Mr. Telephone Man

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Have you ever been so caught up in a new, “maybe” relationship that you assign a song as your ringtone for that guy/gal because it reminds you of them and you need to hear it whenever they call or text because their calls are WAY more exciting to receive than anyone else’s?

Have you ever BURNED THAT SONG TO THE DEEP, DARK GROUND once that “maybe” relationship goes belly-up faster than your dead goldfish, Mortimer?

Yeah, me neither. *single blink*

Ringtone

Feelin’ On Yo Booty

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Public.

Displays.

Of Affection…

Let’s talk about it.

I’m still on this celibate tip (can you believe it?!) but I’m not above making out with a cute boy. This is my individual journey so I’m creating routes as I go. A few weeks ago, I met this dangerously good-looking mixed race gentleman. I would describe him as Gaston from Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast” if Gaston had a Korean mommy. I instigated conversation and seemed to win him over with my specific brand of charm.  We decided to grab a drink after the party finished and got into some pretty interesting life topics.

There was a lot of touching during our conversation (the knee, the shoulder, the forehand, entwined fingers), the sexual chemistry was on high. It was a school night, I wasn’t going to sleep with him but does that mean I couldn’t get a little chups,* it had been FOREVER. We left together and chatted a bit on the sidewalk in front of the bar and for God and the world to see, he leaned in and kissed me. It. Was. Good! So good, I had to put one of my needed-to-be manicured hands against his barge-chest.

Suddenly, I hear the rumblings from a patio patron exclaiming he’s seen a lot of PDA that night…

*single blink*

JEALOUS MUCH?!?!?!?!,” my brain exclaimed as KG (Korean Gaston) laboriously worked his lips in ways I forgot existed. I was really enjoying myself until his hand, flopped upon my left breast and stayed there like a geriatric sloth that simply could not be bothered to hoist itself into the trees any longer. It blipped on my radar because he didn’t do anything with his hand. Not a squeeze, not a caress, not even a mammo. Trying very hard not to ruin the moment, I aggressively seductively removed his hand. Then his hand shot up to chest cliff again! Ummm…..ok.  Removed it yet again.  Maybe three times was the charm in his mind but it wasn’t in mine. In case he decided to try his move again, I interlaced my fingers into his and kept them by our sides. The kissing was quite lovely and I wanted to squeeze as much of that goodness out as possible but then I felt his other hand reach under my dress to cup my bum.

SIGH.

My attention, momentarily broken, allowed him to free his other hand from mine and plop it down on my fantastic rack again. Sooooooo…really that’s the end of this story. I have no problem with a little exploration in these situations but isn’t there a way to be a little more smooth; the world doesn’t have to see what you’re getting the privilege to traverse. Maybe in his mind, he was being completely debonaire. Maybe he was trying to squeeze the most out of our time together in his way because I told him I wasn’t going home with him. I can’t be mad at it or him, people and their boundaries/comfort levels are different. Here are my observations when it comes to PDAs:

  1. They’re loads of fun
  2. You don’t need to overtly cop a feel in public for it to remain fun

I don’t know if it’s a fine line, but there’s definitely a visible etching in the sand for these types of things. If you and your partner are exhibitionists, then sure, knock yourself out. But for me, there is nothing more turn-offable then being non-suavely groped.

So consider this my PSA for PDAs: Just. Be. Cool. It’ll all work itself out if it’s supposed to.

PDA

*Chups (pronounced like “choops”) means getting action without the doing the entire deed, if you know what I mean. So “a little chups” is like a great kiss.

My Father’s Eyes

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On Saturday afternoon, I went on a belated Father’s Day date with my one and only, daddy. I took him on the subway for his first time in years. My dad’s an electrical engineer, so we can’t just ride the train – he needs to G.I. Joe* the heck out of the trip. I found out about the way the stations were built, the reason why certain brackets are used, the significance of every number used by the TTC and why it corresponds to what. *single blink* That’s my dad for you!

My Daddy & me

My Daddy & me

I don’t remember the last time I simply hung out with my father. Any time I see him, he’s here to fix something in my home but this was just a plain, old hangout with daddy. We went to Allen’s where I had a drink with him for the first time. I ordered him a meal I thought he’d enjoy. I paid for the meal and then we took a stroll along the Danforth.

