RA of my Dreams

It's recently come to my attention how awesome (some) of my friends are.  Not that they aren't all awesome in their own right, but there are a few who have managed, in their two plus decades on this earth to find something they love and stick to it and use it to better themselves and allow it to create opportunities for them.  A lot of my boys are all graphic designers.  While this in my mind is not something exponentially awesome, it does allow most of them (the graduated ones) to work from home in their pajamas as gross as most of their college days.  One even brags of how he pulls off the classy upperhalf, pajama bottomhalf for videochat meetings.  However, there are the few, the ones who understand what it is they want out of life and go and make it happen. 
My freshman year of college in Vermont, I was privileged enough to have one of the most epic human beings for one very cold semester as my RA.  I knew right away that our friendship was something special.  He and I would often meet in the common room to drink our tea and exchange embarrassing stories.  They always tended to focus around embarrassingly excreting some sort of bodily something-or-other stories, and what strikes me odd about this, is we never seemed to run out of these types of tales.  I was the first resident of our dorm who he smoked pot with. And oh what a magical burn cruise that was.  I would gladly brave the -32° on the walk back all over again. 
Unfortunately, we don't keep in touch much, and whenever we were both in Burlington, we managed to meet up at a party, hug, exchange stories and witty banter, then separate to get shitty with our own little personal groups of friends.
But why I give you back story, is that even though he and I aren't so close anymore, I've followed all the work he has done since graduating.
He's successfully ridden a moped cross country, videoing and photographing the whole thing.  He's traveled all over, documenting every aspect of everything around him.
Now, there are many people who do this.  (Not the moped thing, obviously.  That takes balls and a bit of crazy.) They travel and take videos and photos and bring them back and share them.  Yet there is always a lack-luster.  A disclaimer inevitably follows anything they show you "You should have been there!"
There's nothing wrong with this.  I do it myself quite frequently.
Yet my RA, he manages to bring you with him.  His photos reveal a beauty that I don't think is actually visible during the taking.  His aren't the 'it's better in person' kind of photos.  His are the "I don't know if I actually need to go there and see this because I feel like I already have" kind. 
It takes an eye and a talent, and most importantly a passion, to share your TRUE vision of life with the world, and I think it should be acknowledged, praised, glorified and even smoked-up to, when it happens.
So here's to you, RA of my dreams. 
You live the life I dream of, with a passion I could not hope to fathom.  And you do it earnestly and modestly.
TAKE ME WITH YOU.

Why do they always say "We Got Lucky"?

Today, after my first official day at work (don't get too excited dear reader(s), it's at a deli) I arrived home excited to kick up, relax, eat some hard deserved breakfast (at 2pm) and enjoy myself.  However, after a frantic knock at the door, I was informed that my car was on fire.
Lo and Behold, it was.  I dialed the dreaded digits 9-1-1 (and yes, I did have to ask "who do i call?!?!?!") and waited the years it took for fire trucks to arrive.
At this point, my car is engulfed in smoke, flames are shooting out from under the bonnet (the hood for all you American types) and the fence around where my car is parked is only fueling the fire.  All the while, the neighbors are standing around, taking photos with their snazzy new i-phones and pointing out my misery.  (That's right all you motherfucking Sparta snobs, laugh it up.)
Meanwhile, all I can think about is how the fire is going to spread the 1 foot gap between my car and my garage and obliterate the house my mother and stepfather have recently renovated thus leaving us homeless.
ADRENALINE.  i was outside standing in the snow for 45 minutes barefoot just watching my car slowly melt.
Later, after the fire department told me it wasn't as bad as it seemed, and that the damage to the house was minimal if anything (needless to say the car was fucking totaled) my stepfather and mother and I pow-wowed around the kitchen island discussing the events of the day.
The phrase that resonated with me most was how they both agreed "We got lucky!"
Yes, I agree, things could have been atrociously worse, I could have been in the car when it spontaneously combusted (and yes folks, during the fire there were two mini-explosions and I did let two, freakishly girly screams escape my being), the house could have been burned to the ground, the neighbors' homes could have gone as well... etc. etc.  yup. it could have been extremely bad.
But in my book, your car catching fire is not "lucky"
Lucky is when you have an uneventful day, get to relax after a hard day at work and enjoy the simple things.
I promise you, tomorrow, I will enjoy all the luck I can.

And now for something sure to make you feel a little awkward...

Alright.  So.  I have a boyfriend.  (Don't even get me started on how strange a statement that is for me to make.  6 years of singledom just flew out the window.)  And this boyfriend, we're gonna call him Russia, (yup. you guessed it, he was born and raised in Russia) well, Russia, like most other non-American men has not been circumcised. Now, this doesn't bother me. I lived in Italy for two-ish years and dated my fare share of uncircumcised men, and I'm also a bit of a naturalist and believe we should not alter how we were created - at least not to the point of mutilation.
There have been news stories about women in third-world countries who are abused and subjected to clitoral circumcision and it disgusts us more 'refined' folk.  Yet we, in good conscience, decide that all little boys with the misfortune of being born should have a little bit of extra skin hacked off of their teeny tiny little innocent penises.  (penii? what the hell is plural of penis?)  I'm sorry.  THAT IS DISGUSTING.  We claim it's for cleanliness.  Can't you take an extra 2 seconds to clean the folds of your child's genitalia?  Parents do it for little girls.  And when that little extra-skinned boy gets older TEACH HIM TO CLEAN HIS SHIT ON HIS OWN!!!  honestly.  people's stupidity just baffles me.  Circumcision is penile mutilation, yet it's a common practice (thanks to the Jews.  I've been to my fair share of briss' thanks to the the faith of my mother's side of the family, and let me tell you, that is NOT something to be celebrated.) and that somehow makes it okay.
LONG LIVE FORE-SKIN AND OVERLY SENSITIVE MALE GENITALIA.
That is all.  And if I ever have a son, you can damn sure assume his dick is not gettin' snipped.