It's Been Seven Hours and Too Many Days...

Come back to me, precious!
As you may be aware, my iPod has met it's demise. My iPod was not this shiny great version, but the first generation dinosaur with the actual spinny wheel. It held a measly 5GB of music, which I was close to exceeding since my recent rediscovery of Tori Amos has had me ripping the CDs so they can be at my disposal at all times.
I had the pipe dream that I could disassemble my museum-worthy model and replace the hard drive so I could have Ashlee and J. Lo back in my morning commute. Computer Dan assured me that I have the skills to handle cracking the case open and plugging the new drive in. "I opened my iPod once without even trying," he said. I even thought I could afford to fix it, since I found this website. "$39.95?" I said. "I can handle that." Except despite all my proofreading training, I didn't read closely and see that was only the cost of battery. Upon further research, it turns out the hard drive would cost $100, bringing the grand total to $139.95, plus shipping. Plus the very real possibility that I would bring the bits of my iPod in to the office, pour them onto Computer Dan's desk and weep. For the third time in a month and a half.
Both Yvette and Kristen are all, "Dude, chill, you yuppie hipster you." But let me make this clear: I cannot live without air, Top Model, water, or my iPod. I am trying. Lord, am I trying. I am reading books on the commute in. But in the morning it is hard to hold a book up, especially while holding on for dear life as the green line hurtles and jerks into Boston, especially while I'm stumbling in tall shoes, trying to balance a book, scalding hot tea and my gym clothes. Some days I just want to put the song shuffle on and listen to Tori Amos or Tom Waits or the Police. I am a moody motherfucker. I may start the day in a Talking Heads mood, then be in a Kelly Clarkson state of mind. I have tasted the glory that is having my music collection on hand at all times and I don't want to go back to my South Park CD wallet which only holds a few CDs. I don't want to burn endless spindles of blank CDs to load onto my office computer. I especially don't want to listen to the inane conversations people have on the T. The iPod is the epitome of the American Way: I want everything, and I want it now, or whenever I may demand it in the future. I am doing my patriotic duty by lusting after the 20GB model so I can even load my Indigo Girls CDs on my computer.
Does the fact I hate people and cringe at the sight of a Discman or *gasp* a Walkman make me an elitist? Sure. But the iPod is the one luxury item I have, really. I don't own any Manolo Blahnik shoes. I don't own any Mizrahi, not even the stuff from Target. The occasional Frapuccino and my iPod are the yuppie standards I want for myself. For the love of Christ and ponies, I don't even own a Burberry scarf and you can buy that shit at flea markets for $5. My cellphone doesn't have a flash for the picture phone. Oh LORD, won't you buy me, a Mercedes Benz...
Ahem. So, in short, it makes me a snooty elitist yuppie, but I am going to start a countdown to my birthday when my Mom said she'd consider buying me the new shiny model. And learn to put myself into a catatonic state while on public transport until that glorious day comes.