Greetings from the land of boredom and under-appreciation. For this afternoon’s post, I thought I’d throw out a two-part list called ‘Things I Like’ and ‘Things I Don’t Like.’ Sort of a self-propagated point-counterpoint thing, if you will.

Things I Like
• Paula Dorf’s lipstick in “Gilda.” This is a truly superb color and I pretty much plan to make it my new lipstick staple. Hell, this could be the thing that puts an end to my incessant lipstick-purchasing compulsion. Seriously, it’s bad. I estimate that, at present, I own upwards of 60 shades/variations of lip color. It’s a truly worthless obsession, but at least it costs less than handbags. I tend to purchase them on a much slower cycle.

• Benetint, by BeneFit. Truly amazing stuff here—it really is the sexiest flush you can get in a bottle. The fact that it smells and tastes like roses is a nice perk, too. Once in the olden days of my youth I went through a serious rose phase, in which I explored rose-related products in a bevy of incarnations. I think the low-point was the rose-flavored breath mints. They tasted like soap, but came in a neat bottle. What was I thinking?

• Good dates. Really, is there a better way to spend your time? A good date can send you into a certain form of euphoria that science has yet to articulate in pharmaceutical form. I hope they call me when they do, because it would definitely help nullify the yuck from a bad date (more on that later).

• Cheerful cashiers, particularly during the holiday shopping crunch. I wish all retail employees could summon up a good game face for the brief weeks that precede the winter holidays. When it’s good, it’s really really good…and when it’s bad, it’s horrid.

• Spell check. I greatly enjoy any and all automated functions that save me from looking like a complete idiot…or at least from looking like the poor typist I truly am.

• Full tanks of gas. For some reason, I get a brief but joyous high from knowing that my 19.5 gallon tank is totally full. There’s always a part of me that thinks, ‘Reno. We should drive to Reno.’ I have yet to act on it, but it’s only a matter of time.

• A cat under the covers. Oddly, of my two cats it’s the completely evil one that likes this. The cuddlier, snuggle-monster Max? Won’t do it. He’s a top-of-the-covers-only kind of boy. Phoebe, also known as Prickles the WonderBitch, has entered this weird phase wherein she absolutely MUST crawl under any blanket that I’m under and lay next to my hip. That’s not to say that she isn’t extremely fond of biting me while she’s under there, but it’s pretty sweet nonetheless.

• Great fonts. Doesn’t the simplest of text look so much sexier when it’s written in a completely cool font? I think it’s why I’m so taken with Calvin Klein underwear.

• Doctor’s appointments that take up the whole morning. Wednesday, baby, Wednesday!

• White cake with pink frosting. I have never made a white cake with frosting colored anything but pink and I don’t intend to change that practice. Ever. It just works. Yes, dipshit, I know it tastes the same…or does it?

• The entire Elsa Peretti line at Tiffany. I own one necklace (the silver bean), and that’s only the beginning. If anyone is hard-up for a birthday present idea for me, I will gladly accept the Elsa Peretti silver and diamond ring in size 6.

Things I Don’t Like
• Colorstay anything. Let’s face it—it’s really better to have your lipstick wear off completely and hazard reapplication than to be stuck with the mouth of an unfortunate 90-year-old ½ way through your day. You know it, you’ve been there: cracked, dry, flaking, an odd ring of cakey lipschmutz lining the inside of your lip. It never works to reapply, so don’t bother.

• Bad dates. I could actually pull together a nice anthology about this, but I think the interviews would take the rest of my natural-born life. Wouldn’t you think that most people could dial down the crazy for two hours? Two hours, I ask you! To protect the innocent (misguided, perhaps, but still relatively innocent), I will withhold the specific details I have in mind, but gawd.

• Surly salespersons. Oh, I’m sorry, am I inconveniencing you a great deal by asking where the hell the photo albums are? This Matrix-like maze of a store you have here is baking my noodle something awful, so please understand that it’s against my better judgement to ask for help. Please, go back to your absorbing conversation with Wanda about the ever-pressing issue of bangs versus no bangs. My sincerest apologies.

• Grammar check. I find great irony and rapture in the fact that the grammar check on this computer chose to underline the title of this bullet with it’s green squiggle of incorrectness. Ah, the mobius strip of Microsoft logic.

• Cat litter in my bed. I gave them a doormat to wipe their little paws on after exiting the box, but a few select grains find their way into my bed every day. Sigh.

• Comic Sans. This font is hideous and unprofessional. Why it appears so frequently in the business world continues to baffle me. People, it’s not cute, so cut it out.

• Thomas Kincaide and all of his “art.” It’s not art, people, it’s good marketing. This man and his hideously schmaltzy paintings make me physically ill. “Likes Thomas Kincaide” appears in the top-5 on my list of Relationship Dealbreakers. Right up there with declaring Canon in D as your favorite piece of classical music. Hang on, nausea….overwhelming me…must…find…basin…

• Unnecessary acronyms. This was a huge problem in college, and it only got worse when I left school for the financial industry. Not to name names, but here at this country’s central bank, we have more damn acronyms than you can shake a stick at. When you have to publish an online acronym dictionary, it’s time to admit you have a problem.

• Jennifer Lopez. I could, in fact, add her to the list of People I’d Like to Kick in the Teeth. Let me just say this briefly, and we’ll be done. The woman is absolutely talentless. She’s a talentless assclown. She can’t act her way out of a paper bag, can’t sing, and REALLY can’t dance. As we saw at last year’s academy awards, clearly having more money than God doesn’t mean you can hire a decent stylist. The dress sucked and didn’t fit, the hair simply defied explanation. Bottom line: she’s cheesy and I’m sick of her ass face.

I think that pretty much wraps it up for now. I kind of dig this format, so we’ll probably be seeing more of it in the weeks to come.

Reminder: Boys Are Stupid.