Single in L.A.

I’m in mourning. Yesterday I suffered a loss…a grave loss, indeed. My dear, sweet, (not so dependable) cell phone tried to fight the good fight, but just couldn’t go on any more.

Months ago I asked for your opinions on whether I should go the way of the iPhone or the Blackberry Bold. I thought I’d made a decision, but I lied. I just couldn’t do it! Should I join the cult of iPhonies that feel compelled to hold their phones at all times? Or do I return to the ever so “serious” cult of Blackberries Anonymous?

The decision is really twofold. You see, along with switching carriers, I’m also going to start paying my OWN mobile bill. For the first time – EVER!

I told you I was a baby!

Saturday I spent some time with someone I trust wholeheartedly. Someone who used to think that all of the hubbub over Qwerty, 3G, RIM and touchscreens was little more than malarkey. Until a few weeks ago she was fine with having (sharp inhalation) a “normal” cell phone that did little more than….PLACE CALLS!

She felt that way until she found her new “love” – the iPhone. Well if SHE could fall in love and throw caution to the Blackberry Pearl-8900-8320-Bold wind, then so could I.

And the recent death of my T-Mobile brand smartphone has essentially backed me into a decision making corner. iPhone it is.

There’s one problem that I’ve had when testing out the iPhone. The one thing that made it innovative and great is the one thing that gives me an ever so slight bit of angst. That darn touchscreen. To the panel I’m known as Textasaurus Rex. No really, they nicknamed me that. And though I tend to balk when called that, I definitely earned the name. I’m a true multi-tasker. I can do happy hour, set up a date, plan a party, e-mail my boss and land a new freelance gig all at once.

Hi. My name is Haute and I’m a textaholic. Given that fact, I have the WORST time shooting out texts at rapid speeds on that touchscreen! Many an iPhone follower has complained to me about this very thing. And I’m not sure if they’ve just gotten used to it being difficult and inserting incorrect characters or if all complications subsided once they got the hang of it.

iPhone-ers, what say you? Are you still mistakenly typing “loads of ‘gun’” when you actually meant “loads of ‘fun’?” help me through this difficult transition.

*Please espectfully observe the loss of my phone and help me through my Qwerty withdrawal by having a moment of silence.*

That’s what I’ve been hearing anyway – from men!

Years ago (like 10 years ago) I had a friend that thought she was super hot. No one looked better. No one dressed better. In her book no one was better. Whether or not her opinion of herself was accurate…different story.

Anyway, this friend couldn’t get a boyfriend to save her life and she wondered why. So we’re watching Jenny Jones (yes, THAT Jenny Jones and the blurb at the end of the show calls for “women that are too hot to get a date.” Former Friend thought this a grand idea!

Back then, I scoffed. But conversations I’ve had as of late make me think there may be something there. A good male friend of mine told me recently that I’m probably single because I’m unapproachable. Me? No, that can’t be it. Smile at men when I see them? Check. Dance with strange men at parties when asked? Semi-check. Look presentable each and every time I leave the house even on a quick run to Trader Joe’s? CHECK! I AM very approachable.

That’s not what he meant. His theory is that I’m too “dolled up” on a regular basis for any man to think of me as attainable. Therefore said man would look and think, “oh she’s pretty” but opt to keep walking because his next thought would be “a little too pretty.” Huh? Too pretty?

About a week after that conversation I was talking to my best friend and she was given the SAME speech by a GGG (good guy friend) in the Midwest. He went as far as to say that he was more likely to approach a woman wearing Juicy sweats with her hair pulled back in a bun than a woman strutting the streets looking runway ready.

Why, then, do you guys ogle the likes of Beyonce, she asked. Easy: that’s a fantasy - in real life (according to him) we don’t want a fantasy. Not for the long haul. “But I guarantee the day that Jay realized that Bey was the one was the same day she donned a clean face, a tank and flip flops.”