I haven't had to think about you in awhile. Maybe it was the graduation caps, the football stands, or the way the summer air hits the back of my neck. I saw kids walking, grabbing their diplomas, excitement in their hands knowing that this was just the start of it.

The start of growing up, moving on to newer greater things. A fresh new start that was going to be ahead. No one would know me, no one would know the pain I had, a clean slate.

I glance around me seeing curly hair sneaking under different graduation caps, remembering how your hair would sneak out of the caps from swim meets. You would sit next to me in the stands, goosebumps from the cold air. Just thinking about it gave me goosebumps sitting on the stands outside in 90 degree weather.

No one knows where they are going, what their life is going to take them. All these ambitious children, with their dreams cascading from their pockets. And I wonder, was graduation like that for you?

Sitting on the chairs in the field, eyeing your parents in the stand, waving frantically making sure you know where to look when coming off the stage so they can take your picture a thousand times. The sweat dripping from the crease in your knees, the sun bearing down making the graduation gown feel like the foil suits people use to work out. Everything you had worked for, the heartbreaks, the endless hours of practice, and the nights where you sat in your room crying. This was it, a new life awaiting.

Crossing the stage, the diploma. The diploma saying you made it this far. Only a piece of paper with a copied signature from the principal who doesn't even know your name. He gives you a handshake as you walk down the stage, heart beating as you don't want to embarrass yourself but looking too happy, or not too not happy, just the perfect look.

And the tassle is moved to the side. I wonder what it was like for you. I look around the graduates, hoping to see someone like you so I can pull you aside and say,

I love you.

So many times I have been told in a nice way, "Good luck dear sailing into the land of 'your never gonna fucking make it' 'I am gonna tell you I told you so' don't come to me asking to turn the clock back" kind of way. There are times where they were right and maybe I should have taken the narrow way, but the people that are telling me this should know that I have NEVER taken the straight and narrow.

Since a child I have fought, screamed and been a total you know what when told I should go one way. I was told as a child sitting my bare butt on the doctors table that the shot was going to go in my butt and that it wouldn't hurt. I yelled, well, screeched like a chimpanzee whose banana was taken away and ran down the hallway butt naked saying I was not going to get a shot in the butt. I ended up getting it in my arm and yes it hurt like hell but I did it my way.

So why now do I have to turn and do it the way some people think I should. I didn't listen to my father when he told me to not have sex with my boyfriend, which in turn sent me to a boarding school that changed my life into me wanting to help abused and neglected kids. I cursed and yelled and called my mom horrid names as a teenager but have the best relationship now where I can be honest and call her best friend.

I do it my own way and as much as it looks like a picasso painting, when you step back and look at the entire canvas, the work that has been done is quite simply put, a masterpiece.                  

I never noticed how much I don't pay attention to things as I found out today by lying by the pool. Besides noticing the heat and the sweat that was forming in places I never knew should sweat, like the back of my knees, I noticed the clouds. I had always heard about people watching the clouds take shapes but I sat there, frying like a chicken totally mesmerized by one.

I remember drawing clouds as a child. A circle with lumps, camel back ridges, balloons in a white trash bag. I looked at the clouds today and it was unlike any of the pictures I had drawn. Whips of something, kind of like cotton candy. Silk hair that is used during Christmas time to house the Village People, my mother always warning me to not play with it because it was glass woven into silk and it could cut me. These clouds wouldn't though, like a puff of cold air that comes out of your mouth, pretending to be cool as a child and pretend I was smoking.

I tried to think what they would feel like. A cool breeze that surrounds your neck leaving trails of goosebumps. The way at restaurants where there are misters outside, that when you walk under is refreshing and tingling to your skin. The feel of the "soft" sand on the beach. The way worn out sheets tender and so soft.

When I looked at the details of the cloud it was ever changing. Different parts moved and then vanished but when looking at the entire mass the shape seemed to stay the same. The cloud moved over the sun, the dark parts of the cloud turned a gray but the outer parts showed the sunlight. When watching it move the cloud seemed to take forever, waiting for the boy to take you on a date, an hour at walmart for an oil change that feels like the entire afternoon. When the cloud moved away from the sun, you could see a rainbow on the edges, proving a point that there are God's gifts everywhere only if you notice.

