Good evening. Maybe. 33% chance.

Ahem.

This is a test. A journey into the unknown (to me at least for the last 15 or so years) world of being single. Shit. Just typing that makes me feel a little nauseous. Like one of those worms that looks like a crawling penis just scrambled across my grave.
My name is Mike. I am a recent single. Sounds like a disease. By god, he has gotten a case of the singles. I prescribe two joints and internet porn, STAT! Not only did I catch the singles, but I was also dumped. Burn. Self burn. This is how far the mighty have fallen.

Mighty-ish.

I did the whole spend a month brooding and frantically checking my phone. It was pathetic. We have all been there. Maybe if I am a good boy, daddy will come home from getting cigarettes fifteen years ago.

I am kidding. Dad died in ’03. Not so amusing now, is it? Say it to my face. To. My. Face. I am kidding again. Not about Dad. That shit is not kosher.
That turned dark. Apologies.
Let me also state that the official death knell of said relationship occurred 24 hours prior to this being written. Shit is fresh. I am done with it. See my Facebook for the excruciating details. Or talk to anyone I have talked to in the last four weeks. They all know. Beat that dead horse like a government mule. I maybe mixing metaphors. I am so tired.

So I already moped for a month. The ache is a sweet memory. The chest is filled with a strange hollow feeling like a ghost has taken up residence in my chest. I hope it is the ghost of someone cool. Nikola Tesla, Dad (callback to 20 seconds ago), Pimp C or the dearly departed Where’s The Beef lady. I cannot be bothered to Google everything for you.

I am at one time horribly depressed, lonely, scared and ecstatic. And was at a complete loss as to what to do now. Universally it was decided that every single fucking person I knew had a different idea. They ranged from looking for my soulmate at a gas station to online dating. Preposterous. Who in their right mind does any of that. I stand with eyes squinted from the hot Texas sun and stare menacingly at all who dare make eye contact at the pump. Hard to pick up ladies in that condition.

And I am 41. Let that sink in. Believe me, it is a horror you cannot unsee.

Then Kyle had a great idea. I tell stories. Why not make this a social study on the world of online dating? I realized there was a genius to this idea. The hollow feeling abated. I felt something odd. Excitement. This would be a fucking train wreck. An embarrassment to be polite. Chaos and uncomfortably gruesome.
I was in. I mentioned it to a few others casually. They were in. I did not stop to think. I started grabbing dating apps. Reality hit.

What in the fucking fuck was I doing?

I am not prepared for this.

Here are some hard facts.
I am, again, 41. A father of two. Divorced. Dumped. Self esteem issues like a mug. In somewhat good shape, lingering gut and Turkey waddles under my arms. Literally no ass. Looks like a pair of satin pillows mashed into the crack on a couch. Embarrassing. Almost capitalized the ass in embarrassing. You get it. Sarcastic. Like venomous level. Self defacing. I rant about everything.

I can be funny. Been told charming as well, when I want to be. I am inherently a better person than I believe. I am old fashioned. I hold doors and will not sit if a lady has to stand. I am quick witted. I recognize there is something here. I just do not like Him much.

But damn it all. I want more.

I am someone. Not this husk. I want to feel like you do when someone says they love you for the first ten thousand times. Electricity arcing through your entire body. The feeling of hunger when you look at each other. I want more than this prison I live in. It is a prison. Used to be a home but that left with her.

This is where I am right now.

I spent the last two god damned hours answering questions on Okcupid and Tinder. It has been a strange day. Today I became infected with what I am sure is a disease. I am no scientist, but I feel like it is a real and ever present threat. I call it ODC, online dating condition.

So far I have identified a few of the first signs of infection.

A complete and utter disregard for use of a camera. Awkward zooms, angles that distort or hide reality in some magic eye sort of way, wacky pics and oddly unsexy sexy poses.
And fucking duck face. What are you thinking? And Snapchat filters of puppies or seals or some dumb ass animal. Sometimes combined with duck face. The fuck? Not only did you do that face. Then you applied a filter. Then you have the ovaries to pick that as three of your fucking pics? I nearly broke the screen swiping left in anger.

Fuck this. And now I have started getting notifications that I have been liked. I have no idea what to do about this. So I will do the sane thing and go to bed. Maybe a few more swipes.

I love you. Still. Good night.