A Snyder In The Sun

A Snyder In The Sun

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?  


I Remember A Thing Called Privacy.

A few years ago my sister asked me what I thought the hardest part of being a mom was. Without hesitation I answered mom guilt.  There isn't a day that goes by that I, as a parent of two young children (soon to be THREE!!! young children), don't feel like I fucked up in some monumental way that is going to forever impact and scar my kids.  No, I'm not being dramatic. I wish.  This is my reality.  And probably the reality of many others mothers (and fathers) out there. We want what's best for our kids and some days we lose our shit and scream and yell and feel like total jerkoffs after our meltdowns.  I can't tell you how many times I have tried to fall asleep at night only to over analyze all the shitty parenting I did that day.  

As time has passed I have learned to give myself a little bit more of a break.  Sure I still feel guilty about not being a perfect Pinterest mom, but I also try to be realistic.  Most days I am doing the best I can to keep my patience in check and my kids happy.  Most days my kids eat healthy enough.  Most days they aren't in front of the TV for 8 hours straight.  Most days they are well adjusted human beings and just kids being kids.  But you know what else they are? They are little shits that test me every single day.  They know what buttons to push.  They know that after enough begging and whining and crying that they will wear me down, albeit not without a total scream fest from me.  So now I don't feel as guilty.  Most days.

The thing that kills me lately as a parent is the complete lack of privacy I have. I literally cannot leave the room to take a poop without my youngest appearing seconds later to chat me up whilst I am on the toilet. I ask nicely for a little privacy and reassure her that I will not be living in the bathroom and will join her in a minute, but she doesn't care.  As far as she is concerned I am now moving into the bathroom forever so she might as well take up residence on the floor in front of my legs and tell me all about whatever random craziness is going through her brain. But it isn't just my youngest that does this to me.  No sooner than I sit down to relieve myself does my 8 year old  yell for me and appear in the doorway.  Jesus Christ, get out!!!  I have been in here for less than 2 fucking minutes!  Let me poop without a gd audience!!!  

And sex?  Ughhhhhhhh.  I never thought I would have to be so stealthy just to have a little romance with my husband.  Unfortunately for all parties involved, my husband and I have been interrupted during sex a few times and thus we now lock our door and stack as much furniture in front of it as possible to keep the chitlins out.  I kid, I kid.  But of course we do have to lock the door.  Oh, and we have to be super quiet if we have sex when the kids are awake.  Which is total bullshit and not nearly as fun but I guess that's the price parents have to pay so as not to scar the children.  Lame.  So we either act as quiet as mice or have sex when the kids are sleeping.  Thanks for that, kiddos.  

There's also the eavesdropping.  The older kids get the more they absorb what you're saying. They love to hear their parents gossip about that asshole at work that you hate or that friend that pissed you off the other day.  They take all your secrets and store them in some crazy compartment in their brains and bring it up at the most inconvenient (and usually embarrassing) time.  You can't remember where you put your fucking sneakers but you remember that I called Susan a giant bitch 3 years ago?!  Explain to me how that works. So I have to constantly be on the lookout for children creeping around when I'm trying to have private conversations with my husband.  

None of this will be getting better anytime soon.  In less than two months we will be welcoming another little into our home who will ensure our privacy remains non-existant.  Maybe in like 20 years I'll be able to poop without an audience, have sex without inhibitions, and talk shit about whomever I want.  I doubt it.  By then I'm sure I'll have a grandchild lurking someone just waiting for me to start walking to the bathroom.  WHERE ARE YOU GOING, GRANDMA?!!  I HAVE TO TELL YOU SOMETHING REALLY IMPORTANT THAT CAN'T POSSIBLY WAIT UNTIL YOU ARE OFF OF THE TOILET!!! Kids, amiright?

The Chaos Of Co-Sleeping

Typically I don't allow the girls to sleep in my bed.  I am an incredibly light sleeper and any tiny movement will wake me up and probably make me silently rage which causes stress and therefore makes it impossible for me to fall back to sleep.  Sure enough once I'm juuussssttttt about asleep a child will move or even breathe loudly and I'm right back at square one.  No bueno.  Also there's the fact that my bed is queen size.  At the moment I am queen size as well. Add to this a husband who enjoys sleeping in his own bed, and let's just say there isn't much room for a child.  So unless it's necessary, I don't co-sleep with my kids.  

I'm making an exception to the rule this week.  My husband and oldest little left for Pennsylvania for a week so it's just me and the little little holding the fort down.  It was too expensive for all of us to go, plus I'm like 700 years pregnant, plus I just had surgery, plus someone has to take care of our mutts and house.  Total bummer I won't see PA this summer but I guess someone has to be responsible.  Fuck.  Sooooo, since it's only me and my youngest here I decided that if she wanted to sleep in bed with me, she could.  I figured she would be happy about it since she shares a room with her sister now.  I would imagine it would be lonely and possibly a little scary for her to sleep in there by herself. 

So about last night.  We're both cozy in my bed but of course my child wouldn't stop talking. I tell her to shhhhh and close her eyes.  She begins to whine and tells me she wants to sleep in her room.  The fuck?!  Well too bad, sweetheart, mama is comfy now and I'm not getting up and you're just going to have to suck it up and go to sleep!  She whined a little more and passed out.  Okay, bedtime for mom.  NOT!!

All night long she kicked me.  Not only did she kick, she somehow managed to trace her tiny foot up and down my back ever-so-slowly.  Then she stuck her foot directly in my underwear. At that point I just quietly laughed to myself because it was so absurd.  My sweet little lady basically spooned me and beat the shit out of me all night long.  This, folks, is why I don't co-sleep.

There was a plus to all of this.  My rambunctious little turd of a child didn't wake up until after 10:00!  That's the stuff right there.  Shortly after waking up she mentioned that she wanted to sleep in her room tonight.  Translation: I want you to put me to bed in my room, then I'm going to come into your room approximately 4 times before you get so pissed off that you force me to sleep in your bed so you don't have to keep dragging your fat ass out of bed just to put me back in bed another 7 times until I'm too tired to get up again and eventually pass out.

Oh well, there are worst things...right?

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