Do you know the most significant moment of my Saturday with my father? We passed a bridal boutique where I absentmindedly commented on one of the dresses in the window. “That’s pretty,” I said and continued walking. My father, thinking it was just your average clothing store, replied, “Yes. VERY pretty if you’re getting married.”  I found myself chuckling and saying, “Well, that’s not happening anytime soon.” Almost to himself he said, “You really never know.”  I just looked at him; as the almost-32 year old I am,  as the little girl I always feel like when I’m around him. All the illogical reasons (still working hard on these, guys) I have for not being “desired” or “pursued” by eligible men diminished exponentially because this man beside me, thinks I’m the most beautiful person in the world. He doesn’t see my single status in the negative way my mind always creeps toward. He believes I’m single because no man has yet to be worthy of ME and it’s only a matter of time before someone wakes up and realizes I’ve been walking around this world.

I’ll take that sentiment…and I’m going to run with it.

*Knowing is half the battle.

Get On The Bus

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No filler. No filter. This is what happened to me on Saturday night (technically Sunday morning).

I left work (which includes but not limited to: collecting cover at an LGBT-friendly dance party, looking fabulous, dancing until I sweat my makeup off, enviously watching men twerk) and caught the final streetcar to the Blue Night bus. The first bus was way too packed so I opted to wait for the next one. I saw a Tim Hortons across the street and I was starving, I thought grabbing a sandwich would be a delicious treat to indulge in once I was home.

A group of guys and girls were gathered around the stop I returned to and one of the guys was using his French-speaking skills to charm some ladies visiting from Quebec. Minding my own business by scrolling through my Twitter timeline to see what I’d missed, I notice a figure in my periph. When I looked up, a young gentleman was staring right at me, mid-chew of his pita. He asked me what I was thinking about because he felt like something was on my mind. I smirk a little and tell him nothing is on my mind but the sandwich in my hand and sitting down to eat it.

That answer was not good enough for him.

He tells me he’s an intuitive guy and I’m awesome, he can tell from my vibe. I say “thank you” and see the Blue Night bus approaching (it’s just as full as the one I let pass me by earlier). He follows my stare and asks if he could have my number. Though I was flattered, this was a child and I’m not about that life. I politely decline and jump on the bus as fast I could.

At this moment, I hear him saying to the driver he wasn’t taking the bus and he was starting a commotion. I’m not paying him any mind and found a space I could squeeze into for the long trip ahead. Out of nowhere, this same guy yells to the driver, “I just need her number!!!”

My eyes widen and  I look at the front and this dude is STILL there. When he catches my eye, he takes the opportunity to bellow to the back of the bus, “I just need your number, I’m a good guy!”  I yell back, “I’m sure you are but I’m not interested, thank you though.”

Apparently, that wasn’t good enough either. The bus still can’t move until he exits or pays to stay on.

Him: “Give me a good reason why you won’t give me your number!”

Me: “I’m just not interested.”

Bus remains unmoving. This exchange goes back and forth for more than 5 minutes.

This was me, essentially, for the full five minutes because I didn't want to be rude to the guy.

Me, basically, for the full five minutes because I didn’t want to be rude to the guy.

The late-night passengers are not having it and begin to yell at him to get off the bus and leave with dignity.

Him: “I’m 21 and I’m a good guy. WHY WON’T YOU GIVE ME YOUR NUMBER?!!!”

Me: Sigh. *single blink* “Because I’m 11 years older than you, baby boy. PLEASE be safe and have a good night.”

I wanted to add that in some countries, I could be his mother but that would’ve been uncalled for. An audible hush falls over the packed bus.

At this moment, the driver ushers the young man off the bus and finally drives away. I’m surrounded by three girls; one turns to me and says, “Everyone feels bad for you at this moment.”  While these ladies and/or people on the bus would be flush with embarrassment, I could only chuckle and shake my head because “BRAVO” to that kid.

The Silver Linings Playbook of this story is: while I have no interest dating someone that young at this stage of my life, he proved to me that males ARE capable of marathonesque and herculean-type effort to procure  a way to contact me. So to all the men (and women) out there, do what it takes regardless of the potential failure.

I promise you’ll regret not going after that something you want more than taking the plunge. I’ll have more on this “going after what you want” in an upcoming post. I’m currently in the midst of doing this myself. The rejection probability is through the roof and yet here I am, still doing it and letting the universe do what it’s gonna do.

What A Difference A Day Makes

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I did something last Friday I don’t normally do: I went out voluntarily. *single blink* VOLUNTARILY!  I know, I KNOW!

