Advice from me to you:

1. Marry an orphan. Trust me on this one. If they're not an orphan when you start dating, invest in a hitman if you plan to marry. It will be the best money you've ever spent.

2. If you've had a monster fight with your intended, say on a Tuesday night, and say, just for shits and giggles, an ex-boyfriend (the one it took 4 years, various anti-depressants and LOTS of therapy to get over) emails you on Wednesday morning to tell you how great his marriage is and how you should be enjoying the whole getting married thing and how SUPRISED he was to get invited to your wedding, don't fucking read that particular email, okay?

3. If you've stopped drinking several years ago because your intended doesn't drink and really, the history of alcoholism in your family is frightening? Well, fuck that. Break out the booze to get through the next several weeks.

4. By the way, stop fucking eating everything in sight. It really isn't helping a thing.

5. Order your damned wedding flowers already.

6. I mean it, put down the damned brownie and stop ordering coffee drinks at Reality Tuesdays that have roughly 5 million calories.

7. Delete that email. It is not doing any good sitting in your in box, mocking you.

8. Focus on your upcoming vacation/honeymoon. This will help immeasurably. I mean, come on. Who can resist the lure of the Happiest Fucking Place on Earth?

9. Don't try to talk to any of your friends about that email in #2. Remember, they hate him with the fiery passion of a thousand suns and would have gladly killed him with their bare hands given the slightest chance. They really aren't going to be very keen on discussing this issue right now without the words, "I hate that fucker! Why do you email with him still?" being the first thing uttered.

10. Focus on how damned much fun it's going to be seeing the look on your prudish mother-in-law's face when the song played during the garter toss is "Pussy Control" by Prince.

Revel in #10 for the next few hours while staying away from the donuts that are on the counter from the Intelligence Meeting (an oxymoron at a police station if I ever heard one!)