Plenty of Psychos With A Smear of Cheez Whiz

Where does a busy, single mom go to find dates? I’m not a huge fan of the bar scene. The few times that I have gone I have sat there on my chair and watched the crowd, filled with the innate sense that this was not a good fit for me. I would leave, weary and disgusted, reminded of the lyrics to a poetry slam by Katie Makkai, “drifting home, crestfallen, because not enough strangers found you suitably fuckable.”

No, the bar scene is not the place for this single, soccer mom to find dates.

Like many others, I decide to try the online dating market. Shopping for love from the comfort of my desk chair; how could I possibly go wrong? I am not a cyber dating virgin. Nay, I ventured into these waters shortly after my marriage ended, with very mixed results. I got up the courage to try again a few months after a relationship ended, meeting a man that I feel head-over-heels in lust with. That led to a relationship that was (is) complex.

Now, like a dog going back to be kicked (Can you tell that I’m ambivalent?), I go about setting up a profile. It is a free site; let’s call it…Plenty of Psychos.

Into the profile I pour my creative energies. I want to appear sexy, but not easy; intelligent, but not intimidating; and definitely not needy. I choose my pictures with painstaking care. Then I send it off to the netherworld (aka, the Plenty of Psychos gods) for approval. It is, of course, approved.

I’m now ready for the emails from attractive, intelligent, and evolved men to start pouring into my inbox.

Well…that isn’t exactly what happened. Indeed, emails poured into my inbox. Emails from men twenty years older than me, from tattooed men who looked like they were just released from prison that day (one was even wearing what appeared to be an orange jumpsuit!), one that was entirely in Spanish, and lots of badly phrased innuendos.

Then I get a couple of emails from men who actually seem literate, attractive, and as though they are looking for more than a fling. One man, P, seemed to have potential. We exchange emails for a couple of days and all was going well. He asked me to call him and I thought, “Why not?”

The conversation went okay for awhile. Until he got pissed off when he thought he heard me making a derisive noise when he mentioned his favorite football team. It was actually the sound of me swallowing a drink of water while trying to make affirmative noises; no matter, he was offended.

Still, who would have thought it would be the mention of NASCAR that would have led us to this?

“I like sports. Except NASCAR. I don’t like NASCAR.”

“I can’t say that’s a bad thing.” I reply with relief. “Don’t like the idea of Daisy Dukes and Cheez Whiz?”

(I should note that while snobby and somewhat mean, this comment was meant to relay a certain understanding that NASCAR can sometimes, although there are exceptions to the rule, draw a certain niche of people)

“Oh yeah. You could come over and I’d spray Cheez Whiz all over your ass.” This is said in a voice that is intended to be playful and sexy.

“Uhm…,” A moment of silence from me. “That sounds kind of messy and disgusting.”

Okay, Then how about all over your tits?”

“You mean my breasts?” I ask archly.

“Well, if you want to be all politically correct about it.”

I made one last attempt at humor to lighten the mood by saying, “Sorry, I could only accept organic whipped cream.”

He, however, did not sense the sarcasm.

Somehow I don’t see P and I being soul mates. Strike number one for Plenty of Psychos. Now, it’s early in the game and I haven’t given up hope yet. Still…

I think that perhaps my fruit is going to get a little bit more time to ripen.

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