I realized this morning that I’m now t-minus 20 days to getting married.

Which, on the one hand, is totally thrilling.

And, on the other, is absolutely terrifying.

Fortunately, I’m still exceedingly excited about the marriage part. It’s the wedding that has me worried. While all the major details are figured out, all the main moving parts in place, there are still more odds and ends to deal with than I can count. Seating arrangements, gift baskets for out-of-town guests, writing and printing programs, following up with every vendor we’ve previously locked down to make sure they’re still happily locked.

And, of course, things are crazier than ever (though, finally and fortunately, in a very good way) with Cyan and with Jess’ consulting company.

This weekend, as we were picking up our wedding bands, the jeweler (who’s long since become a friend of ours) offered some good advice: just do what you can until you make it to the top of the aisle, and then wash your hands of the details and pretend you’re a guest.

And, also, drink a lot of vodka.

The problem with getting engaged is that you then have to get married.

I don’t mean be married, which I’m actually quite excited about. I mean get married. As in, have a wedding.

Here in New York, it appears that a large percentage of women come in to the wedding process having spent countless years pre-planning their dream events, locking down all the details, except for the final, apparently least important one: the groom.

Jess, however, is the exact opposite: she (inexplicably) likes me, but doesn’t much give a damn about the rest. So, immediately post-engagement (back in November), we were starting from scratch. We Googled up and contacted venues then about a fall ’08 wedding, and were repeatedly told we were already far behind the ball.

Admittedly, we didn’t cope with that too well; for a while, we just ignored the whole wedding thing completely, sliding further behind. But after answering ‘when’s the big day?’ questions vaguely and evasively one too many times, a few weeks back, we decided to re-kick off the search in earnest.

With Zipcar wheels, we travelled the far reaches of Westchester, hit quirky venues in the outer boroughs (there’s a farm in Queens? Who knew?) and tried to find fun spots in Manhattan where an evening’s event might come in at less than our combined salaries.

Yesterday, among the seven or so options to which we trekked, we found the first where we’d actually be happy to tie the knot – Mark Twain’s old estate, up in Westchester, now owned by Zagat’s top-rated caterer. Amazingly, the place is right in the middle, cost-wise, and there are still a few September dates available.

So, come tomorrow, we’re placing a 7-day ‘courtesy hold’ on one of those dates. And while we’ll still keep looking at a few other contenders over the course of the week, odds are pretty good that will stay our final choice.

As Twain himself explained, “love seems the swiftest, but it is the slowest of all growths. No man or woman really knows what perfect love is until they have been married a quarter of a century.” His house, then, seems an auspicious spot to marry, with the hopes of proving him right.

Several people have pointed out that my ‘dating’ category should no longer be too useful.

But, like a middle-aged armchair quarterback regaling the genius plays he pulled off back in high school, I may yet have some dating blog entries left to share.

I don’t think Jess will mind, as she staunchly maintains none of my ploys would ever work on her. To which I say, nice ring.

Regardless, as Jess certainly will be the subject of countless future entries, as of today, she gets a category all her own. In the world of blogging, that’s about as good as long-term commitment gets.