Oh sushi you've done me wrong.

A haiku to describe tonight:

I just ate sushi.
Oh god I ate way too much.
Fuck life. I feel sick.

I learned something today (yes, that's Stan's voice, I hope to God you understand the reference): You can definitely have too much of a good thing.
Sushi is effing delicious. Yeah I'm not a fan of spicy tuna, and I'll stick my bare butt in a tank full of jelly fish before I eat ginger again but those skillfully put together pieces of art are a gift from above. That is to say, of course, the Japanese.
You know? I have half a mind to punch those little Japanese master-minds in the head. I'm pretty sure sushi was never meant to be eaten in such an obscenely excessive manner. The Japanese are brilliant for coming to America and exploiting our need for large amounts of food and a good deal.
All the sushi I can eat for $26? Fuck yeah! That's a brilliant idea! Yeah, that might be your initial thought, but by the fifth roll you are slowly regretting your choice of the Sunrise roll and you are considering taking up cordless bungee jumping as a way to tackle your inner daredevil.
Here's the lesson for the day (besides the initial "too much of a good thing" lesson):
Sure, the first 3-4 rolls were delicious. That Love Affair roll put naughty thoughts in your head and you're thinking of how nice it would be to run away to Fiji with that lusty explosion of flavor that just tantalized your taste buds. But let's be frank, after that your tongue is just numb and your throat is pleading that you lay off that slimy spicy tuna/eel/raw salmon et al.
Sure, you paced yourself sipping your Mountain Dew, but let's not lose sight of ourselves. Let's be realistic. Those delicious rolls are contained by seaweed enveloped in a sticky rice concoction that is just waiting for some liquid to make it expand within your insides. Your stomach officially thinks you are an asshole.
But, after all, you paid for an all you can eat meal and damn it if you are going to leave this place without eating dessert so bring out that strawberry Mochi that your delightful partner (the one you left for the Love Affair roll) has been raging about. It turns out Mochi is just a ball of ice-cream encased in a rubbery substance making it oddly resemble that stress ball your therapist gave you when you were younger because your mother was tired of you chewing on your finger nails. Funky bouncy ball texture and all it's fairly delicious. You're sure you would have enjoyed it more if your digestive system wasn't currently organizing a strike and telling your intestines they were in for a rough night.
But such is life... remember my first entry? The one where I said I know what the problems are but I don't fix them? Yeah... I'd love to say this was my first over-eating experience. I'd love it more if I could say I'd never had this experience with sushi before. Alas! I have done this before. And after the millionth vow of "never eating again" and claims of "having learned my lesson" I have a feeling this won't be the last time I conclude a meal with a death wish and a desire to have my stomach pumped.