Only Skin Deep

Truth be told, I never understood the saying, 'Beauty Is Only Skin Deep'. On a literal level, it isn't even true. Do people truly find what comprises the human body ugly? Because I think it is a most beautiful thing. Gorgeous. Complex. And stunning.

When people think of our insides blood comes to mind. But when did blood become such an ugly thing? Is blood not life? Technically, living without it would be fairly difficult. Here are some red blood cells. Now, tell me they aren't eyeball pleasing:

Break down the body and what do you have? A heart that pumps blood to all the organs. Lungs that keep cells alive with oxygen while releasing carbon monoxide. Organs that work harmoniously together. The brain that has a unique synergy with the rest of the body. All of this action happens inside us, ever minute of every day, and we don't even think about it. We draw a breath. Our hearts beat. Limbs move. And all without a second thought, but apparently, this isn't beautiful?

I beg to differ, check out this Fallopian tube.

And, if we look past the literalness of the saying and only consider it figuratively, then the statement is still false. Some of our most beautiful parts are below our skin. Compassion, forgiveness, hope, trust, understanding, peace, faith and love - are these all not beautiful things that exist inside us? Beneath our skin? Are they not comprise a beautiful human being?

I suppose not. In a broad sense, when we think about beauty we think about the lushness of one's hair, wideness of the eyes, fullness of lips and smoothness of complexion. Weight, height, breast size - these also go into making someone attractive. At least in magazines and movies. Could you imagine how different the world would be if we only based beauty on a person's ideas, thoughts, morals, and actions?

Random acts of kindness would triple. Or quadruple. Magazines would run articles about how to achieve people's moral compass instead of their bouncy hair.

Or what if we based if off how healthy their organs were?

Everyone would stop smoking.

In the end, beauty isn't only skin deep. In fact, it's not until you go past the skin that you really start to see the real beauty of most people. At least, that's why people are beautiful to me, their likes and dislikes, hopes and dreams, ability to love. I love debunking silly sayings. But really, Dwight said it better:

March On In

Thank goodness we got through February.

Let me tell you, that month was not good to me. Mostly a lot of financial stress.

Still, I am grateful to see March and hope things will go more smoothly for the next thirty-one days.

Fingers crossed!

Just Beecause Cowl

Last night, I put the finishing touches on my latest knitting project. This beautiful black and yellow cowl.

The yarn was given to me by an exotic princess of darkness named Adrianne and was this fluffy lushness that I most definitely had to knit something for myself with. But, I decided, I didn't want to do just any old cowl, so I made up my own pattern and am calling it the Just Beecause Cowl. Beecause because it is a gorgeous black and yellow that were meant to be together forever, in cowl form.

For those looking for the pattern it is really very simple and is right here:

Just Beecause Cowl

I crafted this on size 11 (or 8mm) circular needles and used bulky yarn. Honestly, I can't tell you the name of the yarn because I tossed the tags out. Sorry! You can adjust the needls and yarn accordingly, but just ensure you CO with a number that is divisible by 4 and 3, and also even when divided by 4. Does that make sense? It's because of

CO 144 in colour A and join in the round and place marker.
Row 1 - Knit
Row 2 - *K1, k2tog, yo* repeat to end
Row 3 - Knit
Row 4 - *K1, yo, k2tog* repeat to end
Row 5 - Knit
Row 6 - *K1, k2tog, yo* repeat to end
Row 7 - Knit
Row 8 - *K1, yo, k2tog* repeat to end
Row 9 - Knit
Row 10 - *K1, k2tog, yo* repeat to end
Row 11 - Knit
Row 12 - *K1, yo, k2tog* repeat to end
Row 13 - Knit
Change to colour B
Row 14 - Knit
Row 13-16 - *K4, P4* repeat to end
Row 17-20 - *P4, K4* repeat to end
Row 21-24 - *K4, P4* repeat to end
Row 25-28 - *P4, K4* repeat to end
Row 29-32 - *K4, P4* repeat to end
Row 33-36 - *P4, K4* repeat to end
Row 37 - Knit
Switch to colour A
Row 38 - Knit
Row 39 - *K1, k2tog, yo* repeat to end
Row 40 - Knit
Row 41 - *K1, yo, k2tog* repeat to end
Row 42 - Knit
Row 43 - *K1, k2tog, yo* repeat to end
Row 44 - Knit
Row 45 - *K1, yo, k2tog* repeat to end
Row 46 - Knit
Row 47 - *K1, k2tog, yo* repeat to end
Row 48 - Knit
Row 49 - *K1, yo, k2tog* repeat to end
Row 50 - Knit

