SO much more important than the water heater

This lovely exert was taken from my little sister's Facebok wall. For those that don't know, Mark is my lovely fiance. Ashley is my sister.

Now for a bit of a history. Night before last my water heater (which Mark refers to as the "boiler"- god I love the Englishness of that!) died. To be completely correct, it exploded. The seal on the top abandoned it's post after a 15 year stint.
Events of the evening progress in this manner:
1. Sarah makes a monstrous mess by sanding the drywall in the largest room in the house, without putting down any drop cloths.
2. Sarah surveys 1/4" layer of fine white dust covering everything. Everything includes but is not limited to kitchen counters, appliances, table, floors, couch, etc.
3. Sarah hears strange dripping noise and begins investigation.
4. Discovery of rising tidal pool in the laundry room. I'm totally serious. BOILING water is pouring out the top of the heater and everything is soaked.
5. Frantic moments in which Sarah surmises how to work the water and gas shut off valves on an appliance she has, up until now, taken completely for granted.
6. In the middle of draining the lake, Sarah knocks the doorbell off the wall, and breaks off the front piece. At which point, THE ENTIRE WORLD CHANGES.

My house was built in 1974. Meaning it was filled with gadgets that are at home in the Gremlins movie. Remember all those weird futuristic kitchen gadgets? My dorbell is no exception. This is it in all it's gaudy 70's gear. You'll note the front....

Now below is it after it hit the floor. First, notice the KEY PAD, and then, on the left, notice the instructions. You can't see it in the picture, but those instructions say "SONG SELECTION"

Imagine me, standing in the middle of a swamp. Covered in drywall dust, clothes sopping wet and frantically trying to sweep water towards the drain in the center of the room. And suddenly I spy a long song list, and programming instructions in my 35 year old doorbell.

It was as if I was transported into another world. I sat down transfixed on this doorbell. A doorbell that has been in my house for three years. Whose true capabilities I hadn't ever conceived until that moment. It was bliss.

For those of you interested (or just plain jealous), my doorbell is a Nutone doorbell. It plays TWENTY SIX songs. A sample of my favorites includes:
Jingle Bells
Happy Birthday
The Star Spangled Banner
For He's A Jolly Good Fellow
Joy to the World

and my personal favorite? Dixie.

I'm in love.Standing in the middle of a swamp, I discovered the best thing that's happened to me this week. Go ahead. Tell me you're jealous. Because I KNOW you are. It plays JINGLE BELLS. I've coordinated it with the season. I can't wait for my next birthday party- this makes life worth living! And I've decided that this doorbell is moving with me from house to house, until I die.

I'm an ATHLETE!

Sarah: Hercules, Kora, it's time to go out for a WALK!!!
Kora: yesyesyesyes!!! let's go! i'm ready! can we right now? let's go! i'm waiting! why are you taking so long?

--Exasperated Sarah attempts to leash St. Bernard vibrating with excitement. Success after third attempt.

Sarah: Hercules! Where are you? Let's go!
Hercules: (found sitting on bed) No.
Sarah: Come on buddy, don't you want to go outside and smell things?
Hercules: We've been over this before. I need you to bring the smelly things to me. I can't go walk, I'm in training. I'm a fucking Athlete!
Sarah: Training?
Hercules: Guinness Book of World Records. A dogs got to have goals.

