ADVICE: “MARRY THE FIRST MAN WHO LOVES YOU”
CAB #: 2316

One of my favorite parts about living in the city is endlessly wandering while listening to my iPod. I walk to the el, to the grocery store, to the beach (from the el, from the grocery store, from the beach) while absorbed in my own little musical land of deliciousness. I gotta tell ya, I’ve even been known to strut the Walk of Shame armed with “The Pod” (while taking in Nelly Furtado’s “Maneater.” Clearly.).

I should mention that I’m a musical glutton of sorts. I inhale it, not unlike an entire pizza or gallon of ice cream. But I’m not one who thrives on listening to undiscovered, underground bands, man. Or up-and-coming local artists, dude. I’m big into music that most are ashamed to own up to loving, and I ain’t scurred to admit it. Gimme my all-time favorite, Journey. Add in Jefferson Starship. And don’t forget Rick Astley ("I’m Never Gonna Give You Up," you marvelous morsel of a man). The product? Perfection in its purest form.

These are the songs that make up the soundtrack of my life. I walk and listen. I walk and think. I walk and shake what my mama gave me. Mostly, I walk and pretend that I’m the star of my own music video. I spend time making sure I have the appropriate track for each scenario, whether it be seeing an attractive man sip his morning latte at Starbucks, getting stuck behind a group of slow walkers when I’m late for an appointment or arriving at the office in the morning (“Alone” by Heart, “Mama Said Knock You Out” by LL Cool J and “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N Roses, respectively).

I got signed to my imaginary music label when I moved to the North side of Chicago from the western suburbs. Aurora, to be exact. Yes, the same Aurora that boasts SNL’s classic characters, Wayne and Garth. Shwing. I had lived there most of my adolescent life, and after a brief hiatus while at school in Boston, I returned to the wonder that is suburbia. Shortly after, I met – sigh – a boy. I’d love to say that he was the dreamiest boy I’d ever seen. I’d be lying if I said that. I’d like to tell you that he swept me off my feet and made me feel like the most fortunate girl in the world. Still lying. I’d love to be able to say that he awakened my spirit and made me want to become a better person . Totally lying. The truth is, he was loyal to me. He stuck. He was a sticker. In fact, he shall be referred to from this point on as Sticker. For all intensive purposes, he was my first love. Due to my own insecurities and immaturity at the time, I tested him, and he never left. I played games. Sticker stuck. I played more games. Sticker stuck. Let’s be honest – the first year of our relationship was one giant game of “Asshole” – sans the drinking and the fun, mostly just the asshole part. Guess what? Sticker stuck.

Sticker was also a sucker, though. He sucked the youth, the life, the ambition, the passion out of me. Eventually, when we moved in together, the suckling Sticker became a stinker – down right mean and controlling. Then, after three years, two dogs, a townhouse and a very brief engagement, I left. I knew I could never become the person I wanted to be in that relationship. In that life. I was sacrificing everything I ever wanted to do – travel, social life, city dwelling – for the comfort of being with him. It just couldn’t work. He knew it. I knew it. Our mini dachshunds knew it.

And while leaving was one of the roughest decisions I ever had to make, it was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. On one hand, had I stayed, I now could have the security of a husband and a house and a joint checking account, but I rest assured in the satisfaction of knowing that I’m kind of a big deal. I mean, come on...I’m the star of a different music video everyday.

In conclusion, thank you Cabbie #2316, but I prefer life without Sticker.

D