Inside the bar, I stuck to lonesome until a gentleman I didn’t know well joined me. I decided to clamp onto that moment and really go for it and engage in conversation, shed my nervous skin and really have a conversation with intent. And it worked!  When he left for the night, I didn’t stick around much longer. I made my rounds and said my “goodbyes” and decided to walk a bit before jumping on the bus.

Cut to 30 seconds into my walk.

I stop at a bench to rest my purse so I can find my bus pass and a man asks me if I know a good place to grab a drink. I resort back to my old aggressive and unapproachable ways and bark: “You are asking the WRONG person. This isn’t my scene. You can try that bar there.” I gesture violently toward the bar we’re beside.  He looked at me and nervously chuckled and rephrased his question: “I meant, I was wondering if you’d like to grab a drink. With me.”

Sigh. Like…calm down, girl. That was the first time I even looked at his face. Cute smile, his top teeth were on a slant. I don’t know why I found that charming but…I did. His hair was salted with greys and I’d say he was in his mid-to-late 30s. Maybe 6′. I could tell he probably had a drink or two before this conversation but he was sincerely asking me for a drink. I apologize and told him I was heading home but he was welcome to walk with me to my stop. He tells me he’s new to the city, moved a few months ago from B.C. He works in film, building sets and doesn’t have many friends in town except for his dog.

We reach the intersection and he asks if he could call me some time. I haven’t been asked for my number in many moons and in the days where I was being asked, I didn’t give it out.  This time, due to my “Yes, and…” mentality, I gave it to him. We said our “goodnights” and parted ways. If he calls, cool. If he doesn’t, no regrets.

It’s a slow start to this brave new world of meeting real-life men in real life but I’m starting somewhere.  Let’s see what this week brings, shall we?

This will never be me again.

This will never be me again.

Seven Days

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In my newfound mindset, I’ve decided to do one thing every day this week for myself. The only requirement is that it’s for me and it brings me unbridled joy.  I finally finished reading my book, You Are A Badass by Jen Sincero.  It’s all about the laws of attraction and envisioning what you want out of life and you just have to show up to receive it. Like, straight-up blind faith in the unknown. *single blink* I’ve never done ANYTHING like this before but in the first few days, it’s worked! Here’s where we stand on my “Happiness Adventure”:

SUNDAY – I asked my mother to help me find a new couch. I’m finally at a place where I want to get my condo sorted. It will be slow and steady-going but I will make this place my home. I’ve been thinking about this couch; how it feels when I sit on it, the shape of it, how much I want to spend on it. I found a few that were close but nothing excited me. In the final store of the day, there it was.  My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. I just sat on it for the majority of the visit, I didn’t need to look at anything else – we found each other.The best part is, I paid for it in cold, hard cash. AND THE BONUS, when I got home, my tax refund was in the mail. The couch basically cost me $200. THANKS UNIVERSE!

MONDAY – Here is the exact status update I posted on Facebook: “The Spadina Station madness forced me to take the Bathurst streetcar. I passed a record store and envisioned myself walking in buying “Love TKO.” I just went in & they had two Teddy Pendergrass albums in the store. Now they have one. SQUEEEEEE!”

TUESDAY – It was Client Appreciation Day at the Renaissance Hotel. Whenever I receive invitations that pull me away from work, I decline because I have “so much to do” and I’d “rather get things completed so I don’t have to worry about them later.”  Taking my “yes, and…” philosophy into account, I accepted the invite. I ate lunch and watched the Toronto Blue Jays in absolutely luxury for the entire afternoon. It was delightful.

I’m not quite sure what Wednesday or the rest of the week will bring but everything’s coming up Milhouse and I couldn’t be more thrilled with the results.

What are you up to this week? What are you doing to make yourself happy?

Milhouse

Try Honesty

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This is a small account of my personal journey. I won’t call this an “experience” or a “situation” because I’m not done. I’m still on it but I think I needed to get this out so I can get to the next station, so to speak. It’s a long read, folks.

Depression is a helluva drug. As I type this I’m crying because this is something I’ve suffered with and through for so many years. Depression comes in many ways, shapes and forms. Depression is the prison guard of my life – it tells me when to eat, when to sleep, how to act. It doesn’t care about my well-being and finds its strength in breaking me down to the point where it thinks I’ll give up.

Yet, I’m still here.

