I don't mean to alarm you

I've been enjoying a full time live in mail order husband to be. Mark survived a week of Southern food and my family- each of whom are as unique as myself. My father actually likes him. Having received their seal of approval, I brought him home. We've now enjoyed just over two weeks of togetherness.
All of which brought us up to last Friday.
Which started innocently enough; a barrage of emails, morning coffee. Oatmeal.
And then...
Puke. Kora Chops (the affectionate name for my adorable St. Bernard mix) puked no less than four times in the front room. Five minutes later, she snuck upstairs to puke all over the hallway.
Needless to say, she managed to dust the front half of the house in puke.
Having emptied her stomach, she then went outside. Explosive diarrhea. Which is disgusting to discuss, but excused by the fact that she's a dog.
Mark and I assume the poor pup just ate something bad. The rest of the day Kora was subdued and not willing to eat, but that's understandable right?
Fast forward to Sunday night. Kora is still refusing to eat; having eaten nearly nothing in three days.
I begin to Google. Truly, too much information, is a terrible terrible thing. Within twenty minutes I've discovered twelve diseases that she can have, and four new disorders.
Insert panic. I start to hyperventilate.

Knowing my tendencies to blow things out of proportion; I call the vet. I figure that they can assuage my fears and make an appointment for the morning. It's after hours, but I get the girl on call. I describe the events.
Her words, EXACTLY: "I don't mean to alarm you, but it sounds like your dog has Parvo."
Sarah: "What?"
Vet: "Yeah. Sounds exactly like it. I'm looking through your files right now, and it appears you've never had either of your dogs vaccinated"
Sarah: "What??? They're shelter dogs. You can't get them without having them vaccinated"
Vet: "Yes but you haven't kept them up to date"
Sarah: "I bring them in all the time. How can this be?"
Vet: "I'm not certain. But my advice for the night is to separate your dogs, and bring them both in tomorrow morning to be tested for certain."

I make an appointment. I promise to bring them in. I hang up. I reflect that the conversation did not have the desired effect.
I google.

For those that don't know, Parvo is essentially a death sentence for dogs. If caught in the first 24 hours it's treatable, if not, your dog is a goner. Quickly, miserably. It's terrible.
With each new website I move further past hyperventilating, straight into full blown panic. Stricken with complete guilt. I tear apart the office looking for their vaccinations papers. I find nothing. I start to cry. I'm in bed, rocking my puppy. Huge tears running down my face. I cannot speak for the sobbing. Mark tries to comfort me, but nothing works as I hug my baby girl close to me.
Somehow, I make it to morning. I leash both dogs. I drive to the vet. The girl at the desk asks me what I'm bringing them in for.
"Parvo" I whisper, "She told me they have parvo."

Needless to say, those aren't words to be spoken lightly in an animal hospital. The entire front desk is alarmed, they spring into action to quarantine the diseased animals. They round the desk, and encounter my dogs. Who are wagging happily at them.
"What? These dogs don't have parvo" states the front desk lady. They're appalled at the diagnosis I was given. From my disheveled appearance they can tell it's been a long long terrible night for me.

Fast forward through a barrage of tests, blood samples, updating all Hercules vaccinations (he was almost due on a couple), new ear medicine for Hercules, two shots for Kora and two sets of medicine. It's a three ring circus and I'm texting Mark frantically to keep him updated.
At which point I receive the message back, "That's nice, tho I don't know why you're telling me"
Suddenly, I'm livid. I've been a pent up ball of nerves for 24 hours and the idea that Mark isn't sick with worry over the dogs??
I'm halfway through a "WTF is wrong with you that you don't car about the fate of our dogs...." message, when I realize. I've been texting Demetrius. At which point Mark starts texting frantically because he hasn't received an update. Because he IS worried sick.
Feeling decided retarded, I return, to the front desk.
The bill is $800!
Seriously. $800. I start to make a fuss. I mean, seriously, this is almost highway robbery! But Mark is still texting, still worried sick. Kora is going mad over a puppy in the corner that's barked at her. Hercules thinks he's getting a biscuit. So I pay, and start pulling them towards the door.
I somehow manage to shove two unwilling dogs in the back of a Mercedes coupe. I drive home as my phone continues to ring.

"No Parvo!" I practically scream as I enter the door. "She's going to be fine!"
"Oh, and there's this" I remark as I hand him the bill.

"Oh my god! $800? You were only gone for an hour! What did you do? Did you take them shopping?"
He turns to Kora, "Did mommy buy you a pretty new dress??"

And all is well again.

can you buy me some Nair while you're out?

Sarah: I have to have this. It's awesome.
Mark: You ARE grocery shopping right?
Sarah: Yes, it's amazing.
Mark: Is Darth Vadar shopping for turnips?
Sarah: This is undoubtably cooler than that. Much cooler.
Mark: Fine. Tell me. What could possibly be cooler than Darth Vadar pondering produce?
Sarah: I'm not certain I follow the train of thought that makes that cool. But I can't tell you. I have to show you. Give me a second, I'll send a picture.

....moments pass as the intrawebs whirl and deliver the below photo to England....

