Bunk Beds

So yesterday I went out to my sister's crib in Jersey to hang with my Dad who is in town for a couple days to see some band play down on the beach...whatever. When I do make it out yonder to fair Jersey, I always wind up being coax into sleeping with my nephew in his deluxe bunk bed arrangement. This is funny for many reasons. And by funny, I mean sad. I'm a big guy and bunk beds are made for children. Use your imagination. Secondly, I snore and little kids hate snoring. Or at least this little bugger does and he makes no bones about telling me so. Thirdly, sleep is unnecesary for children yet extremely necessary for my old ass. I went to sleep before 11 PM last night. Why? Because I knew at 7:30 AM a little munchkin was gonna jump on me while I am a state of deep sleep and scream "Uncle Skip, get up!!!"

I know that most of my stories seem to have some element of shitting involved to them and this one is no different. But let me preface this by saying that I have always had a gentle stomach and that this kind of thing doesn't always happen to me. It just seems like it because I share too much.

So last night my Dad suggests we go eat some Hibachi Japanese. I objected on the grounds that I don't eat Japanese food and I wasn't sure how it would make me feel. I had a lot of 7 layer dip and Miller Lites the night before and was kind of worried about what I was going to add to the mix in the ole gullet. I was overruled however since my neice and nephew love watching the chef do his little routine while cooks the meal up table side. Having never seen this whole Japanese Hibachi nonsense in the flesh, I decided that I would let the kids have their way and we were off to Shoguns for dinner. The act was okay, despite the fact that our chef burned his hand very early on in the performance and seemed to be in constant pain the entire time. The food was edible, but as per usual as soon as we rolled out of the parking lot I wanted to jet home to get out the bad if you know what I mean. Of course, the kids want ice cream and their darling mother needs to stop at Walmart to make an exchange (fucking suburbia!!!) so our trip home was anything but direct. Long story short, I had to take a dump in Walmart and the Ice Cream Palour. Awesome. I swear someone is up on high just laughing at my plight. I was miserable and in constant pain. I have sworn off Japanese for the rest of my life. Adding to the experience was the constant taunting from the little ones about me being a PARTY POOPER. They kept screaming this at me while I was writhing in pain on the ride home where I had my third bout of diarrhea in under 30 minutes. If there wasn't laws against hitting kids, look out. I wanted to knock their heads together something fierce.

So there you have it. My last 24 shit filled hours. I'm off to work from 3 to Midnight with a horrible night's sleep under my belt and I haven't tried food since we walked out of Shoguns. Wish me luck.