WARNING - THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU USE GOOGLE IMAGE SEACH WHILE DRINKING ....
So I played soccer tonight, my 3rd game EVER (not including pre-adulthood or any game that us parents played against our kids for fun) and I rocked. Not rocked like scored a bunch of goals - or A goal, but I played loads o' shifts and for much longer than I ever have AND I saved a goal. Ok, our goalie may have saved it whether or not I kicked it out of his way, but I still rocked. People told me so! I have a feeling I'll be paying for tonights game for a few days to come. I literally thought I was having a stroke by the time I was almost home, I was seeing stars, or something twinkly in my line of vision that prevented my from reading the labels on the bottles of wine in the liquor store, and because after 45 minutes I was still sniffing and breathing hard. Are those symptoms of a stroke? Anyway, I have the house to myself and decided to pop on
the pc to read some soft porn blogger with my glass of wine to add a cool new pic to my page because I am so very officially a soccer mom. If I was another glass or 2 into this bottle, I'd put my new Coach's shirt on and take a racy pic to prove it!
The soccer story condensed: My daughters first soccer game was about 6 years ago. She was on a co-ed team and they played 30 minutes every Sunday for a few months just blocks away from the house. Basically, they just charged us a small
fortune fee to watch our kids chase the ball around a 1/2 gym while the goalies hung off the bars of the nets showing off their acrobatic skills. But the fees included the cutest little jerseys, we picked up the teeniest little shin pads and our team, Spiderman, was the start of our soccer lives. **And I just have to mention the day that they had to pause the game because Sydnerella's tooth fell out and she had to come hand it to me to make sure the tooth fairy would come that night** We skipped the following year and tried basketball, because EVERY tall person SHOULD be good a basketball player, but I can't recall if Sydnerella ever actually touched the ball, so basketball was out and the following indoor season, soccer was back in. That was her U8 season. She played indoor only until U12 when we gave outdoor a shot, and right then and there like we had shot our 1st hit of heroin we were hooked. I say WE because as much as Sydnerella bitches and complains each and every year I hit up registration day at the sportsplex, I know she loves it. I KNOW she loves it. I've been the bench mom all her indoor seasons (they don't have benches in outdoor, so I guess they don't need us), which has given me the honour of being included in team pictures, awarded medals when awarded to the team (oh YES, there was a gold medal in there!), and also gave me the opportunity to plan little parties to celebrate the seasons end. With the exception of the time I showed up at Chuck E Cheese, maybe still drunk from an important work party the night before but definately hungover, and had to run the party before retreating the darkest quietest corner praying for death, the parties were a success. I became friends with the soccer parents, lived vicariously through my daughter for years, and finally decided it was time to turn it up a notch. Not only did I take the offer to be this seasons manager, which earned me a gate pass for the soccer centre & the shirt that has COACH stitched right on it, I did the unthinkable (for this out of shape smokin lazy ass .. and not smoking like sexy hot - well, ok yes smokin hot, but smoking as in, need to smoke cigarettes to function like a normal human being...), I joined a soccer team! A freakin co-ed soccer team. Which brings me to why I am sitting here at 10pm on a Sunday night drinking a bottle of wine by myself. Did I say bottle? I mean, glass of wine. I popped on here for the cute new little pic to the right, but as I google searched "soccer mom" for images, this is what I found:
I can assure you, this is NOT what I as a soccer mom looks like, and I can assure you this is not what any soccer mom that I've met looks like. In fact, this isn't even a soccer mom, this is just a ho. Can you imagine? I'd kicked a ball at her head (and I could cuz I'm that good) and cause a stampede somehow that would trample on her popping her ... balls! Not jealous AT ALL, just sayin ... she aint no soccer mom from up here in the Upper Hood. As I got all offended that this is what men probably think of when they hear the term "soccer mom" and are sorely disappointed when I appear ... I found this:
Which made my whole mission of tonight's stop on blogger worth it, however at this point in the bottle of wine is a little questionable. But it made me forget about soccer ho and how offended I was ... Now that's what I call a soccer dad!