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It’s a Friday night, raining and day number 4,221,979 of this global pandemic lockdown. Ideally, I’d be boo’d up with a fine, preferably black, man on my couch getting ready to queue up a movie or two before we move on to more—ahem—adult things.

Alas, I’m sitting on my living room floor, alone, in my panties, and listening to Pandora, with commercials. Currently playing: Fantasia’s Free Yourself. Ironic. I’ve been thinking of my ex more than usual this week, partly because I witnessed a wedding at the Black Lives Matter street mural on Fulton St. last weekend. It’s been nearly three months since I’ve been single again. I felt solo longer than that because he’d been deployed for several months. We barely reunited for two weeks before our almost two-year relationship crashed and burned Father’s Day weekend.

I’m ready to get back into the dating game. I purposely called it a game because that’s exactly what it feels like. I’ve been on and off dating apps since my twenties. These men claim they want relationships, but their behavior says otherwise. I don’t want to go back to an app, but there’s no other way for me to put myself out there. Even when we were allowed to roam about freely, I had to resort to apps. I was not meeting The One at the grocery store, subway, bookstore, movies, concerts, book signings, plays, comedy shows, Brooklyn Bridge, doctor/dentist office, work, Greyhound, Amtrak, Lyft share, JFK airport or other places.

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Filling out a profile is one of the most tedious and embarrassing things ever. I pour out my guts explaining what I want in a partner and what kind of partner I am, even though I know most focus on my photos. I pour over those as well, scrutinizing myself. Do I look cross eyed? Is that a belly bulge? Do my arms look fat? How prominent is my forehead scar? I only post smiling pictures. I’m proud of my megawatt smile. Also, I look like the meanest, evilest substitute teacher or stepmom when I don’t smile in photos. Am I too hard on myself? Possibly…ok, definitely. I shouldn’t throw myself into such a tizzy because a lot of these men put in 0.001% effort when completing their profiles.

I’m hoping that the rain washes a man—a keeper for all the right reasons: funny, fun, respectful, healthy, loving, good communicator, age appropriate, loving, ready, willing and wanting a relationship, and yes, handsome, my way. It likely will not, and I’m feeling forced to either reactivate an old app profile, or log onto a new one. I cringe at the thought because I know what awaits me. Here’s a list of what I’ve frequently encountered over the years.