Why do tomato-based sauces comfort me so much?

I always forget how tired working full-time makes me. Let’s take today as a ‘for instance.’ After a day/night of utterly emotion draining activities (the Browns lost) I woke up this morning and scrambled to get ready. I should note that I list myself among the world’s top 50 worst morning people. Getting out of bed every morning challenges me more than most people’s relationship with their parents. My parents are great. My mornings are vicious. So after the heroic effort I put into just crawling out of my queen sized cube of love, I was seriously annoyed to find that I had sliced my pinky toe wide open. Honestly, who does that?

In the small pool of blood gathering at my right foot I could see my fatigued face. No, I couldn’t, but that was probably the only good thing that had happened so far because I don’t look that great when I’m fatigued. After mopping up most of the runoff, I threw a Band Aid on and shoved my foot in one of my tighter shoes, hoping the principle of how bandages work would apply to stilettos. I apologized to my roommate for ruining her cashmere sweater that had been lying at the foot of the bed and had become my impromptu mop (I’m not that big of a bitch, it was hidden underneath my shoes and already had gotten a torrent of blood on it before I realized what happened).

Once in the office, as usual, time went pretty quickly. I know this is the second piece in a row with the tone of “whine” but I will take a break to acknowledge that I am really lucky to have a job I love. Still, the learning curve of a new job takes a toll and by 7:30 or 8 my head hurt so badly I had to finally call it a day. Or maybe it was the effort of staying warm since no one can figure out how to work the heater in the building. It’s not a very traditional workspace.

Also – I saw Andy Roddick’s fiancée, Brooklyn Decker (ironic!), in the office today. I was, frankly, a little disappointed when I realized who she was. The only reason I put it together at all was because the designer that’s using her in a campaign was complaining about Brooklyn having bad skin and rationalized the extra photoshopping work with the fact that she’s kind of famous. Still, self-esteem dictates that I still had to self-loathe for about a half-hour after finding out a really hot girl came into the office, even though said hotness might be more digital than I previously realized. Self-loathing/fighting the urge to self-loath is tiring too!

What the hell does this have to do with tomato sauce? Well after finally arriving at my apt around 8:45 pm, all I wanted was chili. Or spaghetti. Or spaghetti with faux-meatballs. Or lasagna. I did end up going with the chili inclination, but any of the options above would have worked. I don’t know why, and this isn’t the first night this has occurred. I’ve been boiling so many noodles Dr. Atkins is rolling in his grave. Spices, shredded cheese, and sour cream call to me more than I ever knew they could – as long as they are surrounded by piles of the sweet acidity of crushed tomatoes.

As I’ve never seen a Dr. Phil on this topic, I’m at a bit of a lost for an explanation. So I’ll just eat my left-over chili all week and tie-off when it’s time for another hit of those red spheres of goodness. Any tomato recipes, please pass them my way. And if you’re standing in front of my spaghetti, get out of my way.