Bridesmaidery.

This weekend, I am going to be a bridesmaid in the wedding of a very, very dear childhood friend. It's my first time bridesmaiding.

As you may have guessed from the fact that I just attempted to use "bridesmaid" as a verb, I have no idea what I'm doing.

Somehow, nobody has noticed yet. I like to think that it's because I've carefully strategized during the planning process in order to make sure I'm only assigned tasks which play to my strengths. Doilies and china and pastel party favors? Not exactly my oeuvre.

Getting people drunk?
Yes! That one!

So most of my efforts thus far have gone to the bachelorette party, the primary planning of which involved asking myself where I would like to go on a Saturday night, and then just insisting that everybody bend to my will. (The other part of this plan involved force-feeding vodka tonics to anyone who disagreed with the plans. Because people can't argue with you about the orchestration of the evening when they don't remember anything after 7pm.)

Fortunately, the bride is an understanding sort of girl. Last night, we did a trial run of her makeup for the wedding (one of those items on the list of "Random things I used to be interested in and can now do fairly well"), and the deep brown shadow I'd used to define her eyes -- which always looked natural and subtle on me -- was so harsh against her china-white skin that she came out looking less like a vision of soon-to-be-wedded beauty, and more like a tranny dressed as a geisha dressed as a zombie.

"Oh, it's lovely," she said. "But I think I'd like to try something a little less... dramatic?"
"You can just tell me that I've made you look like a brain-eating Japanese drag queen."
"Oh, no, it's not that."

Understanding, and so polite.

But now we're down to the wire, and must as I'd like to, I can't delegate myself the sole responsibility of running around the reception forcing cocktails down people's throats. ("God damn it, Great-Aunt Mildred, drink this mojito! CHUG it, you haggard octogenarian whore!") So, this is it. I will fall in, I will walk the aisle, and I will do this in precisely the same way that all the other 'maids do it -- by standing alongside the beautiful bride in a (surprisingly flattering!) teal dress, with a daisy in hand, smiling beatifically, and successfully resisting the urge to have a nuptial-ruining accident by silently, stealthily repeating to myself, "I will not get naked and set myself on fire. I will not get naked and set myself on fire. I will not get naked and set myself on fire."

That is what bridesmaids do, right?
Right. This is going to be awesome.