Bind Off loosely. Weave in Ends. Block as necessary.

The brilliant part of this pattern is that it is more like a potion and you can change it as necessary. If you only want to do one colour, only do one colour. If you want to do more checks in the middle, do more checks in the middle. If you want to do one row black, the other yellow, feel free. This pattern is adaptable to suit your needs, wants and desires. Do as what pleases you.

Just a little note. I hate blocking, I rarely ever do it, I would rather allow the cowl to curl up and be fabulous.

And here is where I say, I am grateful I have a firm enough grasp of pattern making to understand how to put this cowl together. I love the way it turned out, and it is functional and fashionable. Keeps me warm, and reminds me of our greatest friends, the bees.

Parental Units

When I was a little girl, I loved my parents. I wanted nothing more than to make them proud. For them to take notice of the things I did and give me a little pat on the back. Even as I got older, I wanted them to be happy with who I was. Even when I went through my darkest days and just wanted to scream at them to 'fuck right off' and 'leave me alone'. As I told the world I didn't give a shit what anyone thought of me, I wanted my parents to believe in me, to think I'd make it through and come out the other side stronger and awesomer.

To this day, I don't want them to be disappointed in me. As a fully grown adult, who still feels like a lost child sometimes, I long for parental acceptance and guidance. I want them to be proud. And I wonder if how I've turned out has done right by them, minus the piercings.  Luckily, I've never been to jail. Some people might laugh and think I am joking around, but I'm not. The fact that I haven't gotten arrested does set me apart from a couple of my siblings.

The thing about growing up is, it's hard. Bad things happen. People make mistakes. Everything feels so messed up and weird. Honestly, I wasn't sure I stood a chance at all. The truth is, life very rarely is easy. As I got older, I self doubted, self criticized, and generally felt thrust in the middle of madness, not sure what I was doing and why things were happening.

It wasn't until I moved out of my parents house that I realized they were probably just as confused and uncertain as I was. That they made mistakes alright, but so did I. They had hopes and dreams, just like me, and I bet they even wanted me to be proud of them. It wasn't easy for them. They had it hard too. I mean, six kids? Yeah, that's a headache just to think about. I have zero kids and life is, at times, financially, mentally and emotionally exhausting.  

You don't think about those things when you are a teenager. When you're a teenager you are a selfish, inwardly focused individual and you hold things against everyone you encounter. The jerk two grades older than you who asked if you were a boy. Your idiotic computer science teacher who sent you to the principal's office before you even made it to class. The best friend who you thought was on your side, until a boy was involved. And more than everyone else, your parents. It doesn't matter what they did. If they smothered you with love, coddled you, hit you with a wooden spoon, called you names, or fell asleep during one of your plays, you hold it against them, blame them for your shortcomings. Everything messed up in your life ends up being a direct result of the coddling, neglect, anger, love, fear, and unrealistic demands they placed on you. 

At least, that's what you think when you're a dumb fourteen year old. Or an even dumber sixteen year old. Heck, sometimes those feelings of resentment, hurt and bitterness leech over into your twenties. Sometimes your thirties. Sometimes you never learn how to forgive. Sometimes you never step back and see your parents as human beings just trying to make it through another day. Sometimes you don't come to terms with your own dickheadedness. And sometimes you don't figure out that, like yourself, parents grow up and change. They learn. They hurt. They fake it until they make it. They don't have all the answers. And they have a lot of questions. 

