No, there isn't another wedding, but the one in November is already turning out to be a disaster. We didn't reserve a room in time, so now we don't get to stay at the fancy hotel-spa where everything is taking place. We have to stay at some other hotel. Did I mention that this wedding is in Upper Buttfuck, New Hampshire? Sucks. Plus, I really wanted a massage.

That would be fine. I'll suck it up. This is one of my best friends in the whole world (I've known her for 15 years), and I'm thrilled for her. I even like who she's marrying (Which, for my hometown friends, truly is a miracle. I am strictly talking about high school friends here people. Your respective spouses, college pals and such, are truly lovely).

But...

DURAN DURAN IS PLAYING ATLANTIC CITY ON NOVEMBER 8, THE DAY OF THE WEDDING.

This is cruel, cruel fate pissing on my shoe and telling me it's raining. This isn't Duran Duran with that weird dude from Missing Persons. This is all five original members (three Taylors!). In Atlantic City. I could be in a cheeseball casino with my friend Simon LeBon and the real Simon LeBon and we could gamble and scream for "Wild Boys." This sucks so hard.

But I'll go to the wedding because I so don't want to be the asshole that says "Um, I can't make it to one of the most special days of your life. I have to go see some washed-up 80's new-wavers."

I really am not that terrible of a person, I swear.