A Snyder In The Sun

A Snyder In The Sun

Few Things Feel As Good As Not Having To Cram My Fat Rolls Into A Pair Of Jeans

It's happened, guys, I've reached my pre-pregnancy weight and then some.  It took 4 months but this bish did it and I'm pretty stoked.  It's not like I actually did any work to lose the weight, let's be real.  I just  fed my baby any time he demanded itand he sucked all the weight off, easy peasy.  Thanks, buddy!  It's not all sunshine and rainbows though.  In the aftermath of baby number three my body is all, Hey girl!!! I hope you like loose skin that resembles a stomach butt and a weird brown discoloration in your belly button 'cause that's the shit you're going to be rocking for a bit.  Sorry!  And I'm like, Thanks for nothing, you piece of turd.  And seriously, what's with that color thing anyway?

Despite the weight loss I've been living in leggings and jeggings, which are just a sturdier pair of leggings that aren't as comfortable but still give a much better range of motion than jeans when I'm trying to squat down to grab that tortilla chip I dropped on the ground.  Now, you're probably thinking I mean I'm wearing these things about 80% of the time.  No.  I wasn't exaggerating, I am legitimately living in them.  I wake up in leggings and go to sleep in them.  Okay, I guess I am lying slightly.  I ALSO wear sweatpants, which are the poor mans legging,  because FUCK JEANS!  Jeans are awful and I hate them and they make me sad when I try them on.  I foolishly thought putting on a pair when I was like a month post having a baby fall out of me was a smart idea.  I ended up getting them just past my knee caps and then spent the rest of the afternoon in the corner, fetal, and praying to a god I don't even believe in to just end it all because there was no way I was going to be able to go on.  A tad dramatic maybe, but you don't know my life.  Also, hormones.

The other day I thought maybe I would revisit those jeans because apparently I hate myself.  I went in with zero expectations that they would fit and was pleasantly surprised when they did.  However, they still weren't as comfortable as the buttery soft leggings that are billowing out of my pants drawer.  When you've been living your life in the smooth comfort of high-waisted (so as to suck all the rolls in) leggings from Walmart (I fucking hate this store but CHEAP LEGGINGS!) the feel of jeans on the skin is just oppressive and anxiety-inducing.  Sure, they looked dope (can I pull that word off? Probably not.) but at what cost?!  Maybe I'll just make jeans my formal wear from now on.  You know, for when I actually get to go on some sort of date with my husband, which probably won't happen until my youngest can converse because he is literally the most needy baby I have ever encountered.  What can I say?  He loves his mama and thinks the world is ending when I am out of his sight for more than .3 nanoseconds. 

I've given up on trying to be trendy and cute with things like jeans and shirts that don't have spit up and drools marks on them and fashion sweaters.  Yes I wrote fashion sweaters.  There's no reason for it.  I live in the sticks again and don't see anyone I need to impress.  My family are about the only ones I see on the daily and they already know I'm past the point of giving a shit.  I roll out of bed totally zombified each morning and stumble to the coffee maker with my eyes half crusted over with remnants of the sandman, or possibly baby vomit, it's hard to say, and make my coffee the strongest brew allowed by law.  Then I take a sip and hastily put it to the side because the baby needs me or my daughter needs her 4th breakfast of the morning.  By the time I get back to my coffee it's cold and I'm already awake because of the sheer force of will it takes to NOT scream at my middle child for patting her brother on the head just a tad too hard AGAIN.  So I'll just say fuck the coffee and walk downstairs into by bedroom cave and take off the leggings I wore to bed and switch them out for today's jeggings, you know, to fancy it up, and start my day, which will no doubt consist of countless baby feedings, refereeing my girls so they don't literally kill each other, all while trying to find time to breathe and be the incredible goddess that I am.  Who needs fancy jeans when I am just BURSTING with inner beauty?