I never thought I would be so moved by a cloud. Just. One. Cloud.

Pieces of You

"She left pieces of her life behind her everywhere she went..."

Broken pieces. The pieces that have been left by the boys that pretend to be a prince but really turn into a beast. The failure of not knowing where you want to be and how to get there, the bad day from work, and the way your toe finds every door to run into.

As you look around the floor, scattered shards of glass seem to spread everywhere. The glass when it hits the ground, is the part of life that will never be able to be replaced. Why it broke in the first place? Standards. Standards you hold on to of how it should be. A boy shouldn't have to break your heart, leave you sitting on your bed listening to sad songs, wishing there wasn't such a thing as emotional misery that tears at your lungs and soul.

The standard you hold on wanting to be happy and grasping for something still not filling the empty hole. Once attaining it, you find that its not enough and the hole is still there. Never satisfied, holding life to a different pattern that is unlike the vanilla ice cream. Its the super man ice cream where the colors mix together and if you don't eat it fast enough the colors turn to brown. As fast as you eat it, trying to eat the different colors one at a time, you always seem to get a hint of orange or pink in the spoon, never just blue.

Yet I look around at the pieces, the glass that I had thought would never be perfect, turns out to be a masterpiece once in sunlight. I only had to move to let the sunlight dance upon the shards creating a dazzling show to realize,

"It's easier to feel the sunlight without them, she said."

Bigfoot for a bed!

I am sitting on my bed, which is covered in dog hair that resembles a wooly-mammoth that has been skinned and sprinkled on my floral duvet. You may ask if I wash it and the answer is yes. Every week. Yet once I lay the duvet across the bed, making sure all the wrinkles are out, my little dog jumps on it like superman making the noise of an old man grunting as he golfs. She looks at me then rolls on her back attempting to bite her feet. Like a magnet, the hair sticks to the bed as she squirms leaving a trace of tan inch-worm length strands behind. And it just so happens that I had taken the dogs on a walk and she knows EXACTLY where the smelly mud is that she walks right through. Old dog poop on the trails that has been molded into the regular dirt is like walking through Macy's to my dog, spraying the different perfumes onto the neck and wrists... 'dog do-doo' is probably what it is called and my dogs love rolling in it. Its gotten to the point where Febreeze is my new best friend. Like a sale you feel really good buying it and then realize that you don't like it all that much when your bank account statement comes through the mail. Like the febreeze you spray it on the sheets and cuddle up into the lavender fields of vanilla and somewhere during the night you smell a spot that the Febreeze either missed or couldn't cover the odor and it wakes you immediately and disgusted you sit up and say, "Oh my GAWD who took a dump on my pillow!!" A normal person with no herd of dogs would take the sheet off and put in in the wash. Yet I, who owns a pack of beasts, doesn't take off the sheet yet moves to the place where the febreeze did land and rub my nose into that spot trying to escape back into the fields of lavender. Somewhere along the way my nose got immune or I started sleeping with glade candles up my nose and realized that my duvet will never be clean like I want. I am doomed not only to being single my entire life, but having a duvet that looks like big foot. At least I will stay warm at night with all that extra hair.

Pirouettes in the sand.

I wonder where we would be right now. Under the stars that shimmer above the tender maple leaves. Green leaves that whisper as they move together like a two-step. The moonlight dancing in between like a disco ball, illuminating parts of my ivory skin. The shapes of the leaves pirouetting on the sand that's still warm from the afternoon sherbet sunset. I put my brightly painted toes that are the color of overripe strawberries into the sand, feeling the coolness as I dig deeper. I look in your eyes, the color of the sky on a sunny day when the lake bounces of the clouds and creates the color of robin's eggs. They spoke without saying a word. Spoke the truth. Revealed the inward storms that happened inside of you and let me go along for the ride, a sailboat catching the whirlwind of emotions. I felt confident to let my hand slip into yours and go along for the adventure. It was enough. The leaves, the stars, and you.

butterflies.

