My prada phone is currently wrapped in layers of tissue paper, bedded in a box of styrafoam peanuts, on its way to Texas recycling facility called Cycled Cells. There was a dull ache in my heart when I sealed the box with duct tape; our break-up was abrupt, with few parting words, but I knew it was for the better. I adored her every gentle beep, every careless click as my fingers ran across her touch screen and flew through her keyboard. I relished the oohs and ahhs as people around me lavished her with attention. "A prada phone!" They'd breathe, passing her from hand to hand. She was beautiful, a fusion of old world sophistication and modern-day elegance, but she was impossible to handle. She took so much of my time, my effort, and gave me nothing in return. Yes, we had some brief, shining moments. I've composed more than one journal post on her keyboard, and she let me text like there was no tomorrow. But you can never change a cellphone, not even one as promising as the Prada 2. The bad times were the worst; she'd shut off on me when I needed her the most, toyed with my paitience as she refused to properly load any page I coaxed from her built in web-browser. Some of the most trivial things, like google maps, became a battle of frustrating proportions. I guess that's what happens when you're with a high-maintenance, superficial vixen like the Prada 2. I kept trying to make excuses for her, tried to counteract her handicaps with 3rd party apps, but in the end, it was common sense that brought me to my feet. If its only been 4 months since I got this phone, and I'm paying an extra $25 a month for the data plan, and it'll be another year and 8 months before I am able to get a new phone for cheaper, can I live with this phone for that long and make it worth the extra data plan charges? The answer was a definite, resonating NO. With each passing day and aggravation, the resell value of my Prada 2 was going down. A few drops and scrapes left a jarring crack alongside the screen. You wouldn't notice it without examining it closely, but the split was there, and damaged goods don't give good market price returns. The realization was cold, cruel. It gave me the courage to shut her off, take out my sim card, and leave her hollow and soulless. Just like how she arrived.

I left her for an iphone, one that I found online and showed much promise. He wasn't much of a looker; he could blend in among all the other iphones, and no one would be able to tell if he was a 3g or a 2g unless they lifted him and gave him a good, hard look. Sure I could dress him up, but he would never be unique, not in the way the Prada 2 was. He's been through an owner or two, his shell and screen not pristine like those coming straight from the box. Not to say he's completely scratched up, but you can tell life gave him a few nicks here and there.

But he would work, and he would work hard, no matter how many pages I opened up on him, no matter how many calls and texts and mp3s I choose to unleash on him, he would withstand it. He would bring me web browsing pleasure, he would play movies on demand. And if I broke the bonds that Apple and ATT clamped upon his soul, he would serve me like no other phone on the market ever could. Unfortunately, my new iphone comes with baggage, and that baggage comes in the form of a curse called 3.1. The 3.1 psyche coupled with his 3g body means that jailbreaking and unlocking him without a mac is presently impossible. I still have a few days before he arrives, and I've been searching across the web for an answer. One way was to downgrade him to 3.0, then unlock and jailbreak him. Another way to pay 30 dollars so a software could do it for me. Time is ticking, and I need a working phone.