Luckily, I learned my parents were people a long, long time ago. I see them as these awesome, confounding, brilliant individuals. They make me laugh. They make me feel loved. They make me happy. I am proud of them. Proud they are these crazy, wonderful, gentle, kind, amazing people who each  gave me parts of themselves. Without them, I wouldn't be this crazy, wonderful, gentle, kind, amazing girl - the one I am still figuring out. 

Simply put, I am grateful I got over my shit. That I grew up and realized life is too short to hold grudges, especially against the people who gave me so much. And I am not talking about food, a roof over my head and clothes. I am talking about my laugh, my nose that I think is a bit too big, these ample hips and busty bust, the curls in my hair and love of creatures of all sizes. I am grateful for the life they gave me, even if it hasn't been easy. Because it's been life.  

Beastly

Remember that movie adaptation of Beauty and the Beast called Beastly with Alex Pettyfer and Vanessa Hudgens and it was set in High School and Mary-Kate Olsen was the witch who cursed the spoiled rich boy?

Well, this isn't about that film. Though, if I was forced to admit it, I actually kind of liked the movie. It is what it is - teenage tripe. But like Gossip Girl and Vampire Diaries, there's something to be enjoyed in the shallow depths of the shiny, pretty things. Even if you don't want to say it aloud, for fear it will be the one fact everyone remembers, it's entertaining.

But, like I said. This isn't about Beastly - the movie. It's about Beastly - the state of mind.

Don't you hate it when you wake up and feel beastly. The beast of all beasts. As if the only fitting task would be to tear apart your west wing, smash all the mirrors and sit there brooding over the fact that no one will ever truly love a beast. Of course it's melodramatic and completely unsubstantiated, but in the moment, you want to just lock up your castle and never see anyone ever again. And, on the off chance someone does stumble upon your dwelling, you will toss them in the dungeon. Ha! That will teach them to sell Girl Guide cookies door-to-door. Give me all the thin mints and get in your cell!

This actually sparks a very questionable query. Why was it okay for the Beast to lock Belle's father in the dungeon? Isn't that some sort of form of kidnapping? Or, at the very least, false imprisonment? I mean, he knocked. He called out. Twice, in fact. Still, down to the dungeons with you, old man! And, if anything, shouldn't the enchanted servants take some of the blame? If not all of them, then at least Lumiere!

I regress.

The beastly days are the hardest. They come without warning, or sometimes with warning because you ate a pound of candy the night before, and they set your day off on the wrong foot. On these days, it is the hardest to look presentable. If you have a job that you work from home or at an office where you don't have to interact with the general public, you can squeak by in comfy pants and a hat, and silently wish for the day to end swiftly. This isn't the case when you engage with others and on the off chance you are SUPPOSED to look at the very least decent, it can be a daunting task. Like putting lipstick on a pig.

It gets even worse too. No matter what I wear, I am uncomfortable. It isn't my clothes, either. It's my skin. I am uncomfortable in my body. So, I try to put a little more effort in on the days I wake up in a self conscious puddle of raw emotions and unrealistic expectations of myself. Honestly, that effort tends not to pay off. I only end up feeling as if my time and energy are wasted. That I am foolish for even trying. That I would have been better off cutting holes in a burlap sack and wearing a Halloween mask.

Yes, I know this seems harsh. And, sure, it probably has something to do with the hormones. I hear estrogen is a wicked bitch. Still, once in a blue moon, these days come along. Like yesterday and, if I am being honest, which I so often insist on doing, I am still feeling residual affects today. Here's the truth of the matter:

No amount of pretty dresses, hair combing or makeup can change a Beastly day into a Belle one.  

Those are the facts. In the end, I just try to fake it until I make it through. Or make it to the weekend so I can wear oversized sweaters and no pants. Whichever comes sooner. Something funny did come of this. I told my Sidekick that I felt beastly and he told me I was, "The most beautiful beast of them all." Yeah, I cry laughed over that. It's hilarious, but still cut me a bit.

Crap, I have to add something I am grateful for on here. Ugh. Well, I am happy I can step back and know my beastly feelings are irrational, to a degree. And that I probably don't look as bad as I think I do.