When I'm An Adult

Let's just assume this whole post is accompanied by a soundtrack
so Jewish it pleases my Yiddish grandmother.

Yesterday was "Homemade Tomato Sauce Day," and–like all things I hype on Facebook, failed so spectacularly that I am aghast at the sheer lack of quality of it all.

I really thought I couldn't ruin this too terribly.

1) Place ten skinned, crushed roma tomatoes in a crockpot with 1/4 cup olive oil, half a small diced onion, a couple garlic cloves, a pinch of cinnamon, and 1 tsp. each basil, oregano, salt, pepper, and Cheyenne.

2) Cook on low 1-15 hours.

That's it. No fuss.

No. Fuss. After 3 hours I could tell something was wrong since the spices were burning. I mixed them in, but to no avail. Over the course of the day I encountered only an increasingly brown and blackened paste that smelled strongly of over-spiced bruschetta. After eight hours I just gave up. My best guess is the slow cooker was too big, meaning instead of stewing the tomatoes just kind of heaped in a corner while the liquid boiled off and the spices turned to charcoal in the recesses of the pot. The taste I had burned with spice violently. It looked more like undercooked meat than overcooked fruits.

All things ruined, I gave up on life and window-shopped for expensive nerd toys I can't own, which led to a solid quarter-life crisis.

Things I Will Buy When I Am An Adult:

• A custom Force FX lightsaber
• Movie-accurate fitted Jedi costume with belt and boots
• A new new car. I get to drive it off the lot and everything.
• A bed with a headboard
• More book shelves
• A spice rack I can't tear off the wall and heave across the kitchen in despair