These Are The Reasons My Husband Will Probably Divorce Me

I have been married for almost 8 years and I can guarantee that the things my husband might have found endearing about me when we first began our love affair are now that things that make him want to disappear into the woods for hours on end, such as my need to have as much white noise as possible when I sleep, not limited to a fan blasting at the highest speed and, as of recently, a video on Amazon Prime that shows the same picture of a stream for 4 hours at a time. No kidding, he tried to switch up my stream video during Halloween to a picture of a jack-o-lantern that played creepy music, which I'm not necessarily opposed to but just wasn't feeling at the time because I had finally found my sleep groove, and I just about punched him in the face.  Anyway, here's all the reasons my husband will probably leave my ass one day...

  1. The state of the interior of my car.  It drives him up the fucking wall.  It is extremely messy, but in my defense I have 1300 kids jumping up in that bitch all day long and I don't have time to make sure that the middle child remembers to take her Go Gurt wrapper off of the floor or to recycle my 400 seltzer cans that litter the front passenger seat, because that's where they get thrown when I'm trying to make room for a new can in the cup holders.  Also, I probably should throw away all the Dunkin Donut bags when I get home, but by that time the bag has slid onto the floor, mostly because of the fast driving and then slamming on the breaks, and I just can't be bothered to bend over and grab that shit.  Instead I put empty bags inside of empty bags until one massive bag forms and then I panic run to the car before my husband and grab that shit real quick before I get yet another lecture about what a pig sty my vehicle is.  I know I should just clean it out like he asks but it's fucking cold outside and this bitch would rather drive in filth than freeze trying to cram all the garbage into one little plastic bag because I'm too lazy to go inside and get another plastic bag, because once I'm inside, let's be honest, I'm heading straight to the couch while mentally congratulating myself on a half-assed job well done.
  2. I wash his t-shirts in the same load as his jeans and towels.  For some reason he seems to think that his shirts are vintage pieces of gold that need to be treated SUPER delicately, instead of what they really are: OLD WORK SHIRTS!  He doesn't own one fancy shirt.  Not one.  Nothing that costs over $20 anyway, so why the fuck should I do yet another load of wash just to preserve that tank top he bought at Target that seriously resembles a goat head in front of a pentagram?  If that one got destroyed I'm pretty sure no one would miss it, even Satan.
  3. I don't take the shower liner out of the bathtub before I bathe our children.  This one is an honest mistake on my part but he probably thinks I do it on purpose.  He must think the liner is riddled with germs and algae because I literally just heard him have a small stroke the other night when he went to check on the girls and the liner was in the tub with them.  OH MY GOD HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU KIDS TO TAKE THE LINER OUT OF THE TUB BEFORE YOU TAKE A BATH???!!!  It wasn't their fault in the slightest, that thing was in the tub when they got in, but I still totally let them take the fall for it.
  4. I am absolutely irrational when I don't sleep.  My baby has decided to regress to his newborn days and wake up every hour on the hour for the past few nights which has left me scrambling to remember who I am and why I am on this planet.  My husband has only had to deal with that sort of sleep deprivation when the baby was two weeks old and I was in the hospital getting stones removed from my innards.  That was almost 4 months ago and motherfucker (husband, NOT precious angel baby straight from heaven) has been able to sleep peacefully uninterrupted since then.  Yesterday morning he innocently came into the bedroom and sweetly said something about me being up all night.  Instead of calmly saying yes I had been up all night I yelled, I'VE LITERALLY BEEN UP ALL FUCKING NIGHT LONG WITH THIS NIGHTMARE OF A CHILD AND I'M FUCKING EXHAUSTED AND I'M NOT GOING TO GET ANY SORT OF BREAK TODAY BECAUSE YOUR OTHER CHILD IS GOING TO BE UP MY ASSHOLE UNTIL SHE GOES TO SCHOOL FOR A FEW HOURS AND EVEN THEN I WON'T BE ABLE TO NAP BECAUSE I GUARANTEE THE GODDAMNED BABY WON'T LET ME! And he said nothing and slowly backed out of the room.  As he should.
  5. I don't let him sleep in our bedroom.  Since he decided that snoring like a freight train was how he would live his best life, he's banned from sleeping with me.  He gets this now, but every once in a while he will still try to pass out while we watch shit on Netflix and I gently (READ: super aggressively) wake him up and send him on his way.  For now he has to sleep upstairs in the playroom on this super cute but horrendously uncomfortable futon thing I bought after eyeing it up online for months.  It's basically the equivalent of sleeping on the floor but if he really wanted to sleep in more comfortable quarters, like his own bed, he would figure out how to not sound like WWII is coming out of his face holes when he sleeps.  I already wake up 700 times a night because of the baby, I don't need to wake up in a panic thinking we're on Normandy Beach in 1944.

