MERRY CHRISTMAS TO MYSELF!

I’m tired of sucking at ironing no matter how hard I try and of never having a decently ironed shirt when I need one so I’m taking EVERY DRESS SHIRT I OWN PLUS SOME CASUALISH ONES BECAUSE SOMETIMES THOSE ARE MORE APPROPRIATE FOR CERTAIN OCCASIONS and paying to have the entire pile cleaned and medium-starched AND I’LL BE THE SHARPEST LOOKING MAN AT YOUR NEXT FORMAL OR SEMI-FORMAL EVENT.

But please don’t invite me anywhere nice in the next few days because every shirt I own will be at the cleaner’s. Literally.

We need to patch things up

You know how when you get your Fuddy Meers rehearsal eye patch on your lumpy head just right so it stays put without the frustration and heartbreak of patch drift and you go to take a selfie to use as a handy but of course still artistic reference to help prevent patch-drift frustration and heartbreak in the future and just as you get your selfie composed in the perfect fusion of documentary and artistic, your castmate and rival in love just POPS IN OUT OF NOWHERE to photobomb you and fully jeopardize your future patch placement and bring about an achy-heartbreaky apocalypse of patch drift for all eternity?

Rude.

Well, shit

I just broke a cardinal rule and took some troll bait and eviscerated some pointless trumphole on Facebook. And now I think my eye patch is on crooked. Let’s hope I have better success emoting my one-eyed crazypants lines in tonight’s off-book rehearsal.

ACK! The pressure!

My Chicago Magazine Top 20 Singles photo shoot is set for Tuesday afternoon -- and I've been busy gym-pumping, teeth-whitening and fake-tanning ever since it got scheduled. I also just got the information telling what to bring: clothing that I'd wear on "the biggest date of my life ... think sexy" and "something that is special to me."

As for the clothing: I think I can scrape together one or two (or 10 or 20) ensembles that make me feel sexy. (Hell, even the most shopping-addicted homo wouldn't dare waste money on pants that flattened his butt or shoes that made his feet look small.) I'm a little concerned about the "vibrant red background" we'll be shot on -- red is so NOT my color -- but I think I'll manage. Especially if the fake tan hides my naturally ghostly pallor.

As for the something special: ACK! I've been combing through my condo looking for something special that wouldn't have potential layers of creepy, unattractive subtext. Here's what goes through my head every time I think of something: my first Tempo Award (too showy, looks like my job is my life), the homemade lefse stick that's been in my family for generations (kinda tacky, though it shows a certain level of pride in my Norwegian heritage), the adorable picture of my niece and nephew kissing each other (look at the gay uncle of the little kids who make out!), a piece of Grandma's Blue Willow China (too faggy), a poster of me from Forever Plaid (looks like someone can't let go of his five-year-old glory days), my nose-hair trimmer (waaaaay too much information) ... you get the picture.

Anyway, Mom and Dad are here for the weekend, so maybe they can think of something. Fortunately, they'll be very cool about helping their son find a nice boyfriend and settle down.