The Single Girl's Guide To Surviving Wedding Season Without A Plus 1

I'd rather drink a Molotov cocktail than attend another wedding as a single girl. But there's no dodging these bullets of holy matrimony, even dressed in couture Kevlar.

‘Tis officially the season of double-tapping engagement pics, slapping on a phony mega-watt smile and toasting to yet another couple’s happily ever after.

Meanwhile, I'm f*ckin’ crying while writing this.

Okay, so not actually tearing up. But much like Leonardo DiCaprio, my outer coolness is barely masking my internal screaming.

And breaking news: I’m not just single; I'm single AF. Not only did my most recent ex transform from charming good guy to complete f*ckboy, but I'm also a few moons from 30, so my have-a-family fever is higher than a frat boy’s body count.

Don't get me wrong, (most) wedding ceremonies are beautiful! Unless you’re a sea witch, your single heart will still swell at the sight of the husband and wife's first kiss.

But, if we're being totally honest here, the last thing I want to do is choose between chicken or fish (without having a date's plate for back-up), journey to my seat sans a plus-one and attend yet another festival of love without one of my own.

Thankfully, I’ve had Katniss-esque practice powering through champagne-filled fetes. Here's how to get through wedding season as a single lady without breaking down on the dance floor (in a bad way).

Ready?

Pretend it's your Special Day.

Feeling awesome will come from looking awesome, and you need all the natural Prozac you can get. Primp, push up and pout every body part possible. You're basically donning a bright neon “Hot and Ready” sign.

And if that means playing the obvious card by wearing the overtly sexy dress, then f*cking go for it. Being single means you can pull that move.

When every good-looking guy in attendance is swinging from the centerpieces to get a glance of you, you've won.

Choose your Mr. Right for the night.

You’re in a room sprinkled with few eligible (and hopefully impeccably-dressed) bachelors.

Muster up the chutzpa to make the first move.

It's a game of real-life Tinder: swipe right and do shots with all the potential love interests; swipe left and weed out the no-gos.

(Caveat: Verify his single status, because #girlcode.)

If the impromptu pairing blossoms (doubt it!), you can happily exact the same matrimonial hell onto other single gals... and you can thank the bride later.

Take advantage of an (almost) free night out.

Normally, your single ass would be debating if it's worth the effort to go out. Tonight, however, you have no choice and an open bar to justify your actions. Don't let this guaranteed party go to waste.

Ultimate goal: Get plastered with said hot guy, and if you’re anything like my sexless single self, score better than the US Women’s Soccer team.

Make the dance floor your b*tch.

Either you’re bored to tears or you’re the master of ceremonies. Ladies, there's no in between.

After the Newlyweds & Co. parade around to Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud,” the four (or more) Presbyterians you’ve downed got you freaking out like Jessie Spano to every record the DJ spins.

Kick off your shoes, grab a willing partner (grandpas included, plus they make you look younger and hotter) and recreate Beyonce's "Get Me Bodied" vid.

Do it for the ‘Gram.

Fill your virtual mood board with selfies and #squad pics even Kim Kardashian would envy.

Give your exes front row access to your single-gal flourish, even if you're silently praying they text back. Sometimes, there's no better validation your crushin' it than fifty 'likes' on Instagram.

Yeah, we're not ashamed to admit that either.

Ignore last call.

To ensure you're not drunk-crying into your cocktail napkin by evening's end, ignore the party-pooper's requests to vacate the dance floor, and keep the good vibes going with some late-night flirting.

You don't have to seal the deal -- in fact, keeping it open-ended leaves promise for another kind of party.

And even if you do go home alone, use your own tears to remove your mascara. But remember, there's always the Glickman's wedding next Saturday.

Here's to you...