At some point in the past I'm sure I bitched about my phone. It was dying a slow death. Now it lies forlorn and abandoned. I got a new phone.
I love texting, not in the way that a teenage girl does, but in the way that I hate making phone calls but often want to let people have access to a particular thought process that involves them.
This is technically the third phone I've had, though the first was technically a work phone. After some people misused their phones they were quickly taken away. My next phone was a few years later, and as of mother's day that phone will be four years old.
All of this to say that I'm on my third phone, though considering the work phone wasn't my primary phone, it could also be seen as only my second.
I took care of the Razr for the years I've had it. I never really used it that much in the beginning, but lately it's seen more and more use. It really has been time to replace it, so I finally did.
I think I got a decent deal, and considering the phones AT&T had to offer, it was the exact one I wanted. Sure there are fancier phones, but this one is a pretty green and has a qwerty keyboard, and the camera seems to take good pictures, and the actual phone works better than the old phone, or at least I think it does. Maybe I'm still high from new/pretty/fancy phone vapors.
So while the Blackberrys are neat and cool looking, and the iPhone is like, an iPhone duh, I like my Samsung. As mentioned it's pretty, and I actually enjoy getting to type out my little messages. I'm anal retentive about not using u when I mean you, and the t9 shit isn't going to do it for me. It's too much. I don't like it.
But my new phone? I love it, though not quite as much as a baby loves it when you push their knees toward their chest and help them get that fart out.