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Jenna Judd

June 5, 2007

Jenna Judd
Jenna Judd
Well, I am in Germany. Again. Yup. That's right. I got a taste of home. A six day sampler. And now I'm in Germany. Again. It was a busy six days in Canada during which I managed to piss away a full day in London, Ontario. Just for kicks. But hey, sometimes you just need to do your thing and that's exactly what I did.

Before we go any further I need to (re)tell one last story. About my trip home. It's funny. I blame the humour on my t-shirt. My favourite t-shirt. The one that I always wear when I fly. (true.) The one that I will never wear when I fly ever again. It took me several flight delays, one plane with an engine that wouldn't start and three days without luggage to even consider that my favourite t-shirt has bad airplane karma. But my trip home from Portugal confirms it.

Ok. It's last Thursday. The day that I have been fantasizing about for at least the last month. The date of my return voyage. First of all I am bloody well pooped. I worked the day before in Portugal, travelled there from Germany two days before and both worked and travelled to and from Munich for a job the day before that!!!!!!!!! Whewww. So I'm pretty much cooked.

Everything was okay getting to the airport. I gave myself plenty of time to be traumatized by American customs. (I am flying US Air via Philadelphia.) Man, they don't dick around do they? (US customs.) Anyway, no worries. Get to my gate and my flight has been delayed. One hour. One hour turns into two hours. Yawn. No worries get on the plane. The flight itself was ok. I sat next to this Italian man with a mustache and a beard kind of like The Colonel's (KFC) and we ended up talking for about four hours about philosophy, happiness and popular music. We traded ipods for a bit, too. Also, there was a toddler in front of me who I played a game of touching fingers through the cracks in the seat. She spoke english, but could't speak it yet. We also played peekaboo. So all this time when I should be sleeping I am yacking and playing and get this, DRINKING COFFEE!!!!!!!! That's what killed me. I didn't sleep at all.

Get to Philadelphia and of course I missed my connection. But thank you, they've got an evening flight!!!!!! I have to recheck my luggage and go through security again. No worries. I accidentally feed 20 bucks US into a machine to buy a 5 dollar phonecard to call home. No change. Shizer! I accidentally stuck my cell in my luggage before checking it because you're not allowed to have a cell phone out during customs or at the baggage claim. Security. I left the phone on too. Whoops.

Here's when things start to get hairy. I'm feeling it now. Yeah, I'm tired. And hell, it's eighty seven degrees fahrenheit in Philadelphia, A little place I like to call the bowels of hell. And I'm killing time eating yoghurt that I bought on my credit card after I donated all my US money to some nice phone card machine. And I'm watching some very nice families gorge themselves on ice cream. There are like three ice cream shops in the airport and the transients are chowing down. I know I am no longer in Europe. I haven't seen a Big Gulp let alone seven of them in months. I feel sick.

I get on the plane if you can call it that. It looks more like a model plane because it's so bloody small. I have to check my carry-on at the last minute because it's too big to fit in the overhead compartment and I have nowhere to stow my bag in front of me. I'm in the first row (not to be confused with first class, which doesn't exist on tiny planes apparently) and there is no seat in front under which to stow your bags... Ok. I'm sitting next to this nice guy also with a mustache. White like The Colonel's too, but not with a little chin thing. Anyway, we're chatting and the flight attendant announces in an accent that is unclassifiable (think Mrs. Doubtfire) that not only is there a delay there is no flight plan. There are thunderstorms somewhere or other and there isn't an alternate route yet. Great. An hour or so later we're in the air. After wolfing down a ginger ale and two bags of mini pretzels I don't feel so good. I feel really bad.

I try to sleep. In various contortions. Legs up. Legs down. Legs crossed. Ugh. I don't feel so good. I'm gonna barf. Yup. I'm not going to make it to the bathroom. Uh oh. There is no barf bag. There is a plastic garbage bag that the flight attendant gave me to put my wallet and passport in after she checked my carry on. That'll do. I remove said items. Quickly apologize to the poor sap beside me and proceed to puke my guts out for the next five to seven minutes. The poor guy beside me starts rubbing my back and says, I QUOTE, 'Honey, did you do some junk?' Turns out he teaches highschool students with special needs and has worked in psychotherapy.

Anyway, after the barfworks I had a lovely talk with the nice man about my career aspirations and the difficulty in choosing a life path in today's world.

And that's my very long tale about why I can no longer wear my favourite t-shirt on planes.

Jenna Judd is a Ford model.

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