The way I see it, a person who has enrolled in medical school is not yet qualified to perform the daunting task of a brain operation nor to practice God’s most precious gift of cosmetic surgery. Instead, you want a tenured surgeon who has studied the brain to its very core and is completely competent in repairing whatever may be broken between the ears. Come to think of it, I’d like to send a few half wits to a brain surgeon. People including, but not limited to Mac Brown (a brain surgeon fresh out of med school and suffering from turrets will be perfect for ole Mac), Barrack Obama (preferably a republican surgeon from Texas or the deep south), and the idiots in charge of the college football conference shake up (I’ll enroll in med school and take care of these morons myself). For those seeking not repair, but enhancement, you want a doctor whose work is eye catching. My Uncle Bret can probably help you pick out a great pair as he is a gentleman’s lounge connoisseur. I’ve always thought plastic surgeons have a teensy bit of perversion running through their veins. I suppose that’s necessary. After all, you want a doctor who knows what he’s working with. Prior to them attending med school, I feel certain they were all fraternity boys. Not just any frat either. I’m referring to the ones with stripper poles in the common area and who are considered ‘regulars’ at Sugars on Campus Corner. In college, these men were repulsive to me. Now, I realize they were only becoming acquainted with the cosmetic surgery industry.
I need to cast myself in the realm of those who intend to pursue a medical doctorate, but haven’t yet completed the courses to attain the credentials. Don’t get excited Mom, I’m not going to med school. I can’t even balance my checkbook, much less calculate the length of incision for open hurt surgery. I do retain to the write to practice open heart surgery on a certain someone from my past, with a butter knife. Instead, what I am referring to is my venture to join the Suzie Homemaking club. People spend years baking, cooking, and serving before they arrive at this ultimate destination. Me, oh my, I’ve not even begun the initiation process. Patience, you see, is not my virtue though. That’s why I jumped straight into the ‘triple bypass surgery’ of cooking; SUSHI.
I travelled from Edgewood to Fort Worth (my favorite city in Texas) to purchase ingredients that they don’t teach us to spell here in east, TX. Nori (more commonly known as sea weed), sushi rice, sushi vinegar, and other Asian inspired delicacies were there waiting when I arrived to Central Market (Suzie Homemaking freaking Heaving).
I knew it was going to be a feat. I was already prepared for lost time, wasted money, and huge mess when this disaster was finished. Dark forces were prevalent on this oh, so important day in my summer journey. It became evident that the world was working against me when I had the idea to cook the sushi for someone else. Now, not only would my domesticity take a severe blow, but I would have an audience for my misery.
I decided I should attend culinary school before I began the project. By culinary school, I’m referring to You Tube. I learned that the rice was key. I was prepared to count every grain of salt to ensure ultimate success in making sushi rice. I didn’t have to though. After more than one hour, my sushi rice was prepared in sheer perfection. My fairy godmother must have been sitting on my shoulder. I know something magical must have taken place, similar to the children’s movie Ratatouille, because I’m no fool. I know my limitations, and I know I’m incapable of concocting such perfect sushi rice. Nonetheless, I’m also a little bit shady, and I had decided, without second thought, that I would take full credit.
The rest was easy like Sunday morning. I can scorch a bowl of oatmeal, but I can roll some killer sushi. Kudos to me. Summer project #4, I rocked it and my domestic value is sky rocketing.
Lesson Learned: Workout double to avoid getting a sushi roll, trust me that it is NOT hot… especially not hotter than wasabi.
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