Now, I'm sure if my husband were in charge of this list, it would be a fuck of a lot longer.  I'm not stupid.  I annoy him on a daily basis with my constant need for attention while simultaneously demanding time alone because if one more kid follows me around from room to room singing or asking the same question over and over again I just might go out for a pack of smokes and not come back.  I'm not an easy person to cohabitate with, but neither is he.  Somehow we've made it work this long, probably because he's smart enough to know to shut his gd mouth when I'm ranting once again about some nonsensical crap like the bitch in Walmart that gave me side eye, or why I can't seem to get my shit together and stop wasting the lettuce I buy every week.  I mean, my intentions are good, but I just can't seem to make a fucking salad.  Whatever.  Somehow we work, which is a good thing because the thought of shaving my legs and putting my face on to impress some random ass dude off of the internet makes me want to kill myself hard.

Serial Masturbators Love Me

The sun was shining.  The birds were chirping.  But something did not seem right.  Our pug wouldn't stop barking.  Usually when she started yapping incessantly all I had to do was stick my face outside the door and threaten her with some sort of bodily harm and she'd quiet right down.  Not that day.  No, she could not be deterred.  She was trying to tell me something.  I put some slippers on and went outside to see her sitting on our outdoor chairs, barking at the fence that separated us from some commercial property.  I asked her what the problem was, but like most dogs she just looked at me like I was the crazy one and went right back to barking at the fence.  I followed her gaze and heard a noise.  What the fuck was that?  I grabbed one of the chairs and dragged it noisily to the fence.  I hopped up and looked over the fence and there he was. Yep, you guessed it (or probably not because this shit seems to only happen to ME!!) a strange man was masturbating all over my fence.  There he was in all his crackhead skinny, shirtless and blue jean wearing wonder, just attacking his meat whilst talking on his FLIP PHONE right on the other side of my fence.  The dog's shrill barking and my yelling and loudly dragging a chair across stones wasn't enough to scare him away. He was on a mission. Maybe that was part of his fetish?  Either way, gross.  So what's a girl to do in this situation?  I yelled WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!!  GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!! And faster than I thought possible, he closed his flip phone, pulled up his jeans halfway, and away he stumbled through the brush.  God speed, buddy.  I called my husband, called the police, and listed the house for sale a few days later.

I wish I could say that that was the first time a man jerked off all over my life uninvited.  But it wasn't.  That was actually the FOURTH time.  Yes, 4.  Three of the incidents occurred in Florida, because FLORIDA, and one in Pennsylvania when I was in college.  Let's revisit that one, shall we?  Because it was the first.

I was in college living with my boyfriend at the time when the first dude decided to violate my space.  We lived in an apartment above my friend/boss and I would go down to his apartment to hang out sometimes.  One night, after hanging out and drinking some beers I ventured back upstairs to my place and found my boyfriend quite shaken.  I asked what was up and was told a story I still cringe thinking about.  And this was like 11 years ago.  He told me that while I was downstairs a mutual acquaintance of ours had come into our bedroom, riffled through my underwear drawer, found a suitable pair of panties, and masturbated with them "vigorously."  His word, not mine.  My first question was how my boyfriend knew this happened.  His answer?  Because HE WAS PRETENDING TO BE ASLEEP IN BED THE ENTIRE TIME THIS WAS HAPPENING. My second question was why the fuck he didn't jump out of bed and beat the ever living shit out of the dude.  His answer?  He was just too shocked.  Okay, I get being shocked INITIALLY.  But that would wear off after a few seconds and dude was probably rubbing one out for at least a minute, ample time for the shock to wear off and PLENTY of time to get up and punch a dude square in the dick.  I certainly would have anyway.  What I determined from this particular situation was 1- my boyfriend was about as useless and disappointing as Miracle Whip, 2- that boys are disgusting creatures with no impulse control, and 3- that throwing out old period stained underwear isn't always a wise decision.  

