Happy Fourth of July and then some! I hope all of you working folks enjoyed the long weekend and are appreciative that you only have a four-day week to tackle.  Mr or Mrs Worker, what does this feel like? I’d really like to know. Which brings me to this first piece of infomation:

Did you know that a lot of government organizations have to post jobs online even if they already have a person lined up to fill the position? This means that about 85 thousand of my last 2.7 million or however-many-cover-letters-I-have-written- had a zero chance of being read before I wrote them. Well……..that’s cool.

In other news. Casey Anthony? That one threw me for a loop, maybe even two. Still, the fault doesn’t lie with the jury, but our judicial system as a whole. The jury is told to convict “without a reasonable doubt”; she probably killed her kid, but the prosecution didn’t establish their case well enough.  But I just have to think, what if Casey was a black male? She’d probably already be in jail.

Also, “diarrhea” is a very hard word to spell. I had to look that up just now.  I also had a tough time with “restaurant” until I started taking French in 7th grade. “Restaurant” is spelled the same way en francais; leave it to learning a foreign language to force you to learn how to spell in your own.

Why do raspberries come in the smallest containers? 

You can make a lot of money working at a restaurant. Unfortunately, working at a restaurant is also one of the most awful jobs on the planet.  I’ve realized that working in an environment that I strongly dislike doesn’t just take away my time, it takes away …me. I become an angry person when people yell at me for steaks too pink, lobsters too messy, crab salads too small. I’m sorry there is too much vermouth in your martini, you said extra dry. Bread doesn’t always have to be warm. 

Are a lot of these statements & questions spiteful? Lets fix this.

I have great friends. I hope you do, too. I’m sure you do.  Here are two of mine:

Left: Me and Ali. 4th of July. We went back to her apartment to drunkingly “rest up” after our Turkish bartender gave us free bloody mary’s, along with giving me his business card (Is this still a thing?). Perhaps the key to love is going after the ones that barely speak English. 

Right: Me and Nic.  Yep, I’m in both of  my “these are my friends!” pictures. It’s my blog, I can do what I want. If you’re a COiA reader, you know Nicole.  It’s a classic candid; we’re obviously talking about something important, maybe even conflicting.

Lastly, have you been to the Hungarian Pastry Shop on 111th and Amsterdam?  You should go. Pictured is a Hungarian Coffee (coffee, almond extract, whipped cream, and cinnamon) and an almond horn. So Good. Eaten across from a best friend with a Russian Coffee and fresh crossiant, Even Better.