This column will run exactly one year and one day before my wedding. In 366 days, I will be the happiest man on earth, temporarily taking the title away from Angelina Jolie’s bikini waxer.

I know many of you probably sweat bullets at the thought of getting married. Why get hitched so young, you ask? Well, life is not like ‘Sex and the City.’ Statistics show if you don’t meet your spouse in college, you’re 98 percent guaranteed to live the rest of your life a miserable spinster and die alone. The numbers don’t lie, people.

Face it, nobody wants to be dating a 25-year-old; by that point, you pretty much have to buy yourself thirteen cats and start wearing sweatshirts to work. Look at Katie Holmes: she didn’t bag Dawson in time and was forced to settle for a gay man who believes the earth was colonized by aliens.

I’m lucky, though. The day I got engaged was the happiest day of my life. I still remember the look in her eyes as she said ‘Yes, I will!’ and the sight of her father lowering his shotgun from my neck. What a magical moment.

With one year left to plan, my fiance and I are kicking into high gear. There’s still so much to set up, so we’ve split up the responsibilities. My first job is invitations, so look out for your Facebook invite to ‘Open Bar Bonanza 2006/My wedding.’ My roommate will collect your $3 at the door.

My other major task is booking a band. My fiance didn’t specifically say it couldn’t be a Journey cover band, so … oh, wait, yep, there it is in our pre-nup: condition No. 1. ‘No Journey cover bands at the wedding.’ Hmm, rule No. 2 is ‘Seamus shall agree to watch ‘Gilmore Girls’ reruns on Sundays in place of Cowboys games, under penalty of gonad removal.’ Maybe I should have read this thing before signing.

Well, she didn’t specifically rule out Journey tribute bands. Even so, I’ve auditioned 48 groups so far, and none have rocked ‘Don’t Stop Believin” to my satisfaction yet.

We’ll be doing the most important part of wedding planning together, that being our registry. Just like a confirmation or Bar Mitzvah, a wedding is all about getting mad stacks of Benjamins and loot. And the best part is, anyone you invite has to send a gift whether they come or not! Therefore, none of my invitations are going to list the actual date, time or location of the wedding. Just a P.O. Box and the words, ‘Include gift receipt or you will not be invited to our next wedding (the following Saturday).’

My sweetie suggested we register at Target for its chic but affordable housewares. As if! I’m registering us at only two places: the local Porche dealership and The Cheesecake Factory. Screw toasters, I want to leave my wedding in a Carrera, eating a slice of Oreo-gasm at 95 m.p.h.

Speaking of the post-wedding procedures, apparently it’s also up to me to book our honeymoon. I’m on somewhat of a tight budget, but I’ll come through. Our wedding night is going to be spent in the most romantic, luxurious love-nest of all time, according to this Motel 6 ‘Bridal Suite’ brochure. If we book two nights, room service is included. Nothing says ‘I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with you’ like undercooked pancakes delivered by someone who can’t speak English.

So as we celebrate our negative-one anniversary tomorrow (OK, maybe my gonads are already gone), my fiance and I have a lot to look forward to. Our wedding will be just the beginning of our wonderful life together, a life we’ll share with Seamus Jr., Seamus III, Seamus the Sun King and our lovely daughter Xena. Wait, ‘no Xena’ is in the pre-nup, too? Damn.

Seamus O’Connor wants his wedding song to be ‘Jump Around’ by House of Pain. E-mail him at sroconno@syr.edu.

Published on October 23, 2006 at 12:00 pm