The second time a serial masturbator entered my life was when I was pregnant with my second child.  I went home on my lunch break to check on our pug puppy when I noticed the TV was on and the Brave DVD my child had watched the day before was playing.  I thought it was interesting but didn't make a big deal of it because the remote was on the couch and we had cats and they could've very well managed to jump on a bunch of buttons and started that shit up.  No biggie.  I walked into my bedroom to let the pug out of her cage when I saw it.  A porn DVD case on our dresser with pictures of HUGE titties all over it.  We owned a few porns and that definitely was NOT in our collection.  As a large pregnant and hormonal women I did what anyone in my situation would do.  I called my husband and screamed at him for watching that garbage while I was swollen and sad and asked him how in the fuck he even had time to do that shit in the morning when he was always running late anyway and seriously how could he be so stupid as to leave the case out and where was the actual DVD because I can't find it anywhere and is this what you're into now?? huge tits??  because that's never going to be me!! they are only big now because I am like a month out from giving birth to YOUR child you selfish piece of shit!  My husband let me rant for a bit before asking if it was all a joke.  Of course it wasn't a joke.  I took a picture of the porn case and sent it to him.  He told me that absolutely wasn't his and that someone must have broken in to our house.  Come to think of it, that Brave DVD hadn't been in the player this morning.  I distinctly remember taking it out the night before.  Also, our living room window was cracked and there is no way in fuck we would have done that since it was Florida and always 30 billion degrees outside.  Well shit.  The husband was right, someone had broken into our home with the shear intention of jerking off all over the place.  Perfect.  We called the cops and they came and took our statement and tried to lift some fingerprints.  Then they asked if anything was missing.  I checked to see if all my jewelry was there.  It was.  The brand new laptop we had just gotten was still in its box on our bed.  The pervert hadn't taken anything worth value.  Except for one thing.  He went through my intimates and stole a brand new Victoria's Secret bra I had bought a few days before because my boobs were growing at an alarming weight because of the baby I was carrying.  Yeah, fucker took that shit real quick.  And he didn't even take the nude-colored boring one.  He took the cute pink and white striped one that I was saving to wear with a cute outfit that weekend.  Thanks, pal.

The third dude that decided that jerking his shit in public was a good idea happened on my first night out after I had my second baby.  I was with a group of ladies at a pub in Venice, Florida, aka the capital of serial masturbators.  We had finished our drinks and were walking to leave when two of the ladies shrieked.  Apparently there was a man going to town on himself behind us in the alley.  Somehow I completely missed it, thankfully, but I still count it as an encounter because he must have been using our table as inspiration as we were the only ones in his eye range.  We later heard that he was running all over town doing his thing, so maybe I shouldn't feel so flattered that he chose us. A few weeks later a newspaper published an article about a ring of public masturbators in Venice that had been arrested.  He was one of them.

I'm not sure WHY these types of things have happened to me so many times. I could really flatter myself and say I'm hot shit and no man can resist all of THIS. But that's just not true.  Plenty of men can resist all this as evidence by all of my unrequited high school crushes.  What's up, dudes?  You weren't into smelly hemp necklaces and eyebrows that were literally a centimeter long? Holey clogs and pants that were so low cut my pubes were literally hanging out of the top didn't do it for you?  Whatevs, your loss.  No, what I DO know for certain is that Florida is ripe with pervs of all kinds and that even if you think you KNOW someone, you don't really ever know them. And that's probably a good thing because NO ONE wants to know that sweet little Timmy can only get his rocks off by watching car crashes and jerking off wearing his mother's winter gloves. Nah mean?  


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