Which brings me to my random fact of the day. Actually, it's two facts. First- an English Mastiff is, "the largest dog breed in terms of mass." Yes yes, the Great Dane stands larger, but my bubba with Flubba, my Hercules is much more solid. Apparently the largest mastiff weighed in at a whopping 343 pounds. And that record is apparently the one my beloved Hercules is setting out to break.
343 pounds! Let me take this moment to say, THAT'S CRAZY. I already am in danger of throwing out my back in the nights as I try to move Hercules out of my spot in the bed. I simply can't imagine a dog that large. It's almost the size of 3 of him. The dog, whose name was Aicama Zorba of La Susa, measured eight and a half feet in length.
Let us imagine, for a moment, sharing a bed with a dog of that size. A dog who could literally crush you with his girth as you slept in the night? I'd be scared. What if I'd forgotten to bring home the yummy dog biscuits that night? Is that a crime punishable with nighttime crushings?
Which brings me to the second fact of the day. The Guinness Book of World Records is no longer accepting largest or heaviest pet records. They stopped in 2000. Though no amount of googling has produced the reason why.
This is distressing, because CLEARLY, Hercules has discovered that there's another dog on record, and he's going for it. He wants that crown. And even if he manages, he's not getting written up because they simply aren't taking those records anymore. This news is going to crush him. As a result, he might be so miserable he won't get out of bed for a week. Trust me, I've seen him sulk like this before.
The poor pup. To counteract the impending sadness, I bought him his own crown. Direct from Windsor Castle. It's a replica of the real thing. I'm hoping that he accepts this honor and forgets that he was on his own quest to obtain greatness.

Why can't we just have a proper showdown at high noon?

I'm engaged! (insert appropriate squealing now!!!)
ENGAGED! As in, someone wants to marry me and live with me forever. He wants to deal with me when I'm whiney (which is often), he's comfortable with my random antics (which are ridiculous and only amusing to some, as evidenced by my last not quite so amused significant other), and he even joins me in my loud off key singing renditions of songs at every hour of every day. It must be love right?
He loves my puppies, he even calls them (overgrown monstrously spoiled +100 pound beasts) "puppies."
He's English, so I swoon whenever he opens his mouth to say, well anything. And he seems to find me, all of me, ridiculous history, demons, skeletons (all of whom have been neatly hung on racks in the closet after being properly aired), and "interesting' family--all of it together, he finds me perfect.
Ok, so you're sick of this, you're wondering, "Seriously, is she just posting a rant about how happy she is? Because if so I'd rather stop reading this and go shove a hot poker under my fingernail."
Well no, that's not the point, and I'll get onto bigger and more important things.
So here's the thing. I'm happy, thrilled with my life, but much more importantly, I'm thrilled with me. I'm thrilled with the changes I've made in my life. I'm proud of me, all of me. And goddamn, it's been a long difficult freaking journey.

So a week or two ago both myself and Mark receive anonymous emails. Mark being warned to steer clear of me. Mine telling me I'm a hopeless drunk and that I'm a horrible person.
What?

I mean seriously?
Best part? There have been several emails. Each more rude and out of line than the next.

Now I'm not even going to address the pettiness of such emails. I mean, if you've got a problem with someone, come out and say it. Call me a bitch, say I've run over your kittens (I haven't, no really, I swear). Call me out into the center of town for a showdown Ok Corral style. Because I'll come. Anyone that knows me knows that I'm not only absolutely thrilled at the idea of a showdown at high noon, but also inclined to get a whole outfit and show up guns blazing.
I mean, I am after all, my fathers daughter.
I am genetically programmed to have a tendency to lean towards guns and violence. So, to whomever you are out there, the coward hiding behind false email names and throwing out rude and childish taunts and insults, "Grow the fuck up."

But speaking of my father...
Before we go further, you each need to understand that my father, he's, well, a LITTLE eccentric. He's got a canon, a WORKING canon in his living room. It's got a doily on it. He's got the most extensive collection of firepower I've ever seen amassed outside of Windsor Castle, and frankly, it's more menacing than that because it's newer and much more functional. He's also slightly paranoid. And has a STRONG belief that he needs to prepare to fortify his house and property for a fight to the death.
Now, bearing that in mind. He's also against marriage. Entirely.
He's also convinced the war for America's freedom from England is still ongoing.
And I'm bringing home an English fiance.

Now I ask you, rude emails from an unknown source, or overcoming my father's predisposition against the English? Which do you think bears more weight in my life? I mean, while those emails are slightly amusing, I'm completely flabbergasted that someone has gone to so much effort to bug me. They clearly have far too much time on their hands (yes, I'm aware that I'm stating this while writing a blog, which probably means that I too have too much time on my hands).

Oh, and PS: Cyberstalking and email harassment; this is pretty illegal in several states already, and growing due to the silly actions of persons just like yourself. And it's highly illegal in all of Europe (don't worry, you've already been reported:)