@4#*$!

As many of my friends will tell you, I love profanity. I curse like a sailor. In fact, pirates have nothing on me. Here's the reason, I genuinely love cursing. As an English major, I am in a constant love affair with words, from poetry and 'high-brow" literature to dialects and made-up words (aka real words that Webster hasn't approved of yet, such as puddlejumpers (rain boots).

A lot of people tell me that using profanity makes me sound ignorant and tacky. Maybe it does. Whatever. I am capable of employing scholarly diction alongside the educated individuals of modern day civilization/society. It's not difficult to crack open a thesaurus. However, it takes a true word lover to pull off cussing.

My favorite word in the English language is the F-bomb. (Unfortunately, I gave up all of these words as a part of Lent, a religious custom that I celebrate, so I will only be alluding to them in this post) It can be used as any part of speech, the best a word chameleon. Amazing. ****ing amzing. Everything sounds more powerful with a nice F bomb in front of it.  And sometimes, when you stub your toe or spill coffee on your laptop (like I just did), a perfectly uttered/scoffed piece of profanity can be a beautiful thing. Deep down, I truly believe that swearing upon one of these instances can decrease the pain of the event.

Basically, as long as you use these words in their proper context (i.e. not in front of an employer or young child), and not to hurt anyone else, I say, go for it (Unless, of course, someone really screws you over. In that case, release the cursing kraken!).

Thankfully, at the end of March, I will once again regain my ability to use the amazing words as often as I please and the situation will allow.

Have a *$&#@ awesome day!

Tuesdays and Tattoos

     As an education major (I can feel the 'dumb' stereotypes pelting me as I type) and part of my school's education major learning community, I am forced to attend something called seminar, which I call suckinar due to the fact that it takes place on Tuesday nights and consists of mainly early childhood and special education major who overdose on Disney princesses and musicals.
     Thankfully, I have a few saving graces. One is my little, AJ, who is a high school English education major like myself, who talks tattoos and Tennyson and has the same all-time favorite song, Miss American Pie.

     We were talking tattoos again, with me debating on whether or not I relate with Plato's Allegory of the Cave enough to carry permanently on my spine. Since, if anyone is actually taking time out of their day to read this post, they are probably not going to want to read an entire Plato piece, here is the rundown: people live in a cave, chained to a wall, with their only entertainment being the shadows cast on the walls in front of them, which become their reality, and they think that this is all their is to life. Moral of the allegory, people think that they have learned everything, but in reality, there is so much more to know than any individual person can ever really harness, which is maddening if you think about it for too long like I do on occasion. However, it probably wouldn't hurt to have a reminder that no, I do not know everything, not even close.