Two weekends ago, I reached out to my best friend to help me. I couldn’t stand being in my home. You see, for as long as I’ve lived on my own, I have kept my home in a state of utter shambles. It’s hard to explain this because I’ve never verbalized why though I’ve known the reason for my actions. In keeping a home unfit for guests, it allowed me to keep everyone away from me and I don’t know why this is something I desired. I felt zero guilt about never having people to home because in my mind I knew it was a disaster; saying ‘no’ was incredibly easy. In turn, I used the excuse of being at home to deny myself social interaction with these same people. “Once I’m in, I’m in,” I’ll always say.  Sometimes I led them to answer their own question and nodded in agreement, “…you live so far, I totally understand not wanting to come back out.”  I’d nod and smile my smile. The few times I’ve had friends over, I prayed my closets, under my bed and every cupboard I own would not burst at the seams during their time with me.

The Arianne you know, the Arianne I show, the Arianne you read and the Arianne you see – illusions. The best “razzle-dazzle” show money can buy. It’s an act, folks. A perfectly, honed skillful act. I’m someone quick-witted and self-deprecating and independent and fashion forward with a “who the hell cares” attitude that I wish were true with all my might.

It’s not.

The second I cross the threshold of my home, I lock the door, I slide the chain on. I dump my jacket, my bag and anything else I have on me to the floor and I retire to my bedroom. My bedroom as of two weeks was covered in clothes and tissues and shopping bags and errant shoes and broken purses and magazines I’ve never read and buttons in baggies that came on the shirts with the tags still attached. I had a quarter of my mattress that fit my body perfectly and that’s where I’d lay. That’s where you “like” or RT my funny words. That’s where I live-tweet all my favourite shows. That’s where I ate. That’s where I didn’t sleep. That’s where I cry.

We spent about 14 hours getting rid of everything our hands could touch. This was not my battle with being a hoarder, I could care less about the things going into garbage bags (except for that apple-scented body spray I JUST bought, that I wanted). We probably filled around 11 XL garbage bags of stuff. Just f*cking stuff. This is why my mind isn’t clear at night. This is why I feel completely trapped in the one place I should feel the most comfortable, the most free. That day was eye-opening. That’s the day I told myself that whatever I’ve done and am currently doing is not working. I said it out loud and surprisingly, believed myself. It’s not working at all!

My parents believe I’m okay on the surface. I suspect they know I’m not but they know me better than anyone else. They know how I’ll get if they pressure me. When I’m at my lowest points my father, with his dyam sixth sense, ALWAYS calls me. I’m the baby of the family but I feel like the eldest more often than not. I speak with conviction and common sense. I have street smarts. I know right from wrong. I’ve been on my own for years without ever having to move back home. And as long as I’ve been away from home, I can count on my fingers and toes how many times I’ve allowed my parents into my space. After awhile, they stopped trying and who wouldn’t? I’m living this busy life, right? I’m single and in my twenties/thirties, right? I don’t need my parents, right? I take care of myself, I’m assertive,  I’m an adult…I’m Arianne.

Guys, I’m so tired. I’m physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted of that Arianne. Here’s the reason I don’t sleep. Here’s the reason I cry.

I do not like myself.

Now you can tell me I’m pretty. You can say I’m smart. You can list all the things I’ve done, where I’ve succeeded, whose life has been enhanced just by me being there and it’s a moot. You can read me the words I just typed in the paragraph before this describing all my great independent traits. I don’t think they’re all that great. If I don’t believe it, then why bother is my mentality. This is my logically illogical mind at its finest. Like Brad Pitt, I can see why people find him attractive but I am not attracted to him. So I can see what y’all are saying but I don’t believe in it pertaining to me. ‘Faking it until I make it’ is a lifestyle I thought would be best for me but it’s simply making me more sour.

Like I said before, I’m tired.

This attitude is affecting all aspects of my life. I have a nephew whom I would give up my life for in a heartbeat who I don’t see. That’s completely on me. He’s a major part of why I need to beat this. My parents… God, my parents! I never realized how much I absolutely love these two humans. A heart-bursting, overwhelming love for these two people…and I never see them, I never call them. Why? Because they’ll ask me how I am and then I’ll lie. They believe that lie and I bite my lip because I’m supposed to be the one that’s OK. That’s why. I can’t be the burden.