You give me butterflies. The bright yellow ones that shine like the sun, that sparkles as it hits the edge of the earth. The orange ones that are like tangerines, opening the peel the juices dripping down your chin, leaving sticky droplets of sugar. The red butterflies that remind me of ariel's hair from The Little Mermaid, swimming in the bath tub. The purple ones like the popsicle that turns your lips a dark tint. Pretending that its lipstick making it that much deeper, as if you have been sitting in ice cold water and everything around you has grown numb. The green that the butterflies land on, soft fresh cut grass from the lawn mower. The smell as it comes through your window as you're taking a nap, the sun shining in, warming you so there is no need for a blanket. The flowers that dance around the butterflies, golden hues and cherry-pie colored goodness. The butterflies land softly, not even moving the flower. It gives it its presence and then goes to the next, like a hooker on the corner. They come and float around, moving with the wind, catching the rays as it lands gracefully on every corner of your heart.

LIfe thus Far.

I am not sure on what to write. I haven't really thought of a subject and haven't had anything funny to write about, which is the saddest part of it all. I enjoy writing and wish I had more time. Things that have been going on:

- my new job (CPS Investigator) has been stressful. I am intimidated by my boss and its a ton of work, BUT I do have my own office

- my dogs are doing swell and I didn't think my love for something could grow every day

- I just went to Victoria Secret and got 7 pairs of underwear for 28 bucks. Underwear makes me so happy.

- I love my parents and we hang out more which is such a treat.

- I found a church I love and am starting next week to go to a bible study group. YAY!

- I am enjoying the sunset, not so much the sunrise and loving the porch sitting weather.

:)

Resilience.

I learn more about God

From weeds than from roses;
Resilience springing
Through the smallest chink of hope
In the absolute of concrete....
~Phillip Pulfrey

I look at the "weeds" that are springing all over the highway. Freckles of bluebonnets and splashes of yellow flowers that illuminate what the sun would be like if it lived on earth. I was reading about weeds and I find myself to relate more to weeds that anything else.

"Flowers" that have learned the way, the way to live by society and the plans they have been made for them. Like orchards that are in lines and rows, following the way the planter wanted them to. But weeds grow where they can. They bend and do what they have to to survive. Have you seen sunflowers? Weeds that actually move their faces to capture the sunlight. How many times do you see roses do that? 

I hated pulling weeds as a child. Their roots were deep within the soil and if you didn't take it all out they grew back within days. They wanted to be here. They had to hold stronger to their beliefs, their desire to stay in the earth. 

As I took a walk today the "weeds" that were dancing in the sunlight had all different colors of butterfly's playing chase amongst them. Light green, yellow, and orange wings floated around me and I knew that sometimes the weeds bring the most beautiful things to life. 

Thank you!

Its truly a blessing when someone comes in your life and not only leaves a lasting imprint, but the person stays in your life.

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that is is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate no knowing, not curing, not healing, and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend that who cares. - Nouwen

.... and may I add, someone who I am lucky and so grateful to have in my life :)

Lasting Imprints

I stumble upon the rocks. My toe hits a stone that makes an instant black imprint on where I misplaced it. I curse out loud as I stare down and see all around the mark, a red circle that spreads out like the rain drop hitting the still lake, spreading out.

Just like my heart. It stumbles upon a person, hitting hard, unrelenting as it leaves a mark and spreads throughout my body. Every inch feels the effect of intolerable pain. My stomach clenching, knotting up. My lungs, struggling to breathe like asthma that leaves you begging on your knees for air. Your hands not able to write what needs to be written, your head struggling to make thoughts come together.

Just like a bruise it hurts, and the effect it leaves is an impression. It turns as the days progress. Dark and blue like the storm right before it hits. Your heart as he says he will never come back. It turns a nasty green, like the nights that you yearn for him to be laying next to you. Then to yellow, where you see him at the coffee shop and your heart drops for a second.  And then fades into a lighter color a little bit darker then of your natural skin. You have to look hard to see its there. Just like your heart over time.

Yet the next time I go walking, it seems the rock hits just at the right time.

brother.

I remember...

When you sat in the dirt, yellow turtleneck that showed your stomach, eating red and black bugs that crawled over the rocks running for their lives.

In a yellow bucket with a read handle that I filled with water and dog poop, mixing it until it was a dark brown, making you think it was chocolate milk.

Playing barbies and you driving the barbie car saying it was a "race car" as you mutter "vrooommmm"

Playing house and you always say "Pretend I am..." even after I told you who you were over and over.

Making forts.

Playing on the side of the hill, creating new dirt roads for our cars to go.

