Sex and the Single Soccer Mom

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.

I never thought I would find myself trying to date in my thirties. I certainly never thought I would be attempting to balance a challenging full-time job, two children, two pets, a house, a yard and dating…in my thirties. I know that many people do it; I just didn’t think I would join the growing throng of divorced single parents trying to recover and rebuild.

Yet, here I am. On the average day you could find me driving my children to school in my mini-van, with various backpacks and lunchboxes and musical instruments rolling around in the messy floorboard. Or I’m at work, trying to be professional and efficient, while also trying to juggle the parenting duties when children fall sick, have doctor’s appointments, plan field trips, need help with class projects and…well, you get the picture.

I’m the mom in the grocery store, trying to make sure that the fruits and vegetables outnumber the sugary treats my children beg for. I’m the woman who has fantasies about lying topless on a beach somewhere while a hot man rubs oil on my back. I’m the mom who welcomes my youngest into my empty bed after she wakes in the night. I’m the woman who prays my children never find my special drawer and ask me about it. Sometimes I’m the mom with the bulging eyes and stage-whisper hissing, threatening my little angels with, “If I have to tell you one more time, I swear I will take away everything you love in life.” Yet, I’m also the woman who wants to be held, kissed, caressed and listened to by that one man that will one day “get” me.

I must confess, however, that when my children poke me in the stomach and giggle because I remind them of a certain dough boy (totally their fault!), or the cute checkout boy at the grocery store asks me if I need help out (gone are the days when they actually asked me out); Well, those are the days that the thought of trying to put on some heels and a cute little outfit and go hit “the scene” is about as appealing to me as the mold that I know lurks on the leftovers in my fridge.

Still, I’m in my mid-thirties. The fruit is ripe. The flower has bloomed. The wine has matured. I need to be pollinated. Or, if I cut through all the pretty bullshit…I’m lonely and horny.

I love being a mom (most of the time). Yet I also realize that there is a lot more to me than the mini-van and endless juggling, the bed-time stories and school lunches. I am deep and interesting and sexy…along with frazzled, scattered, and far too busy (and old) to hit the clubs.

So now I’m back into the dating scene. This blog will chronicle the ups and downs of dating as a single mom. It will lay out the good, the bad, and the ugly of trying to be sexy and sexual (while always keeping a cell phone close in case the kids need me). Who knows where the journey will take me?

This blog is for single soccer moms everywhere. We are many, we are strong and we are SEXY!