Everything’s coming to a head now: I’m unapologetically rude in a way that makes me angry at myself to people who do not deserve it. Hearing my own negativity annoys me, yet I can’t stop my mouth from spewing the garbage. I am not someone I’d like to be friends and I think that speaks volumes. Therapists be damned (been there, done that, have every single t-shirt ever manufactured). Doing the same thing repeatedly expecting a different result is pretty much the meaning of “insanity,” right? It has its benefits, but I need to find a new approach. The first step was simplifying my living space – making my “safe” zone a welcoming place, eliminating additional anxiety.

I’m happy to say my place is immaculate right now. For the last week and a bit, my body tensed when I turned the key at my front door expecting it to magically look the way it did before. But it doesn’t! I’ve dropped that baggage off at the front door, instead of all my belongings. I sit on my couch, I have a glass of wine, I look around and love where I am. This is the way it’s supposed to be.

Baby steps.

I know my end goal: happiness. How to get there is going to be an adventure I can no longer avoid. I’m not on my way back to good, because I’ve never been to good. I’ve been living my fake, after-school special version of good but I’ve never legitimately been good in my adult years. I’ve been living in such a terrible way in hopes to keep everyone away, so how were they to know about my mess of a life? They weren’t. That was my master plan. And it worked perfectly. I have to care about me now. I need to break through my social anxieties and fear of letting people in. All jokes come from a grain of truth and my self-deprecating ways are only hurting me the longer I feed the beast.

There you have it. Arianne. THIS (everything above) is me. The real me. A ‘me’ I’m determined to transition out of. There are things I want in life. I want a better relationship with my family, I want to do the things regular friends do, I want to have a sense of community, I want to like where I live (home and city). I want romantic love to find me and stick around and I want to believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m someone who is worthy of everything I just described.  I will no longer say I’m worthless. I will no longer cringe (visibly) or put-down compliments given to me. I will no longer allow the toxicity of my own thoughts to infect my relationships with my loved ones.

My grandfather recently passed and in the last 10 years or so, he began calling me “Hollywood.” Every time I saw him, I’d be in my favourite hat or dressed the way I dressed and he explained I looked like “those girls” he saw on TV.  And not in a bad way. It didn’t even register until after his death what he truly meant by that. He saw me as this person whose name belonged in lights. He saw me as this shining beacon of success. My grandfather could see I’m destined for something greater. He saw the person I’m supposed to be not the scared, angry and worthless girl I feel I am. His thoughts are another huge motivational factor.

I found this really great book helping me to sort out myself and my feelings. It’s allowed me to face the stories I regurgitate which simply perpetuate my miserable state of being. There are TOO many people out there who I’ve intentionally and unintentionally hurt or turned away because I simply couldn’t deal with my isht.  So please take this as my apology to my mom, dad, brother, cousins, friends (old and new), co-workers, etc.: I’m deeply sorry. More sorry than I could put into words or express in my lifetime for making you feel bad. For cancelling plans without an iota of guilt. For having a chip on my shoulder and taking it out on you. For not spending the time with you that I should. For anything, big or small, where I made you feel as though you do not matter. You matter.

Maya Angelou says that courage is one of the most important qualities to develop as a woman and to not just jump into it with huge declarations. If I fail, I will not get discouraged and I’ll try something else. And if that fails, I’ll dust myself off and begin again. If anyone else I cared about were in this position, I would tell them they deserve nothing but the best. I’m nowhere near loving myself, but I’m working on finding the things I like about myself and that’s a huge step in the right direction.

To be continued…

Arianne - Try Honesty

Gary Gulman: You Make My Dreams Come True

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Like brown paper packages wrapped up in string, you need to know some of my favourite things.

BIGGITY-BAM!

Gary Gulman

Gary Gulman

This, my lovelies, is Gary Gulman. (I KNOW, RIGHT?!?!!!!) Here are some facts: Gary Gulman is a man. Gary Gulman is a comedian. Gary Gulman is 6’6″. Gary Gulman used to teach kids. Gary Gulman is Jewish. *single blink* It’s biologically impossible but I’m mostly sure Gary Gulman manifested from my wishes, prayers and dreams of my childhood. What isn’t a dream is the day Gary Gulman followed me on Twitter, affording me the opportunity to ask if he’d participate in a Single Blink Q&A.  So that’s happening right now (p.s. you’re welcome!)

What you need to know: Everything bolded are my questions, everything italicized are Gary Gulman’s responses, (everything bolded in parentheses is my running commentary after his answers register in my brain) and I apparently like using the word “fondness.”

HERE! WE! GO!