Skiing down Boyne and you hitting a jump and flying in the air. Scared to death as you had blood everywhere you smiled and said "COOL"

"Marsh-mellow"

The way you make our entire family laugh at dinner no matter how mad we all are.

"And there was a scorpion THIS big, and an alligator"

You diving off the high board and saying "watch this" as you did a belly-flop.

"Mash tatos, brawcli (whispers)"

I love you pete pete. 

Stress!

With a new job comes new stress, and with new stresses I have to come up with ways to not become a full on troll that lives under the bridge.

Eating copious amount of food has not helped. Though while indulging myself with cookie dough, chips, and cereal, my butt and muffin top scream at me while loading it with a front loader, while my stomach decides to punish me later when I feel like I am going to explode.

I have found working out doesn't help either. Feeling my thighs rub together creating a fire like sensation and my butt needing spandex isn't what I call enjoyable. My dogs hate running (as I have mentioned before) which doesn't help my motivation when they are laying on the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Shopping makes my credit card cry, flirting over text messages only helps me realize I need to get on eharmony to find a new breed of non-douche-baggery and doing laundry can only go so far where I am afraid my water bill will drown itself.

So I resort to my dogs and to the good ol internet. Have you see Sophia Grace on Ellen DeGenerous? You MUST go and youtube that shit immediately. I have decided that if this job doesn't work out I could eat some pork shops, wear a tutu and pray to get hits on the internet while singing Lady GaGa. THough I am sure Sophia's cuteness of an 8 year old is what gets her the stardom I need something to fall back on if this stress eats me alive.

If you think of any ideas, let me know. If you want to pay for a shopping trip, or lipo give me a ring. Until then my lunch break is up and stress calls.

Inhale. Exhale.

Deep Breath. Inhale. Exhale.
Usually my body does this without thinking. I have to tell myself though, breathe.
Inhale. Exhale.
Right before the storm. When the sky turns a dark blue and gray while the white wisps of clouds stand out like a robin against the snow. The thunder rolls, like my stomach on Thanksgiving day, the smell of cinnamon rolls. The sky is about to let go, the rain beating down making the ants scatter, fleeing underneath the brown rich soil.
Breathe. Inhale. Exhale.
My eyes swell with tears. Don't let it pour. Suck it up. Breath. "Don't go," I whipser, "Let me change your mind." The five-o-clock shadow on his face melts into his soul more then just the whiskers on his face. The blue eyes that once reflected the sun is dim, wandering, looking for something to keep himself from going. "I can't," he says wishing that wasn't what his lips created. The door shuts, and the lightning strikes.
Breathe. Inhale. Exhale.
The storm lets loose. Each raindrop bounces off the skin, cold, yet warm, creating a feeling that has never been explained. Cold, wet on the outside, hair standing on edge. Insides warm the way alcohol warms your stomach. As the storm begins the sensation is strong. Every nerve feeling every drop of sadness, dismay, fear. Then  it begins to become numb, as it just pours, letting the sky drain. Nothing left to do but breathe.
Inhale. Exhale.

Summer days

Sizzling hot concrete that radiates sunshine through your feet making you run towards the ice in your strawberry lemonade like water. Goosebumps emerge like the lips that kiss you in the bed of the truck, the stars hanging above, dangling like the way he has your heart, making sure to capture the glimmer and dazzling wonder. Short skirts and tanned skin that still show the white as snow tan lines that flirt and peek behind the white tank showing the nautical bikini that not only turns boys heads, their hair that looks like straw from riding a horse all afternoon, yet still smells of fresh water and sunscreen. The red lines turns the skin the same color as the sun beats down on the leathery skin of fresh babes and teenagers that think they know it all. The smell of cookouts that mean that volleyball and fresh cold beer that have dew that runs down the edge like the water that runs down your chin while eating watermelon, spitting out the seeds. Finishing the day laying in white sheets, window open, full moon that lights your legs on top of the sheets, warmth below your body feeling the burn with every movement, yet the top feeling the cool from the breeze gracing the aloe vera. Hair still wet from the late night swim. Summer lives on.

