I am clearly the most punk rock dad of all time. Why? Because as soon as the wife's out of town, I throw the fuck up all over the budoir.

I didn't mention earlier that after our sojourn in SF that my stomach wasnt feeling so good. I get acid reflux from time to time and I figured it was that. When the kid went to bed at 7:30 I promptly fell asleep, then woke up with feeling awful with chills and decided I'd better put on some warmer clothes, etc.

No sooner did I have my sweatshirt on than I immediately got that oh shit feeling and ran for the bathroom off ourbred room. I was ONE SECOND AWAY when a thin, brown, chunky spray of projectile vomit started shooting everywhere. It hit: the sink and all the baby wash stuff, got inside the drawer with the wife's cosmetics, covered the area rugs, towels, Part of the bedroom carpet, soaked the floor of the bathroom and shower with lunch (carnitas and steak tacos). Fun to clean! The upside is I feel WAY better.

So enr0n, you know that Mexican place at the ferry building, maybe avoid that.