I'm comfortable admitting that I take fiber supplements. I know, it's sort of a grandma thing to do, but let's face it: it feels good to be regular. I'm even comfortable buying fiber supplements. I will totally hand a bottle of tan, generic-brand pills to a Kmart cashier without hesitation. I will not, however, walk to the counter at Trader Joe's with a product that is prominently labeled "COLON CLEANSE." Seriously, TJ's, just call it fiber. We all know what it's for.

Usually when I shave, I do my upper lip last. It's a routine that makes little sense in some ways: my upper lip was the first part of my face to grow hair, and for a while it was the only thing I was shaving. You'd think my system would have expanded outward from there.

But setting aside procedural anomalies, there is another disquieting trend suggested by this practice: I am secretly considering growing a silly little Brad Pitt mustache. Two or three times a week, I reach a point where I have to talk myself down and continue hacking off the stubble while some small part of me whispers, "Admit it, you look kind of good this way. Just leave it and see what happens."

Stop it, inner fashion victim. Don't be ridiculous.

I don't consider myself informed enough to comment intelligently on Obama's address to Congress. I do, however, consider myself fashionable enough to comment on how much I loved Hillary's hot pink blazer. Nicely done, Mrs. Clinton.

Also, I'm sorry for dropping the ball on "The Regrettables" after only three episodes. (I'm sure you're all crushed.) As it turns out, the xtranormal format was fairly restrictive. I kept thinking of jokes that wouldn't work for one reason or another, so in the end I moved on. Maybe some day I'll think of another web comic format that works better. Or maybe I'm just not cut out for web comics. It's a cutthroat world.

StudySpanish.com is probably the single greatest thing to happen to my New Year's Resolution ever. No, really though. Randomly generated quizzes? Study guides? Free? I am so going to gain a conversational grasp of this language.

I never blog anymore. Recently, I've been wondering about my sudden lack of urge to share here. Is it about self-assurance? Do I have the strength to no longer beg for attention on the internet? Maybe it's a drop in confidence, and I just no longer believe that my stories are worth telling. Maybe I'm focusing on more important things. Maybe the artistic fulfillment I got from acting made writing temporarily unnecessary.

Nope. None of those things. As it turns out, my one-sentence Facebook status updates target the same amorphous desire as a full blog entry, only in a more efficient manner. I learned this when I posted a status update about Ricardo's show. I won't be able to change it until the play closes, and that fact has sent me crawling back to Livejournal.

By the way, you should all go see "Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun" when it opens.

Also, on a different tangent, I finally bought and set up a keyboard. Maybe I'll learn to play the piano again!

Ricardo is doing a one-man show. I might be a touch biased, but I think he's one of the more intelligent and talented people I've ever met, and thus I whole-heartedly recommend this production, even though I have not yet seen it.

The website is here:

Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun

I'll be going at least twice. You should come with.

Thanks to Brie, I am addicted to Wrongsmith. I may never listen to good music played by real instruments ever again.

I used to be able to focus on things. Perhaps I'm mistaken, but I swear I can remember a time when I could read a book for two hours or write until I forgot how long I had been writing or stay in one place for an afternoon without difficulty. Now, I barely have the attention span to sit through an entire movie. I can't get myself to see any one task through to completion, leaving me with nothing but beginnings and frustrations. I'm not sure what's behind it, but it's clearly something I need to work on. Maybe I just haven't found something about which I feel passionately. Maybe I've simply grown dispassionate. Either way, it's going to be a long winter if I don't get my groove back.

I know, I'm woefully behind in posting the next episode of "The Regrettables." My mind has been consumed with other things. Why not head over to Hermitosis.com and read my hilarious review of "My Bloody Valentine" instead? (And, as usual, click the banner ad while you're there.)

Speaking of reading my work: on Monday, someone outside Toronto read over 300 of my previous entries. Thank you to my mysterious Canadian fan for making me feel momentarily important and worthwhile. Isn't that all any blogger wants? To have some stranger stumble upon us and be all, "Well, this person has something to say!"

Ah, sweet internet validation.

So this is Christmas.

