Cutesy (my seventh level of hell)

I tried to write this post before. And then I promptly messed up and erased the whole thing. yaayyy technology. So this will not be nearly as eloquent as the one before. (just use your imagination k?)

But. A quick summary.

Cute = throw up in my mouth a little bit.

It's a great word when I want a generic lazy description. But heaven forbid it should ever describe me.

Why? Because I've come to associate it with general gushing and things nauseatingly adorable. Sometimes I feel like girls strive to be nothing other than cute. Depth is not important, just as long as it looks good. Cute is precious, but completely inept. There's no real value or gain.

This sounds harsh, and may admittedly be a long overdue reaction to years of being "cute." Thank you freud. I blame it chubby cheeks, baby fat, and a tendency to look a solid five years younger than I actually am.

I would much rather be intelligent, useful, hard working, loving, gentle, creative, determined, strong, thoughtful, or pretty much anything else. But cute?

Shoot me.

This being said...

The picture above is of a bunch of birthday cards that I made for residents in my dorm.

As an RA of mostly freshman girls, I remembered how lonely my first birthday away from home was, so I've tried to make theirs a little more special. I make the cards and have all the other residents sign. Then we sing and have cake and give the card to the birthday gal.

And while I've tried to leave out the pink lace and excessive exclamation points (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! u r sooo cute!!!!!!!! we love u sooooooooo much!!!!!!!!!!) these homemade cards could very well be described as... gulp... cute.

*shudder*

I tried not to be. I fought it. I resisted. But with a limited spending budget celebration gets a little creative. It was forced on me. I'm not adorable by choice.

Now excuse me while I go giggle and overedit pictures and spread sunshine and do everything short of pooping bows and glitter.