Shooting Star

Like the wind in the willows, the leaves gracing the grass, the sunshine dandelions bursting with affection. The tender touch of an aged woman with her olive green veins as it pats the china glazed skin of her granddaughter, with her red, white laced dress, shiny black shoes with the puffy laced socks to match. The laughter that twirls and capers within the halls. The familiarity of Sunday morning pancakes.

Yet today the comfortless sky fills the bodies of souls with grief as tears slide down the cheeks like molasses syrup. Though clear, it feels dark and sticky, not able to be moved without creating a trace behind. Heading to where dark never see's light, the last time to see the ghost face, life not coming out ever again. Seeing only the end of the shooting star, the luminous streak that came and went before being able to grasp the living, the best part of the sparkling moment.

Reaching out, grabbing tightly for the loose ends. Hanging onto the last moment, like a kodak into the mind. The smile, the way life shown out of his eyes, his worker hands laced with sawdust, the squeaking of his socks down the tiled hallways. The vegetable soup from the Campbell's can as he watches his football team win. And the more treasured moments, the ones that make you feel like the most important thing in the world. The way he combed the blonde hair in the bathroom with a tooth-combed brush, mirrors lining the wall as he said "Monsieur madame" the giggles filling the atmosphere. Fresh squeezed orange juice in the morning from the orange trees as he sat in loafers reading the paper as we ran around in the green grass still wet from the morning dew.

And as the leaves graces the grass, playing amongst the willow tree, I look back, your smile beaming at his wonderful children, knowing how wonderful, happy and great his kids are, and all they will accomplish. And knowing that there will never be a better day because I was able to see the entire shooting star. I will keep that forever.

(Though I have never lost my dad, just trying to write such a blog was difficult and tears came to my eyes. All my love and thoughts to those who have.)

Scrunchies!!

There are always trends. Some are more fashionable then others. Through the years I look back and say, "What the heck was I thinking?"

Scrunchies used to be a big hit. Multi-colored fabric that made your ponytails hand higher off to the side of your tea. I have very thin hair so it looked like a rat tail that stuck up like pippy-longstocking. The skort used to be popular as well as it was a skirt and shorts in one. I could now wear a skirt and not be embarrassed about showing off my flower power underwear. As I started getting older, things such as jelly shoes, yo-yos and see through bags came in as quickly as they left.

MY SCRUNCHIE ICONS :)

I remember in 8th grade, thongs used to be the big deal around the girls and I always said I owned one yet really too embarrassed to say my mother still bought me my underwear. To be in the up crowd and a big girl I told my mother to stay in the car while I went into Walmart with my allowance money. I had looked at my underwear size before going and saw that it said size 10. I went straight to the women size not knowing that a girl and women size 10 is very different from one another. I bought the 7 dollar, 2 pair thong and felt so excited to put them on. When I went home and opened the box I realized they were enormous. Of course I am not going to return them and fess up I don't even know my own size so I improvised. I rolled them. I remember wearing my skort (which was out of style at this point) and you could see the rolled up bunch of a thong that I created. During lunch I told a girl I had a thong on and even showed her by pulling a side of them up. I was finally in the "I wear a thong girl club." I never wore them again... the wedgie hurt more then the pain of not knowing my own size underwear.

Now as I am 24, I looks at freshman year in college where the fish face was popular as you take pictures. Now its the hand on the hip. I look at pictures and I still do fish faces which were SO last year. I have never truly been "in," but I am sure that when styles come back in I will be able to say that I was in style at one point or another.

Dear Josh

Dear Josh-

I have never in my blog history, which isn't long have directly named somebody. Many have known who a blog is about, but I am directing you for more then one reason.

You always wondered why I had pushed people away. Always asking to open up to you. Why I never said what really burdened my heart, kept me up some nights crying, always trying to find the thing that could get me up but managed to always trip. You then said the three words. I have heard them before, every guy I ever dated has said those precious words, but I felt that you truly meant them, as you promised me over and over that no matter what you would always be there for me.

So I spilled. Out of the numerous men I have dated I felt that for the first time I could share my story. I could try and let someone in that I have never been able to. I cried. I sobbed. And my heart felt a bit better, that it would be safe.

Then I messed up. I pushed you away because you were more then I had imagined. You challenged me and I honestly have never had that in a relationship. You said no second chance. Nothing more. I tried and tried. Then somewhere I thought having you as a friend would be better then none. As you said, no matter what you would always be there.