I skipped town this year to visit Ricardo's clan in California. A play-by-play, or even a highlights reel, would end up feeling long and boring, and the experience was anything but. I'll tell you about it in person some time. Suffice it to say that it was a learning experience in a number of ways, and I have come home definitely happier, hopefully smarter, and probably heavier.

The main thing I gained, other than the excess cookie weight, is the realization that I don't give Ricardo nearly enough credit. My insecurities make it easy for me to retreat into the idea that he is only mildly interested in me. Part of me will always be the sixth grader who wasn't invited to parties by the popular kids, and that aspect of my personality wants to see our relationship as something that I cling to desperately, struggling to hold his attention until he figures out what a clod I am. As it turns out, such beliefs are what make me a clod. The boy is head over heels for me, and it's a disservice to him not to acknowledge and appreciate that fact. He invested so much time and energy in me this week, and all because he derives genuine joy from sharing with me.

I didn't bring my laptop or charge my cell phone and I didn't make plans. I let him show me his hometown, his high school, his family and friends, his favorite places. He made me laugh when I was angry and sob with the intensity of our happiness. It was all unexpected and all perfect, even the times when we got grumpy and bickered. I generally hate writing sappy entries like this, but the exception must be made because he is exceptional, and I'm just starting to recognize the extent to which that is true.

OK, friendly friends, I am once again in need.

I've found myself worrying more and more lately. I've gotten really good at picking things completely outside of my control and fussing about them. It's led to some emotional confrontations that I didn't need to have. How can I avoid getting worked up over things that are far in the future and out of my hands anyway? Help me freak out less.

Thanks!

Yes, I am for some reason still keeping up with this web series nonsense.

Episode 2 of "The Regrettables" is now up and running.

I know, you were dying with anticipation.

It's not that I don't think Hugh Jackman is fun to look at and all, but does anyone else find it odd that he was chosen to host the Oscars? I mean, if I was selecting people to host the Oscars, I'm not sure I would even put him on the list. Again, I'm not saying I don't enjoy the man: talented actor, hot body, reasonably charming, but for serious, I have never once thought of him as the kind of person who stands on a stage by himself for three hours and entertains a crowd. Did no one else want to? Was every comedian in the world busy that day? Hugh Jackman? Dude, young women and gays are already going to watch, you don't need to tempt us with man candy. I dunno, it just doesn't make sense.

I feel the urge to update my Facebook status about a hundred times a day, which means that I probably need to just start blogging again. Or that I need to disconnect my Twitter account from my Facebook and just start tweeting. (I once vowed I would never use that term. Damn it.)

Anyway, my sleep has been wacky lately. I'm finding it difficult to get the deep sleep I'm used to, so instead I have weird dreams and wake up feeling less refreshed than usual. There haven't been changes to my caffeine intake, diet, or other daytime routines, so I'm at a loss as to the cause of this issue. I have an enormous comforter, so I don't think I'm too cold during the night, but maybe I should try going to bed in sweats or something just to see if it helps.

My iPod Touch is coming tomorrow, and I am unreasonably excited. The part that I'm most jazzed about is the ability to upload my digital copy of Wall-E so I can bring it with me wherever I go.

I have made cleaning my room a low priority, but looking around at the state of things, I now see what a mistake that was. I think I have a project for myself after rehearsal tonight.

OK, that's the majority of my inane ramblings. The usual mushy stuff about how I love my boyfriend continues, but I think we can just have that as an unspoken constant from now on. We're already the cutest couple in creation, and I'm simultaneously unbearably proud and deeply self-conscious about that fact.

OK, kids.

I found this website where you can (for now) post free animated videos. So I thought it would be fun to design a brief web series. I'm planning to post once a week with the latest installment of my hilarious show. Here, for your viewing pleasure, is the pilot webisode (I hate myself for using that word) of "The Regrettables."

CLICK ME!

It won't get any funnier than that ever, so you may or may not want to bother checking back every Monday.

I've talked to many of you about this in person, so sorry if this is a repeat.

A while back, my office stopped giving out cash bonuses in favor of a points system. Points could then be redeemed through an online catalog for goods and services. It felt like grade school, where you sell candy to your neighbors and relatives so you can get enough points for a calculator watch. My initial bonus was enough to earn me some new forks or something lame, so I dismissed the whole scenario as cheap and tacky and basically forgot about it for a couple years.

