Can't wait 'til October so I can stop thinking about planning a wedding ...

This week in wedding news: "The Guest List: The Final Version." You'll find the straight-to-DVD program in the "Top things that give Erin a stomachache this week" section at your local video store. You'll find the program "'Stomacheache' Looks Funny Spelled Out," too.

Small families we do not have. We've managed to be really quite frugal (read: cheap) with our wedding plans, so the "we cannot invite them because we are on a budget" issue is not the problem.

The problem is remembering who we forgot, scratching people off the list, adding people to the list and going "Uncle Fred? I have an Uncle Fred? Whose list is this?" Oh, and that sitting down together and coming up with a list thing. That's a problem, too. But that's just details. I'm sure our thinking of doing the final guest list will lead to the guest list compiling itself, while we sleep, in alphabetical order, 11-point Times New Roman, 1-inch margins, with cross-references for easy searching and footnotes with descriptive text: "Jaimie, cousin of Erin, dark hair, just got married to that guy Matt" and "Sam, the uncle who's the mayor," etc.

It's funny how the non-relatives list changes -- someone doesn't "do" out-of-town weddings. Another hasn't spoken to us (or us to them, to be fair) since last September. A couple others are in the "Where are they now?" pile. VH1 is currently helping us seek them out; those invites are pending.

And then there are the "YES," says one of us, in all capital letters. "NO," the other says. Luckily, we only have a few of those people (all of whom I know don't read this blog, so I'm safe). We've been able to make our points, state our reasons and move on down the list in a civil fashion with all but one person:

"You realize my grandma is going to be in the same room," I say, thinking about said person standing next to my little old, sweet grandma in the same room, and envisioning the earth swallowing itself and calling it quits now that it's seen it all, and finds itself in an uncomfortable situation.

"Yeah. It'll be OK," he said. I am still picturing how it would look if the earth swallowed itself.

"Remember the last wedding we were at with him? He was loud, rude and people at other tables wanted to hurt him when he shouted out his favorite 'can't say that on television' words. He told dirty jokes too loudly while some man covered his kid's ears. He stole drink tickets and scared small animals and children," I said.

"Yeah. That was two years ago." I admire Dave's patience.

"Yes, and you haven't talked to him since then," I say. I am smiling, trying to be patient.

The man in question has a record. Two, actually. One of the "post-hardcore rock" type, one of the "I make people uncomfortable and cops know me" type. My grandma likes to bake and dance to polka music. I see a big difference here.

If the earth swallows itself in October, you know which of us made the stronger case. It's not a deal-breaker decision. It's not one that gets me particularly upset, or him either. But you know what would make this easier? Why, what else. This is why God gave us the Internet: Webcast weddings.