SINGLE BLINK’S Q&A WITH GARY GULMAN

Single Blink (SB): Hi Gary Gulman! Are you cool with me calling you by your first and last name always? There are few people I do this with and I think you should feel honoured. (We use the “u” in words such as “honour” and “rumour” and “glamour,” I hope that didn’t throw you off.)

Gary Gulman (GG): You may! (YESSSSSSS! *Macaulay Culkin arm pump*)

SB: You used to teach. Was it a gradual transition into stand-up or an instant switch – what compels you to continue?

GG: I had many jobs between college and the time I became a full time standup.  I started out as and auditor for what is now Price Waterhouse/Coopers then I waited tables at various Boston restaurants, I was a bouncer/doorman at a bar, I was an auditor at TJX Companies, a Starbucks barista and then a substitute at Peabody Veterans Memorial High School in Massachusetts. (What-da-what? He’s a protector, can probs make a mean brew, has balance and can probs do your taxes with no issue. These are the qualities, my friends.)

SB: Was there a point in your stand-up comedy career when you realized you were a bonafide babe, or a “tenderoni” if you will? I mean, what is the man-to-woman ratio at the average Gary Gulman Laugh-Time Jamboree? I feel like it’s the complete opposite of Alaska’s. Or maybe men know there’ll be an abundance of ladies and flood to your shows to enjoy the funny but have their pick of the womens. I mean, AM-I-RIGHT???

GG: I haven’t noticed a huge difference in the number of males vs. females at my shows.  It couldn’t be that disparate if I didn’t notice right? (Maybe so, but maybe the spotlights are too bright for him to take notice. Maybe that’s the right answer.)

SB: I know you were tall from a young age (he’s 6’6″, folks), but were you always as confident as you are now? Did you have any self esteem issues as a young Gary Gulman?

GG: I have had self-esteem issues and I continue to.  I was raised with older brothers who were very critical and judgmental so it was a tough crowd growing up. (Not that any of his responses weren’t, but this hit me as being so genuine and earnest. Self-esteem is struggle worth fighting through).

SB: Who were/are your biggest influences in comedy (dead or alive)?

GG: Chris Elliott, David Brenner, Paul Reiser, George Carlin, Woody Allen (CHRIS ELLIOTT. Period. Another favourite of mine so this list makes me happy.)

SB: I know you have a fondness for 80s music, I mean, who doesn’t? I still listen to the majority of my music on vinyl. What are the last 5 songs played on your iPod/MP3 player/iTunes/equivalent technology?

GG: Bob Dylan: Just like Tom Thumb’s blues;It’s Alright Ma;Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie;Ludacris:Stand Up; Isley Brothers: Fight the Power (The eclecticity is ALMOST too much to bear.)

SB: Do you have a musician/band new music alert for us – who do you really dig? What gets Gary Gulman?

GG: Azealia Banks 212! (If you know me, you know I’m peaking right now. Track is a modern-day classic, tbh tbh tbh.)

SB: I believe my fondness for your comedy bloomed when I realized the passion/frequency you discuss food. The content in Gary Gulman: Boyish Man never fails to make me laugh and I’ve heard the jokes dozens of times. Discussing food items is personal passion of mine, so my question is: are you scheduled to perform in Toronto any time in 2013? (I’ve submitted your name to JFL42, so don’t worry, I’m pulling my weight trying to get you gigs.)

GG: I will not be in Toronto any time soon but I am at Montreal JFL in July (First of all, this year’s Just For Laughs, or JFL, is called “The Ethnic Show.” Sooooo…I’m just over here Googling Quebec tourism. Totes unrelated.)

SB: And obviously I need to know: if you had to choose one dessert to have for the rest of your life (you can have any meals you want but your only option for dessert is this one thing FOR-EV-ER), what would it be?

GG: Carrot Cake (do you think it’s WITH icing or without?!)

SB: This is a two-parter because I’ve been dying to know – 1) At which point in your life did you finally come to terms with Joe Manganiello basically stealing your look? 2) Is there any beef between the two of you?

GG: I did see a pic and I am flattered by the comparison.  We’re cool, now. (Phew!)

SB: In the made-for-tv Hallmark movie of your life, who would you cast to play you at the age you are now? Please show your work.

GG: How about Vince Vaughan?  He’s tall and he is entertaining, I’m not much of a party guy but he can play reflective. 

SB: Do you have any shows/appearances/things of note we should be looking out for? Give us some first-hand scoop!