Last week, after accruing another small bonus for some nominal good deed or other, I got curious and decided to check in on my non-money. I figured maybe I'd have saved up enough to get something almost useful.

As it turns out, I had enough points to buy a new refrigerator. Or a 26" television and a Nintendo Wii. Or two skydiving trips and a ride in a hot air balloon. Like, actual stuff. Plane tickets. Hotel rooms. I was drunk with power!

I've spent the days since then thoroughly obsessing over how to use my newfound wealth. I'm anxious about wasting the points and then not having enough for something big and exciting later. On the other hand, I'm also worried that I'll sit on them for years on end and never buy anything (as I have already done for so long), and if I never use them, then what's the purpose of even receiving a bonus? Eventually, I caved and redeemed a small portion of my earnings for an iPod Touch, which will hopefully reduce the infinite envy I feel for others' iPhones. I still have a bunch left over, however, which I will probably continue to horde like a greedy dragon. One day, I'll partially furnish my new apartment with the points system.

I've previously pimped Tom's horror blog here, mostly because I write an occasional (and awesome) column for him. Today, I'm going to throw a little more traffic his way by encouraging you to visit Arcanalogue, his positively brilliant tarot website. His quest to apply the deck's archetypes to everyday life, and vice versa, has yielded some exceptional insight. In particular, I'm a fan of his new "Draw One Card" button, which provides you a single, random image and description on which to muse. Those of you interested in more thorough guidance can contact Tom through the site for personalized readings or even Tarot lessons. If you're even half-interested, I hughly recommend taking the plunge. He knows what he's talking about.

I'd like to thank shaneface for linking to this video. Images like these remind me that if I ever decide to sleep with a woman, I am absolutely going to find a big gal. These ladies just seem like a whole lot of fun.

Then again, I'm a skinny boy dating a skinny boy, so my pro-chunk messages carry only so much resonance, you know?

My god, it's been so long since I updated this thing that I don't even know where to begin.

I've been going through another highly introspective period. It has come to my attention that I don't always understand my actions and reactions as well as I maybe should. I know what I'm doing, but not why I'm doing it. There are plenty of insignificant, specific examples I could offer, but each is unnecessarily couched in a long, boring story. The point is that I don't always recognize why something makes me angry, why I am sensitive to certain topics, why I shy from things... my instincts, while not inherently incorrect, are nonetheless confusing. Figuring some of those little nuts and bolts out will probably help me immensely in feeling like a whole person.

"Feeling like a whole person" is sort of the running theme this winter. I was alerted to this need on Thanksgiving. I brought Ricardo to meet my family, and it was the first time that I was completely out to my aunts, cousins, and grandmother. Nothing changed. It was the exact same Thanksgiving dinner that would have happened if he hadn't been there, and that was the best feeling in the world.

Another holiday tradition: making all the kids perform. Though I thought I was past that stage, I was still wrangled into sitting at the piano and half-remembering a song to play and sing. In college, I could accompany myself on "Wicked Little Town" from "Hedwig and the Angry Inch," so I plunked out a scrappy first verse. It was pretty lackluster, but people were impressed, and it reminded me that there are things that I am, or could be, good at. The world is so full of accomplishment, and it's easy to feel like just a guy at a desk. It's important to remember that I have skills, even if I'm not using them.

Of course, I'm still the same ball of insecurities I was two weeks ago. I have growth left to achieve. But I have a goal. For a brilliant moment on Thursday, I felt intensely good about myself even though I would have, in any other circumstance, defined that performance as a failure. I couldn't remember what notes to play or what lyrics to sing, I didn't know any other pieces to play, and there were people in the room who could have sung or played much better. That kind of didn't matter. I just need to feel that support even when it's not right next to me. I'm never going to be the smartest or most talented or richest or best dressed. I will never be as intelligent and skilled and beautiful and successful as I want to be. But I'm doing OK, and people like me, and not everybody needs to be a god damned genius anyway. It will be better for me to learn to take pride in, and maximize on, those things I can do, rather than lamenting over everything I can't.