Dear Future Me

So, a little while ago, I was going through some of my old stuff when I came across something interesting: a letter addressed to myself. It said "Open in 2012."

I thought for a second, and then I remembered. Back about five years or so ago, my high school made me and a bunch of other kids write letters to ourselves. It was one of those experimental programs that made you set goals and had pillars of excellence or some other type of educational mumbo-jumbo that sounds good on paper.

I was impatient and decided to open the letter and read it right then:

Dear Future me,


I thought, "Wow, it's like I'm hearing a voice crying from the dust--a specter from the past speaking from beyond the grave!"

Well, I really don't want to write this. I think this class is pretty stupid. In order to fill out more time and make it look like I'm busy, let's talk about stuff that's just as meaningless as this class.

So last night I was watching Heroes. Do you remember that show? It was a pretty good episode. I like that TV series a lot right now.

"Oh yeah, I do remember that show. I used to love that show!"

"Too bad it only had one good season and then got canceled while I was on a mission."

For those that didn't know, I am a Mormon, so I did that whole two-year mission deal. I left college after freshmen year to go preach the gospel to people across the southern United States. Yes, it doesn't make any sense to do professionally.  I had to go through the process of putting a scholarship on hold, and play catch up on all the stuff I had forgotten during those two years. 

But if I could go back, would I change my decision? Not a chance.

In the end, I realized the financially responsible thing to do would be to go to a school that didn't cost an arm and a leg. I ended up never applying, even though the school sent me a couple of letters. I think my counselor was slightly disappointed.

Ouch.

You Know You've Made It When. . .

On the day that I posted "One Whole Year of Being An RM!" my dad read it and liked it.  So he texted about it to my lil' brother.

That's right--I just added shading to that iPhone display in paint.  No big deal.

Unfortunately, my dad didn't realize that my brother was in school at the moment (seriously, what kind of teen is in a classroom on a weekday?).

He also didn't remember that the high school we go to has a very strict no-cellphone policy.

Five minutes later. . . .

Yeah, I'm pretty much famous now.

Cute

Recently, I found an old gem kept away in a box in my apartment:

That is a wallet size portrait of me as a senior in high school.  <shudders>  I'm not exactly sure what look I was going for here, but there are so many things I dislike about this photo--the dorky haircut, the goofy smile, the ill-fitting clothes. . . and most importantly--the fact that I look like I'm twelve! Because of a medical condition I have, my growth was stunted from eighth grade through high school graduation. I'll probably tell that whole story in a future post when I feel like it.

However, I did get older and age during my freshman year of college at BYU, and almost exactly two years later, this photo was taken:

This is my missionary picture, taken at the end of summer, 2008.  I'm wearing slicker clothes and a less goofy smile, and I think I've graduated from looking like I'm twelve to looking like I'm maybe 13 and a half.

Anyway, I'm sharing these photos because of something that I've noticed over the years:  Whenever I hear opinions about how I look from someone else, it usually involves the word 'cute'--my favorite adjective ever!  

 In case you couldn't tell, I typed that with sarcasm on my cute notebook computer on my desk with my cute purple mini-stapler on it while wearing cute clothes.

Now don't get me wrong here--I'm happy whenever someone offers any compliment.  Ecstatic, even.  I recognize that being called cute is not a bad thing.  But I get this feeling that whenever a girl says "you're so cute!"--they aren't talking about the Matt Damon kind of cute:

Because I don't have those deep, baby-blue eyes that Mr. Damon does. 

And I'm pretty sure they aren't even talking Justin Bieber cute:

He even looks cute when he's trying to look like a thug.

Because if I was Justin Bieber cute, then where are all the screaming girls following me everywhere?  Nope, I got none of that.  Dangit. Instead, I have this sinking feeling that they're thinking 'David-After-Dentist' cute. . .

Notice that there are no exclamation marks or pink hearts here.

Now maybe you're saying I'm being over-dramatic here and making a mountain out of a molehill, but let's look at this from a logical standpoint:

Exhibit A: Doing a Google image search for the word "cute."
I found a cornucopia of different pictures, but they definitely had a common theme.  Can you tell what it is?

All together now:  "Awwwww. . . . . "

Yeah, that is definitely NOT the look I'm going for.

Exhibit B: The definition of 'cute' at dictionary.com.
–adjective

1. attractive, especially in a dainty way; pleasingly pretty: a cute child; a cute little apartment.

Okay, so never mind that this first definition uses the words "pretty," "child," or "little" in its definition.  Let's focus on the word "dainty."  I read the definition for that online, and this is what I got:

"Dainty lace handkerchief" is NOT the look I'm going for!

The second definition didn't help my case very much either: 

2. affectedly or mincingly pretty or clever; precious: The child has acquired some intolerably cute mannerisms.

That pretty much cemented my "David-After-Dentist" theory.  Once again, notice the use of the words "pretty," "precious," and "child" in the definition.  Then do a Google image search for those three words and see what you get. 

I'll give you a hint: it's not Matt Damon.

*Quick disclaimer:: I am not fishing for compliments or having self-image issues, I'm just writing stuff that I think might be funny when I should be going to sleep or studying for finals.