1. Hot gay couples shopping for rugs at IKEA. (Like IKEA meatballs, they make me intensely happy while I’m enjoying them, and then leave me intensely unhappy for the following 12-14 hours, or until my body expels them, whichever comes first.)
2. Gay bars that play Taylor Swift music videos and get me drunk after only four vodka tonics. (XES is my go-to gay bar in NYC, even though the DJ is a slimy snake who refuses to play Beyoncé while he plays the same Madonna song three times in a row. Everybody sees what you’re doing, bitch. DO BETTER.)
3. Chicago on Broadway, specifically the tightness of pant worn by the background dancers, specifically the blond guy with the nice hair and the bright teeth and the thighs. (Also, of course, “Cell Block Tango,” which I will continue to belt in the shower every morning until I’m physically wrenched from this cold, dead earth.)
4. Everything Kanye West ever tweets, even if they are apologies to Beck. (For the record, I love Kanye and will defend his douche-baggery with all of my breath. If you wanna know why, you can read this defense of his egotism by my friend Heben and then listen to My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy and then stare into a mirror until you die.)
5. Nick Jonas’s cover of “Only One,” which isn’t better than Kanye’s original, but knowing that NJ probably recorded it in only his underwear, clutching his genitals, is helpful to my enjoyment.
6. The Oreo McFlurry and everything it stands for.
7. The glorious freckled treasure chest of ginger cinnamon buns that is Eddie Redmayne.
8. Hot waiters, or specifically, people who bring me food, drinks, clean up after I’ve made a mess and only expect 15 to 20 percent of my money in return.
9. “I Can’t Let Go,” by Jennifer Hudson, which is, objectively, the best song from Smash the TV show, no matter what you think you believe.
10. And, of course, Neil Patrick Harris’s bulge. (Say what you want about what you think was in there, but I’m fine with whatever it is.)