind. Long story."

She gets me a ginger ale and a "sick sack." I guess that's a more pleasant way of saying barf bag. I never ever thought I would be one of those people that has to use them. She then hands me a Hefty trash bag. I am humiliated. I am seated in the middle of the plane. I look like death and I am holding a sick sack and a Hefty trash bag and I am shivering while wearing a sweater and winter coat. How'd ya like to be my neighbor on that flight? I pictured that scene from "Stand By Me" when there was a domino effect of vomiting. That would have been kinda funny actually.

I tried so hard to hold it together. I really did. But. As soon as the plane took off, I put to use that sick sack AND Hefty trash bag.

At that point, the flight crew knew I meant serious business. I even handed the insensitive slut crew member my Hefty bag of pot pie remains just to spite her. She declined and added, "Please deposit it in the bathroom." "Okay," I smiled.

They cleared the back row for me. That was nice of them. However, the rear seats do not recline. I literally looked like a propped up corpse. At least I was close to the bathroom. The odd thing is this whole event happened very discretely, believe it or not. Very few people noticed. I'm a pretty good patient.

It was a really weird bug because it was so well-timed and only involved yacking my guts out (thank god). Because Rob had the same exact symptoms we knew it would last a total of 12 hours. We were only on hour number 5 of my version of the illness and we had a layover in Denver. Wonderful.

I remember sitting there in my state of rigor mortis thinking that I did not feel particularly relaxed from this li'l vacation.

So I will really enjoy my next longer vacation. Rain or shine. The Disease of the Seas will be taking off at the end of August. I'm looking forward to it!

Posted by durban bud at June 25, 2005 03:30 PM

Comments

Posted by: TOS at June 24, 2005 07:09 AM

Posted by: Matt at June 24, 2005 01:53 PM

Posted by: Steve at June 27, 2005 11:45 PM

Posted by: TOS at June 28, 2005 09:48 AM

Posted by: durban bud at June 28, 2005 10:17 AM

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