Editor's note: Dean Obeidallah, a former attorney, is a political comedian and frequent commentator on various TV networks including CNN. He is the editor of the politics blog "The Dean's Report" and co-director of the upcoming documentary, "The Muslims Are Coming!" Follow him on Twitter: @deanofcomedy
(CNN) -- I feel guilty. My iPhone has been great to me. Loyal. Hard working. Holds a charge well. Sure, we had some dropped calls, but who hasn't?
But something is wrong with our relationship. And I know it's not my iPhone, it's iDean.
Yes, I know this isn't the best time to bring this up, what with Apple's earnings report showing that so many others are also falling out of love with their iPhones. But I could not keep it inside any longer.
I realized our problems had gotten bad when reading media reports about the new iPhone 5 expected to be released this fall. In the past, those articles truly excited me. I couldn't wait for the new iPhone. I would scour the net looking for more hints. An image. A rumor. Anything. In those days, I was crazy about the iPhone.
But when I read about the iPhone 5, my reaction was not one of excitement, but pity. The iPhone is doing all it can to stay attractive. Lose weight. Increase its screen size. Work faster. It's like the phone version of Madonna.
Maybe the iPhone caught me looking at the younger Samsung Galaxy. I tried not to look. But how can I be blamed for taking a glance? So, I Googled an image. And yes, I asked a friend if I could try his. But I haven't done anything wrong—at least that's what I keep telling myself.
I longingly think back to how my relationship started with the iPhone. It was the summer, 2007. I thought it would be a typical summer. I'd use my phone to make some calls, text friends from it. Nothing exciting.
But then I saw it. Sure, I had seen the commercials, but I didn't fully appreciate the beauty of the iPhone until I saw it in person. At that moment, I vowed that nothing would stand in my way of getting my hands on one--except the hundreds of people standing on line in front of me at the Apple Store.
My first iPhone had me at "Hello." Actually, there were a lot of dropped calls in those days, so technically it had me at: "Can you hear me now?" But hey, we were young. Neither of us knew what we were doing or where it would lead. But we agreed to give it a shot—a one-year shot, to be precise, per the terms of my service agreement.
That amazing year flew by. Before you knew it, the iPhone 3G arrived. It looked like the original, but was faster. More powerful. It could do things the first iPhone couldn't. In defense of my first iPhone, it would have gladly done these other things if it were technologically capable.
Then in June 2010 came the biggest moment of our relationship: The iPhone 4. Just as Steve Jobs promised: "This changes everything. Again."
It felt like 2007 all over again. Plus it was better. The new iPhone was sleeker. Thinner. Faster. It was beautiful.
Those were probably the best days of our relationship. Texting, e-mailing, surfing the Internet while speaking on the phone. Even our worst moment, the time I accidentally dropped the iPhone in the toilet bowl, didn't slow us down. Despite everyone saying my iPhone would never be the same after this incident, it was better than ever.
Maybe it was foolish to think that this bliss would last forever. But I did.
The first time I sensed something was wrong was in mid-2011. June 7, if I recall correctly. That's when the iPhone 4S was announced. I had hoped for an iPhone 5. A fully redesigned, greatly improved iPhone. Instead it was just a slightly faster version of the same old thing.
Maybe my expectations were to blame? Maybe it was Siri's fault? But in any event, my feelings sadly began to fade that summer.
Since then, I have found myself increasingly checking out the Android and Samsung Galaxy. I'm not saying I'm moving on. Even though the thrill might be gone, there's a comfort to being with something you know well.
But there is no longer passion. I feel like I'm just going through the motions. I mechanically dial phone numbers or mindlessly type texts. I don't even scream at Siri anymore when she says: "Sorry, Dean, I don't understand what you're asking."
I know it's just a matter of time before it ends. But I want to make it clear that I'm not going to break my commitment. That's my word -- plus there's a $350 early termination penalty.
However, when I'm eligible for a new phone in six months, I can't promise I'll stay with my iPhone. But if I do buy a new phone, I'll probably change my service carrier to help me forget. Not that I'll ever be able to.
Regardless of how this turns out, iDean will always be grateful to my iPhone for being the first to show me what a real phone could do.
The opinions expressed in this commentary are solely those of Dean Obeidallah.