GG: I’m taping an episode of John Oliver’s New York StandUp for Comedy Central in a few weeks and then I was in a movie with Toni Collette called Lucky Them that is in Post Production as they say. (JOHN OLIVER!!!!!! TONI COLLETTE!!!!! My eyes are currently peeled for premieres and release dates. Priorities.)

SB: Thank you SO much for doing this, Gary Gulman. As a former stylist and avid viewer of your vids online (but mostly as a hot-blooded woman) I would like to give you a friendly style suggestion: plain white t-shirts (round or V-neck) with medium or dark washed, straight-legged denim jean will always be your best friends. Please, for the love of all things good in this world, believe me on this. Your female audience will also thank you.

GG: What shoes go with that? (Don’t worry, I sent him some options offline. I think he’s set.)

Well, there you have it. My first celebrity Q&A and I have to say I’m on Cloud Infinity. Here’s a little stand-up for ya – the Discman section gets me every time.

You can follow Gary Gulman on Twitter – @GaryGulman or check out his site for more upcoming shows

‘Cuz I’m A Creep

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GUESS WHAT, GUYS?!!?!!!

I’m turning into the biggest, sketchiest, pervy creep of Creepville! There is not a man whose path I cross where I am not literally licking my chops to figure out which sport he plays, which area of town he’s from, what size pants he’s wearing, how well we’d match horizontally!

Take last night for instance: sitting on the train going home, perpendicular to a gentleman. Now, if I could just say this was a “good-looking gentleman,” there would be no issue. But no, lemme break it on down to Hunkytown.

HIM:

White & dark purple checkered collared shirt, rolled up just enough to look chill but not enough to look “done.”

Charcoal-coloured jeans, not skinny but definitely hung of all the right spots.

His sneakers were the same colour as his jeans with white soles. Laces. Non-brand name.

His eyelashes would probably allow him to take flight if he blinked too quickly.

His hair? Run-your-hands-through-it perfection. I’m sure he somehow imports Timotei.

I feel like I’m in a ‘Man Matrix,’ seeing ALL these hotties in binary code.

Binary Code

*single blink* Good God, it must be Spring because the fevaaaaah is here.

Eight Days A Week

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If I had more time in my life, I would keep you guys posted on so much more.  This is just a life recap to catch you up on what’s coming next for Single Blink and  what I’ve been going through. Trust me, I’ve been going through some thangs!

I am not Oprah but I have so many favourite things and I decided I’m just going to sprinkle your lives with them over the course of the summer. I have a bunch of Q&As with the boys who make my world go ’round – I really hope you enjoy them.

What else can I tell ya?  Oh yeah, I recently realized I’m in love. It’s not a love I’ll pursue because I’m too tired but hey, seems like my heart still works. These are positive steps!

Other things: I won one year of free brunch at SCHOOL in Liberty Village (Toronto) and it was simply too miserable outside when I wanted to hibernate all winter. I believe I’m going to dust off the ol’ brunch card and head there this weekend to gorge.

Funny story about crushes gone wrong: I have an admirer. He’s made himself known to his co-workers who have told me several times of his interest. This guy even sent a co-worker in with a saved photo on a phone to remind me of who he was and ask for my number. I politely declined. Well……what a mistake that was! Let’s just say it’s been an interesting few weeks of this admirer periodically stopping by my office but never admitting to what he’s asking his co-workers to do. He found me on Facebook, but not to add me, just to send me a digital ‘poke.’  Oh yeah, and there was this time, back at my office, when he told his co-worker to remind me that he looks like Puff Daddy.

First of all, he does not. Second of all, WHY would you think this would further entice me?  Does he think I was sitting here waiting for that one thing, that one integral nugget of information, that would make me break down and melt?  If so, telling someone you resemble P. Diddy is the road less travelled for a dyam reason. In the latest chapter of this thrilling saga, he has enlisted another co-worker to dig up some intel on me.  It was very important for him to know if I enjoyed lychee-based/flavoured beverages. *single blink* 

For some reason, this level of effort leaves me feeling very cold and weary. Maybe I can’t be pleased ever in life. Maybe I should just paint Homer Simpson’s face on my body pillow and call it a life. So with THAT, I leave you with a dear friend’s handiwork; a collage of sorts to help you visualize this entire hilarious nightmare. Today I present to you:

P. LYCHEE

Puff Daddy

Stay tuned for what happens next because this admirer is not done by a long shot!