After dropping my iPhone in the toilet last week (a dramatic experience to say the least. A slo-mo cinematographic bounce off the toilet seat, my fingers missing it by inches as it plunked into the clean porcelain bowl, accompanied by a guttural “NOOOOooooooo” that to some I’m sure would have sounded like the birthing of a baby calf), I mentioned on Twitter and Tumblr that my poor, sweet IssPhone was water-logged and knocking on death’s door.

I got a lot of great responses giving tips and encouragement: “Blow dry it;” “leave it in a bag of uncooked rice;” “Turn it off immediately;”  “add one part rice, two parts water, boil for 20 minutes, and fluff (you know who you are);” and a few notes along the lines of “it’s already in the toilet, flush it and get a phone that works.”

To the people that sent notes about using this as an opportunity to go back to a Blackberry or get that a new Verizon Droid, you just don’t get it. This is about form, not function.

Sure, I’ve been reading the Droid coverage, I’ve watched the reviews, and I can see the appeal. It actually makes calls and sends email, it has turn-by-turn navigation, built-in MS exchange support,  and it does the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs. But do you think I give a shit? No, because that phone doesn’t move, and shake, like this!

Here’s the thing. My life is pretty safe. I’ve got a 9-to-5 that I enjoy, a great girlfriend, and I barely have enough material on my family to write that memoir. No one’s mistaking me for this guy, or these guys. I need some excitement! I need whooshing screens, white casings, the ability to post what’s on my screen on my blog, and 8 billion apps!

Sure, it’s unreliable, weak, unstable, doesn’t compromise, and it slept with my friend Ray last week, but that’s why I love it. It’s exciting! It’s sexy! It’s arm candy.

iPhone, the worse you are for me, the more I need you. Each time my friends tell me how worthless you are, I think about how dull life would be without you. Yes, you’re abusive, but if only I could fix you, change your behavior, you’d be perfect, just perfect. I know it.

I’m going to keep trying. There’s so much good in you, and I know deep in my hurt that you’re really not a bad piece of hardware. And every time I see you with your case off, I get goosebumps.