When I first started dating The Daver, it must have been right around a new school semester starting for me in school. He was already a Working Person, and while I did work, I slung beers and pizzas on the weekends while I cared for my son during the week. He had a Big Boy Job and I was a student.

When I told him casually that “I needed a day planner” I was envisioning the paper and pencil kind that I was accustomed to. Perhaps I’d find one with a trippy graphic on it that I could perhaps draw something lewd–like a whimsical penis!!–on. My only real stipulation was that it was notebook sized. I didn’t and still don’t particularly like to scrawl notes in tiny hieroglyphics with pens designed for mice.

“No way,” The Daver was adamant here, “You need a PDA.”

“Um.” I hated to break it to him when he was being so fucking cute and forceful, but I knew I needed a PDA like I needed more baby daddy drama.

“No, you do. Here, let’s go get you a nice one.” He quickly executed a 3-point turnabout and drove into the Worst Best Buy parking lot. Out of the car he sprung and leaving me no choice but to trail along behind him, I followed him into the store unhappily.

Best Buy is NOT my happy place.

Quickly he steered me over to the PDA section and handed me a box. “Here,” he said confidently, “I’ll buy you THIS.”

It was approximately 76,000 times as much as the paper one I was looking at but he was so fucking earnest about it that I said only, “Um. Okay.” Maybe he was right. I could probably learn something from him.

“On one condition, The Daver,” I bargained with him. “I need a Coach PDA case.”

“Deal.” He said quickly.

I spent the next 3 days painfully entering all of my information into the stupid thing, all of my contacts (which I took from my cell phone, which really WAS my lifeblood, lest you think I was a total technophobe), all of the syllabuses, all of the stuff that I’d need for the next semester and I put it in it’s happy pink Coach PDA case and stuffed it into my backpack.

THERE, I thought to myself. LOOKIT how professional I look!!

I practiced whipping the PDA case out and entering something furiously into it like I always saw the commuters doing on the train, and I felt pretty cool for upwards of 2.4 seconds. Until I realized that I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Then, I forgot to charge the fucking thing and lost all of my painstakingly entered data. Then I lost the power cord for the thing. I considered flushing it down the toilet, but decided against it since I didn’t ACTUALLY buy it myself.

I furtively went out and bought myself an actual day planner and happily used real ink to write down my schedule for the next several months, happy to be dating a technophile, but just as happy to not be one myself.

Which is why it’s weird that on April 3, Mr. FedEx will be bringing me–Your Aunt Becky–her very own iPad. I actually pre-ordered the newest piece of technology for myself. It’s like I’m looking in the mirror and I don’t recognize myself anymore because it’s not even the $20,000 diamond iPad.

The Daver has been mocking me since I pre-ordered it, which is even weirder. It’s like we’re turning into the other person which means I should develop a love of whiny emo music and he should turn into a huge Britney fan. I guess I’m not that worried, because I’ll still never, ever enter my calendar information into it. Like, ever.

Because entering “FUCKING SURVIVE” every day is kind of depressing.

108 Responses to An iPad By Any Other Name Would Be Less Stupid Sounding

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