Spring is among us my friends. The weather is starting to get warmer. I’m feeling the need to devote a paycheck to a pair of Coach sunglasses. And last Saturday I enjoyed my own personal opening night of brown-bag drinking.

It sounds awesome, and I’m genuinely excited for this winter to slip into oblivion, but spring also serves as a sad, sad reminder of the wedding I have to go to in June, and I spent all weekend thinking about it.

Let me count the ways this wedding will be a giant clusterfuck of bad news:

• The mixture of college and high school friends, aka a collective group of people who can piece together all the dirt they know about me when we play “never have I ever” the night before the wedding.
• The drama that comes from the intoxicated concoction of my friends’ mistresses (yes, plural) and their significant others being in the same place, with alcohol, at one time.
• The ex and I both agreeing to share a hotel room with a mutual friend of ours and our joint denial that this is a bad idea and we’re mature enough to handle it.
• The plethora of fake and awkward smiles everyone will need to plaster on their faces to get through a wedding no one except the bride and her mother support.
• My wedding task force.

Somehow a “girlfriend” of mine managed to rope our friend into marriage after she hypnotized and completely changed him through college. While we have all theorized her method of entwining him in her spell of ‘tude and bitchery, no one has been able to figure out exactly how she did it. You’d think she’d blow his mind with constant fucking and fetishes, but one would assume he wouldn’t complain about a lack of bedroom activity if that were the case.

Everyone has one friend who is willing to throw it all away for one crazy bitch, right?

I’m feeling a lot of pressure to look smokin’ hot at this wedding since I’ll be seeing ex boyfriend, so to make sure I’m at my best I’m putting together a wedding task force. Everyone on my team plays an intricate role in ensuring I’m not a hot mess.

Clothing: a chic lady friend of mine is Secretary of Dress. She’s stylish and knows how to save a few bucks. I’m trusting her to put together some slamming outfits that accentuate my tatas without making me look slutty.

Mental: Alexis is covering the mental preparations. She’s going to coach me on the proper ratio of class to attitude to subtly remind everyone how much better than them I am. Extensive time will go into lessons on how to interact with exboyfriend and recognizing when to walk away before allowing a fight to brew. Picking out the hottest guy to make out with will be covered as well. Most importantly, Alexis is going to make sure I deal with the bride properly. I understand that it is her special day, but in a perfect world she wouldn’t treat the other 364 days of the year the same way. I can’t be the hot mess that “accidentally” spills red wine on the bride.

Chastity/ general fabulousness: My chastity belt comes in the form of my date. Unfortunately, since I’ve been overwhelmed with losers lately, I’m bringing a gay friend of mine as my date. He’s amazing. Together, we will be the life of the party. With him sleeping next to me as well, I won’t be able to drunkenly attempt anything with anyone.

Last night we practiced crossing our knees and chain-smoking cigarettes while drinking liquor on the rocks. I’ll wear fabulous Jackie O sunglasses, start every sentence with “Oh” and annunciate random words. “Oh, Manhattan is just FAAA-BULOUS in April!” or “Oh, darling, we just HAAAVE to get back to the Hamptons,” and “Oh, SO good to see you. It’s been SO long,” My date will follow everything up with a catty laugh, while adjusting his RayBans and exhaling cigarette smoke deeply. We’re bringing back 1960s socialite, hardcore.

Just call me Jackie, bitches.

This wedding will be a hot mess. I will most likely be a train wreck, but at least I know I’ll look hot while going down in flames.

-Anastasia Beam