apple

Things had conspired to keep me on a PC. I liked that you could configure it yourself, that you had more free software available for it, with more platform flexibility. The x factor for Macs seemed so boutique, so full of shit that I was never really tempted. Then, one day between an open-source mp3 word processor that wouldn't stop crashing and a mysterious virus that emailed photos of my detumescent junk to my extended family and all my business contacts, something shifted. I found myself paying closer attention to the commercials, to the generally well-adjusted personalities and successful lives of the people I knew who "thought different." I began to wonder if it wasn't time to think different myself.

I went to the Apple Store. It was packed and everybody there seemed, I don't know how to put it, somehow hotter than they actually were. It wasn't that people were necessarily more physically fit, but the dudes who were 50 pounds overweight somehow knew how to wear it, and women (snaggletoothed but proud) seemed generally more interested in talking to them, about the latest accessories, about the iPad, about the ramifications of the new Iphone on communication as we know it. They all went bathed in a bright white light. I was hooked, and I almost broken down right there and bought a laptop on credit in the store. Fortunately, because I was so caught up in the moment I actually might have gone ahead with it then and there, the salespeople were too busy to answer my questions. By the time one had time for me, I had lost my nerve.

I drove home in a cloud of self-hate and lonely misery and cried for a long time. I made popcorn and jerked off and when that didn't calm me down I did it again, this time to the FBI Most Wanted website and when that still didn't do the trick I got drunk and dialed anyone who (a) had ever slept with me or (b) had even thought about it. Those few who still had the same number and were willing to pick up -- as a rule these represented category (b) -- could offer little advice. In the end, my situation was impossible. I wanted an Apple, but couldn't justify the $2500 it would cost for the computer and the cool new clothes to go with it. Finally, Ramona, definitively, sadly, category (b) Ramona, advised me to find one used and save for the clothes at a later date.

I was quite fortunate to find a used Macbook on Craigslist. The guy who sold it to was only willing to meet after midnight and at the Wawa of my choosing. He twitched a little and maybe slobbered once as he counted the money (and for a second I thought he was going to stab me and bolt) but the price was right. It worked great and eventually I would grow to appreciate the "Property of the University of Connecticut" stamped on the thing in bold, black immovable type. I think that hint of danger may have even added cachet or mystery at Starbucks, where for months after I was to parade my new laptop like a highly-convenient newborn child.

I got the clothes, as well: two Banana Republic shirts that I wash in the bathtub to save on detergent; one pair of Banana Republic pants that I wear every day and keep as clean as possible using Handy Wipes; and a pair of Berkenstocks that I wear rain, sleet, or snow.

The results have been outstanding. My world is bathed in a bright, cathode light, bold, heavenly light that emanates from behind doors and windows and through the branches of happy trees. My boss is off my back now, and on my steady diet of cupcakes and Mountain Dew I actually seem to be losing weight. The toothaches and painful diarrhea have stopped and my phone is always ringing. The best part is that I can pick up: It's never bill collectors or my mom or wrong numbers for the funeral home down the street. No, on the other end is Ramona, definitively, happily, category (a) Ramona.