WHO THE HELL IS BRANDON SCHNOOR?

That’s a good question! Who the hell am I and why would anyone want to read a blog about my life? I’m not exactly famous. I’m not a celebrity, a pro athlete, I didn’t cure a disease, and I didn’t save anyone’s life. Although not many people know my name, I have lived a pretty crazy life thus far. I’m your average twenty-eight year old American male, born and raised on the sweet soil of the United States of America. This blog is the story of my first twenty-eight years of life on this planet. It is a cautionary tale of what to do and what not to do in your life. You’ll follow me through the good, the bad, and the outright disgusting parts of my life. You’ll see me as a child, a teenager, and a young man. You’ll see me struggle with life, death, faith, love, and heartache as I deal with God’s greatest gift and the Devil’s greatest weapon; women. You’ll come to see that I’m one of the luckiest people you’ll ever know, while at the same time having the worst luck of anyone that you’ll ever know. Its like I’ve lived my life breaking mirrors with my lucky horseshoe.



From The Top: the first five years

July 28th 1980, my life began on a bright sunny summer morning in a small western Washington town by the name of Puyallup, pronounced Pew-all-up. In 1980 the population of Puyallup was a modest 18,000 or so. In the past 28 years it has doubled in size to over 36,000 people. Located thirty-five miles south of downtown Seattle, the city of Puyallup, sits in the shadow of the beautiful and deadly Mount Rainier.
So on that summer morning a beautiful, pregnant 21 year old brunette pushed and screamed her way through a grueling twelve hour labor while her retarded 25 year old husband was busy being treated for bad sunburn and flirting away with all the pretty nurses. He had decided to go fishing with his father in-law in eastern Washington just days before his young wife was due to deliver there second and cutest child. At around 10:20 A.M. she gave her final push, I entered this cruel and amazing world. A beautiful baby boy weighing in at: 6lbs 8oz, 19 inches in length. They would name me Brandon William Schnoor. I was born to two of the most caring and amazing parents I could have ever asked for.
My father was born Carl William Schnoor in Springfield, IL. He was the second oldest of four children, the other three all being girls; Ingrid, Liz, and Barb. His parents Karl and Katie had moved to the states from war torn Germany with Ingrid in the early 50’s. My grandfather then enlisted in the U.S. Army and was stationed at Fort Lewis, a large army base just south of Puyallup. After his short time in the Army was over, he decided to stay and raise his kids in Washington and bought a small farm in the Puyallup Valley.
My mother was born Lori Lynn LeBlanc in Hayward, CA. She was the older of two children, the other being her younger brother Jeff. She is daughter to Jerry and Roberta LeBlanc, later in this book referred to as Poppy and Nanny. She grew up living in different town around the Bay area of California until she was 16 and her father decided to relocate the family to Puyallup’s south hill.
My parents met about a year after my mom moved to Puyallup. My dad, being four years older than my mom, was already out of school and was introduced to my mom through a friend of his who was dating one of my mom’s friends. They couldn’t stand each other at first. They fought about every subject they talked about and annoyed each other. In short time though they changed their tune and the attraction was mutually growing. After two years dating they were wed, three days before her 19th birthday. A year later they welcomed their first child into the world. My older sister Rachel Ann was born on our mom’s 20th birthday. She would forever tease my sister saying “Having you on my birthday was the worst birthday present ever!”
OK back to July 1980. So here I was, fresh into the world. When I was born I am told that I looked like an Indian baby. My mom jokes that I was a tan baby because she would sun bathe during her last months of pregnancy, but it’s actually because my mom’s mother’s family was part Native American. I’m about ¾ German, and the rest is a mix of Native American, French, and who knows what else. To this day I still tan better than anyone else in my family. Now in 1980 the TV sitcom “Mork & Mindy” starring Robin Williams was pretty popular and my mom watched a lot of it while she was pregnant with me and on the show, Mindy would always call Mork her little Pooder, so when it came time to give me a nickname I was given Pooder. This nickname still follows me to this day. No matter how old I am my mom will still call me her little Pooder, and yes it can be embarrassing when used around friends and potential love interests, but hey she’s my mom and she’ll always be there for me.
My first few years were about as normal as anyone else’s; shit, piss, sleep, eat, spit up, rinse and repeat. And like most people I can’t really remember the first few years clearly, I mean I was a baby Gods sake! Its basic growing up stuff; you learn to crawl and then walk, you start forming speech, you learn to stop defecating in your own pants only to start doing it again later in life. I guess my earliest memories start around age 3 or 4, which is sad because when I was 2 my Nanny died of a heart attack and the only real memories I have of her are from pictures of her and me together. My Poppy remarried a few years later to a woman name Josephine and I would grow up with her as my stand-in grandmother. I never did call her Grandma or Nanny; she was just always Jo to me. Don’t get me wrong, she was a great stand-in and treated my sister and me as her own grandchildren but part of me longed for the love of my Nanny. I know that she would have been a huge part of my life and I look at my own mother now with my little nephews and I can see what it would have been like growing up with her. I know she is looking down at us today and is proud of us and proud at what an amazing mother and Nana my mom has become. Too this day I still go to her grave talk to my Nanny when times are tough and I need to get things out and cry a little.