Not knowing who to turn to while my world recently turned upside down I reached out to you. You said only texting. Fine. I did. Last night when finding out my brother sleeps in a car and your parents want "tough love" to be the trick is hard knowing your brother is suffering more battles then one. Anyone that knows me and my heart would know that no one should be in a car with no heat, no food and in the middle of Michigan, especially when they are family. I called you. Mistake I know now, but you ignored me. Then blocked me. The guy who said he was different, a Christian. Let me tell you this:

God gives more chances then one. I trip daily and he is still there. And he won't ignore me, block me, and not be my friend. I stand here wondering what is it that made you into a person I once loved and now baffled by your lack of empathy. Its not up to me. As much as I want to hurt your feelings, belittle you, it won't get me anywhere. You have hurt my feelings and truly are not the man you once were but that gives me no reason to get back at you. I thought it was me, but I know its not. I really just have to be careful with my heart.

"Guard your heart for its the wellspring of life"

-Natalie

Let the Hunger Games begin!

I have been instructed to write. And there are a couple of things that have already made me want to stop. Somehow my spacebar key has something stuck in is so I have to press REALLY hard to create a tiny space. I could write a blog withnospacesandjustthis, but I feel I am nicer and should go through the agony to produce something worth reading. Secondly, I have been addicted to the Hunger Games books. I am currently on the third book and am hooked. My sister a couple days ago showed me the trailer. One of the main characters whom I had pictured in the book to be dashing and so do-worthy, turned out to be a kid that looks like he should squeak while speaking because his balls have yet to drop. He also reminds me of our neighbor in Michigan who is a ginger, and only gives me a reason to hate him when he insists on "playing" drums that echoes annoyance and creates a headache.

The other character though who doesn't play as huge of a role is the most do-worthy guy in the whole world. I am planning to go see him and all of his amazing-ness in this movie. He is plastered on my man wall and I stare at him daily while dressing... I know, pathetic. But if you are looking for a good read, this one is sure to keep you reading.

Ugly guy on the left---- Amazing, let me do you right now, guy on the right :)

Besides this and the daily working my butt off at night, I have no great topic to discuss. I haven't had many douche-bag stories, or something to bash about, so I am putting my nose into books. This weekend is my roommate's bday and I am sure I will have a good story or three to tell. Until next time...

Man Candy.

I have a man wall. If you are clueless on what a man wall contains, it holds pictures of handsome, drool down your shirt, pee your pants in excitement, man candy. I put these pictures in my closet. This closet is a walk in so its pretty decent and I have a part of it dedicated to these handsome fellas. I am sure they don't mind being there as they can see me undressing and dressing. Their eyes don't even blink... I don't blame them. Either way last night while getting dressed I was trying to find similarities in them to find what drew me to put them on the wall of desire. Was it Taylor Lautner's sexy body, Liam's smile, or Channing Tatum's "let's do it" eyes? Then I noticed their eye brows. THEY WERE ALL THE SAME, mostly. I mean I dig a guy with some whiskers and a dashing smile, but bushier eyebrows were the thing I noticed they all had alike.

You know how women always bitch about men staring at boobs rather then their smile? Maybe I was trapped in trying to look at something besides their amazing washboard abs, glistening biceps and.... SO, I resorted to eyebrows? Now that I think of it, is there a ton of ways to style an eyebrow for a man? There are many too ways for a woman: bushy, too thin where you have to curve them in or like the infamous hispanic ladies where they Sharpie them in. Some are curved inwards, outwards, flat and so on.

My mother told me to never pluck mine because I would end up with none. My mother has to pencil her's in, and I never found pain to be something fun especially when I have to stop to wipe my eyes from tearing up from plucking just one hair at a time. So I have never plucked or waxed... why deal with the pain just to have to paint them in when I get older? But men? There is too bushy and the dreadful unibrow. I used to pluck my ex's because he grew one that made him look like an Ewok from Star Wars. Now that I think of it... its disgusting I plucked for him. Justification: maybe seeing him wince in pain was payback and felt good at the time.

So I guess this entire blog was centered on eyebrows. Aren't you lucky? Finding the same similarity on why those dashing, make me want to rip my clothes of in an instant men was all on figuring out its because of their "brows." I don't mind going in my closet and "looking" closer for more similarities.