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.