My earliest memories start about the time I entered preschool. I was four years old and from the very start I was fascinated with the female gender. I never went through a stage where girls had cooties or were gross and icky. From day one I was hooked. My first crush was on my preschool teachers’ teenage daughter. The strongest memory that has always stuck out in my head took place around that same time. Our house was a two story house built around 1909; we had three bedrooms on the top floor and a spare storage room in the middle of the hallway. This storage room would later be turned into a laundry room and ½ bathroom, but in the early 80’s my father had a book shelf in the room which held his collection of 60’s and 70’s Playboys. Being a nosey little 4 year old I discovered this collection and proceeded to take in the images of women in nothing but flesh, nipples, and large retro bush. I was fascinated with the naked form and was curious as to why seeing this caused my tally-whacker to get hard. Yes I called it my tally-whacker as a kid, and yes I got hard ons when I was 4. It wouldn’t be till years later that I would fully understand why this happened when I would see images of naked women or love scenes on TV.
My parents had a philosophy when it came to my sister and me learning and finding out about sex, they would rather us learn at a young age and be prepared than to have us go into adult hood knowing nothing and being afraid of sex. We grew up being able to watch R rated movies and even had the Playboy channel and the Spice channel. We were always told not to watch those two but kids being kids, as soon as the parents left the house we would go watch it. I would even sneak down stairs at night when everyone was asleep to try to get a glimpse of some flesh. With my parents being so open about sex it gave me the advantage growing up and usually meant that I was the first of most my friends to do most things involving the opposite sex but we’ll come to that a little later. Having parents that are open sexually isn’t always that great though. The last thing you want to hear is your mother sitting on the couch saying to your father “Hey honey let’s go have sex” or watching your father grab and pinch your moms’ DDD boobs. My mom always said they were just trying to push us to the point of someday needing therapy, well mom, it worked. Read this book and see how fucked up your little Pooder has become! I mostly blame my parents for the sex addict and pervert I later became.
At age 5 I entered my 2nd year of preschool. The teacher told my parents at the end of the first year that I was to shy and would not do well if I went on to Kindergarten at age 5. All this meant to me was more time to see Candy, the teachers’ teenage daughter. At this point I was starting out my early years of seducing older girls. My sister and I would play house with the girl who lived next door to us. She was older than us and was a little on the thicker side so she had those early breast that some bigger girls get. I would play the baby of course since I was the youngest and I would precede to insist that baby needed to be breast fed and from there I would go on to sucking on the older neighbor girls breasts. Was it sexual? I can’t tell for certain but I can tell you it was fun!

Entering Elementary School, The French, and Trucks Driving Through Houses:

In 1986 I entered the general public and began attending Kindergarten at Meeker Elementary School in Puyallup. The school was only 2 blocks from the house I grew up in, so I my mom would walk my sister and I too school everyday until we were old enough to walk alone. Right off the bat I became good friends with a shy little red-headed kid named Mike and a cute little dirty-blonde haired girl named Jennifer. Jennifer was the cutest girl in the class and it wasn’t long before she became my first childhood sweetheart. Years later Jennifer actually told me she still has her baby book and that her mom had written me in there as her first love. We would spend recess together and give each other Valentine’s Day presents for the first few years of grade school. Kindergarten was also where I first discovered my love for art. It was the one part of school that I actually enjoyed and looked forward to everyday. I new from that I wanted to grow up to be an artist and I would spend all my time drawing and painting pictures for my family.As I entered First grade, I met a boy who to this day is still one of my best friends. When Derek and I met we became instant brothers. We would spend all our time together, along with Mike the red-head, and our other buddy Nathan B. We would ride bikes for hours and hours, build forts, play with micro-machines, trade baseball cards, and have a sleep over every week. We were in choir together, band, crossing patrol … if one of us did something, the others were right there next to them. We were the boys that all the girls in the school had crushes on and we probably broke a few hearts in our time there.In Second grade at the age of eight, I experienced a few firsts in my life. The first event happened at a birthday slumber party for a friend of my sisters. Her name was Jocelyn and we knew her from the church that we sometimes went to. Jocelyn lived around the corner from us and had invited my sister and I over for her 12th birthday. I was the tag-along little brother at a house full of all girls aged 10-12 so needless to say I was in heaven. Early on in the evening we all put on our swimsuits and got into Jocelyn’s hot tub. I sat in between Jocelyn and Becky, Becky was about the same age as Jocelyn and also went to the same church as us. Many years later I found out that Becky went on to marry my “Young Life” leader Brian. If you don’t know what Young Life is, it’s a national after school group that is church related, Google it and I’m sure you’ll see a site for it. Anyways back to the hot tub. So we’re sitting in the hot tub and the girls decide to play a little game with me. While I was looking in the direction of one of the girls, the other girl would pull her bikini top down, I would turn around to look and she would pull it back up while the other girl did the same thing. This went on for a few minutes and I caught a few quick glimpses of prepubescent boobs and nipples. At this point I thought this would be the highlight of my night, I was wrong. We all made our way up to Jocelyn’s bedroom and they started playing music and dancing around. Jocelyn then decides that she wants to turn the lights off and slow dance with me. We begin dancing to Tiffany’s “I Think We’re Alone Now” and midway through the song she kisses me. I’m on cloud nine at this point , I was 8 and a hot 12 year old girl just kissed me, it wasn’t my first kiss but it was pretty amazing that it was happening, and then there was a tongue in my mouth! This, my friends, was my first “French” kiss. I was stunned and in shock at first and didn’t know what was happening but I caught on quickly and realized I really liked what was happening. As the night went on, so did the kissing. We eventually moved to under her bed. She had one of those daybeds that had the pull out hide-a-beds under it. We pulled it out and the other girls slept on the two beds and Jocelyn, Becky, and I slept under the bed. We made out all night and I eventually made my way up Jocelyn’s shirt. Needless to say the following week at school I bragged about what had happened and became the guy that all my buddies looked up to. It would be another 5 years before they would get to kiss a girl in the way that I had done that night. And when the time came, they would come to me for advice and to ask all the puzzling questions they had about girls.That same year I had another first. It was Martin Luther King Jr day and we had the day off from school. At the time our family’s TV sat in our front room, against the window. It was one of those TVs that sat on the floor in a wood housing and had the old knobs on the front for changing channels. I always liked to sit on the floor in front of it and watch my shows. So like with most days, I was sitting and watching TV when I hear a loud bang out side. As I stood up to look out the front window, I saw an old pickup truck headed straight for me! I jumped out of the way just in time as the truck collided into our front window. The truck didn’t make it through the wall, but the impact caused the TV to jump off the floor and land in the spot where I had been sitting just seconds before. This was my first near death experience. I was so shaken up that I could stop physically shaking. Our house sits about 3 houses into our block, so the logistics of this accident were just amazing. The truck had apparently ran the stop sign at the end of our street and hit a large truck passing through the intersection. The truck then turned, went up onto the sidewalk, crossed the street, and continued up onto the opposite sidewalk , through our small front yard, and into the front of our house. Oh and did I mention that when it hit our house, there was no one inside the truck? When it first turned and went up the first sidewalk, it threw both the driver and passenger out of the doors. They obviously weren’t wearing seatbelts and as we would find out later, didn’t have insurance either. This would be my first near death event, but it wouldn’t be my last, it would be the primer in a life destined to have its share of close calls.