I’m thinking of you today as I sort through myPod. It’s in hideous disarray; you would not approve. "Clean this shite up, Stephanie!" you’d say shaking your head. Then you’d put in a request for a song they play every hour on the radio of your favorite top 40 station anyway. "We love to love that song," you’d say, speaking for me. And I’d let you because I like when people speak for me. So long as it doesn’t land me at a horrible restaurant or waiting behind a velvet rope. It lets me be lazy. The idea of making decisions is exhausting, and it just so happens that you thrive off control–though you’d call it "planning," and I’ll agree. "How do you not have…"

And I’d make sure to go home and download the song or the artist, so I’d have it for next time. I like pleasing you and seeing you happy. If I were a guy you were dating, in this scenario, I’d be chewed and spit out by now. No one likes a puppy dog, but somehow, with friends, we don’t quite see it that way. Sure, we have the friend who almost always gives us our way, but we believe it’s because she picks her battles, because she likes us just the way we are. But with men, with dating, we need more of a dance, a pull, a small fight to know we’re worth fighting for.

We do love to love our breakup songs, the songs that remind us we were perfectly fine before we ever had a run-in with him. That we might temporarily feel broken, but intellectually we know otherwise. We love the songs that give us strength, however silly, to remember that our worth isn’t defined by our romantic relationships and most certainly is independent of his friends, his family, and his existence.

Here’s to you, on your wedding day, of all days: a goodbye to all the goodbyes, to the ache, to the fetal position of cries. I dedicate these breakup songs to you, my dear friend, as they’ll always be a part of your past, of who you are, of where you’ve been, but they in no way reflect where you’re going. And you may still sing along and ask me to turn up the volume. I hope to always be around to play your radio bitch. If I’m missing any great ones, I’m sure you’ll let me know. You’re a bit busy, you know, getting married today, so maybe a few others will chime in with their favorite I-don’t-need-you "clit rock."