I logged into LinkedIn today and the first thing I saw was a post from a guy who said he "fired himself" from his own company to "stay hungry." He is now his own employee. He reports to himself. He gave himself a performance review and rated himself "exceeds expectations." This man has 47,000 followers.

LinkedIn has become a support group for people who have replaced their entire personality with productivity. Every post reads like it was written by someone who counts brushing their teeth as "self-improvement" and calls sleep "horizontal meditation."

Types of LinkedIn posts that make me want to throw my laptop into the sea:

The Humble Brag: "I was rejected from 847 jobs before I became CEO of my own company. Now I make $4.7 million a year. Never give up." Okay cool, so you're insufferable AND lucky. Got it.

The Manufactured Inspiration: "Today a homeless man gave me a penny. That penny changed my life. Here's why..." No it didn't. You made this up. The homeless man was a metaphor. None of this happened.

The Toxic Positivity: "I got diagnosed with three diseases, my car exploded, and my dog left me for my neighbor. But you know what? I'm GRATEFUL. Here's how adversity is actually a gift." Sir, please seek help.

The Engagement Farmer: "Agree? Comment 'YES' if you think hard work matters! Share if you've ever had a job! Like if you breathe oxygen!" This is a hostage negotiation, not content.

The Thought Leader: Someone who calls themselves a "thought leader" is automatically disqualified from leading any thoughts. You don't get to give yourself that title. That's like calling yourself cool. If you have to say it, you aren't it.

I saw a post yesterday where someone announced they were "taking a two-week break from LinkedIn to focus on family" and then posted again four hours later about the importance of work-life balance. The cognitive dissonance could power a small city.

Anyway, I'm available for consulting. Let's connect. #Hustle #Grind #Blessed

I went to buy eggs and somehow ended up in a 20-minute psychological battle with a machine that kept accusing me of theft. The machine won. The machine always wins.

"Please place item in the bagging area."

I placed the item in the bagging area.

"Unexpected item in the bagging area."

It's the item you TOLD me to put there. This is the item. There is no other item. The item is exactly where you requested it. What is unexpected about the item's presence in the precise location you demanded?

"Please wait for assistance."

And so I waited. Like a criminal. A dairy criminal. A person who simply wanted eggs and instead became a suspect in an investigation being conducted by a touchscreen with a god complex.

The "assistance" came in the form of a teenager who looked at me like I was technology's oldest enemy. She scanned a card. She pressed a button. The machine calmed down. I don't know what she did, but I know I couldn't have done it. The machine would not have allowed me that power.

Then I tried to pay.

"Please insert payment."

I inserted my card.

"Card not accepted."

I tried again.

"Please try another payment method."

I used the same card at the same machine three days ago. Nothing has changed. My card works. I know my card works. But the machine has decided, in its infinite mechanical wisdom, that today my card does not work. Today my card is an enemy of the state.

I paid in cash. I had to feed crumpled bills into a slot designed by someone who has never seen human hands. The machine rejected two of them for being "too wrinkled." One bill was newer than the machine.

By the time I left, I had been in that store for 34 minutes. I purchased: eggs. Just eggs. The eggs cost $4.29. The emotional damage was priceless.

Corporations: Please bring back humans. The machines are not ready. We are not ready. Nobody is ready.

I've been on dating apps for three years. In that time I have swiped approximately 47,000 times, matched with 312 people, had actual conversations with 89, gone on dates with 23, and found lasting love with exactly zero. The apps are winning. We are losing.

Modern dating has become a content creation exercise. You need good photos, but not TOO good or people think you're catfishing. You need a bio that's funny but sincere, casual but intentional, confident but not arrogant. You need to stand out in a sea of people who are all trying to stand out by doing the exact same things.

Things I've learned from three years of app-based dating:

Everyone "loves to laugh." Nobody includes this because it's insightful. It's filler. We all love to laugh. It's a biological response to humor. You might as well say you enjoy breathing.

Everyone is "fluent in sarcasm." No, you're not. You're occasionally passive-aggressive in text messages. That's not fluency. That's a yellow flag.

Everyone wants someone who "doesn't take themselves too seriously." What this actually means varies wildly. Sometimes it means "I want someone fun." Sometimes it means "I'm going to say something offensive and then claim it was a joke."

Everyone is "looking for their partner in crime." You're not committing crimes. You're getting brunch. Brunch is not a crime. Stop romanticizing avocado toast.

The worst part is the conversations that go nowhere. You match. You both say "hey." Someone asks "how's your week going." The other person says "good, busy, you?" And then... nothing. The conversation dies. Two people who theoretically found each other attractive now can't sustain a text exchange. We're communicating worse than carrier pigeons.

I recently matched with someone whose entire bio was "just ask." Ask what? Ask anything? Ask why you think that's an acceptable bio? I asked her what she was looking for. She unmatched me. The mystery continues.

Anyway, I'm still on the apps. What choice do I have? Approaching people in real life like some kind of extroverted maniac? Absolutely not. I'll take my chances with the algorithm that clearly hates me.