Mark: What the?
Sarah: Isn't it awesome? Isn't it the epitome of cool? I must have this.
Mark: That's a funny turkey.
Sarah: It's a CAKE. A Turkey Cake!!! It's a Thanksgiving cake shaped to look like a...
Mark: OH MY GOD! A Turcake. We must own it. Can we have it for Thanksgiving? I will give thanks to it.
Sarah: It's brilliant. You can go into the store for turkey. Pick up a cake. Leave happy. Win win.
Mark: You're buying this right?
Sarah: Demetrius will kill me.
(*For those who don't know, Demetrius is one of my best friends, my personal trainer, AND at this point, dieting for the Olympia).
Mark: Maybe you could buy it for him. A present. He couldn't be angry then.
Sarah: Hmmm. It could work. A "happy almost Olympia" Turcake. Who wouldn't want one? He couldn't be upset.
Mark: Unless he's already upset.
Sarah: Shit. He IS already upset. Umm.... I can't buy this. I'm leaving. Turcake-less.

(Sarah leaves store)
Sarah: What the? Demetrius just sent a text reading, "Can you buy me some Nair while you're out"
Mark: What is Nair?
Sarah: I'm not certain telling you will help. It will just lead to more questions. Besides, I support the "no more waxing" stance so I can't complain.
Mark: You're not actually going back are you? If so get the Turcake.
Sarah: I am. But I can't get the Turcake. He will be angry. I already got chips. He's going to give me "the look."

(Sarah buys Nair and actually leaves)
Mark: I still think you should bring him the cake. It needs to be purchased. Look, if he's in a bad mood when you get there, I command you to return to the store.
Sarah: I can do this. He's already annoyed, so I'll ask him if he's angry. When he says yes, I head back, I buy the Turcake, I bring it to him. He's happy. It's brilliant. Nothing can go wrong.
Mark: Yes. This is brilliant. The Turcake will be ours. His. But in our house. So technically ours.

(Sarah enters house)
Sarah: D. You in a bad mood?
Demetrius: I'm doing alright.
Mark: (on phone) WHAT? You said he was pissed!
Sarah: (to Mark) HE WAS! I swear.
Mark: You deceived me to not buy the Turcake. You are anti Turcake. Why do you hate the Turcake?
Sarah: D, I thought you were upset.
Demetrius: Nope, I'm over it. Not worth it.
Sarah: This isn't what I wanted. Now I have no Turcake prospect.
Demetrius: Did you get the Nair?
Mark: I can't believe you lied to me.
Sarah: I can't speak to you right now.

NEXT MORNING
I am standing in the shower. Holding a half empty bottle of Nair in my hand. I am instinctively filled with the desire to use this Nair. To burn (or melt, I'm not sure exactly how that stuff works) all the hairs off my body. I open the bottle and the shower is filled with a foul eye watering smell. Which leads me to the conclusion, clearly, I should have just gotten the Turcake.

how to lose your tools AND your iTunes

At this exact moment I'm riffling through my iTunes library looking to compose a single playlist out of the over 8,000 songs available. It's massively time consuming. It's unfortunately necessary.
Additionally, it's giving me the distinct feeling that I'm old. At what point did my Michael Buble collection surpass my Nirvana and Pink Floyd collections? Can I really put Madonna's Material Girl  right after Plan B's She Said? Is that sort of musical marriage acceptable?
While I've always been accused of only creating playlists when drunk, this situation is complicated due to the fact that my iTunes is essentially blank. I have no Recently Added tunes, no Top 25, no Recently Played, etc. And not a SINGLE PLAYLIST! It's just me, a library (and a man on my back, but I haven't seen Barbados, so I must get out of this) [extra points for anyone who knows that reference, and yeah, that's part of the trauma as well]

And this is the point where the post turns slightly bitter, so my apologies now for any who dare to keep reading.
See kids, what they don't tell you about living with someone is that you'll probably end up merging lots of seemingly innocent things, like your iTunes accounts. And that sounds like a great idea, because it'll likely double your library right? Loads of cool free music right?
WRONG!
Let me just tell you, some people get a prenuptial to account for the "what if it all goes wrong" aspect. But here are a few of the things that will inevitably fuck you and you don't even know it yet!

• iTunes, iPhoto, and all the other iProducts out there. 

This is because the system works off a user account. If two people are using the same computer, then there's really only one copy of iTunes, etc installed. And while you can log out and back in as a different user with different libraries- well, that's just a pain in the ass. I think to change the iPhoto library you need to hold down the Cmd key and the letter P, and possibly the Dashboard key that resides on F4 at the same time. Something like that. It's complicated. And annoying to remember.
So you have a single account on the main computer and it's cool and happy. Then your ex becomes your ex and splits. (I'm working off the scenario that you get to keep the computer). Ok, all is well for a little bit. But then your ex realizes that you're still buying songs or movies or whatever and that they're paying for it. Or vice versa, they buy a bunch of stuff and it ends up on your credit card. So one of you gets annoyed, and changes the password to "their" account. Next thing you know, Apple updates their software or releases a new iPhone. Your computer tricks you into updating the software and then, on the reboot, asks you for the password to login.
You get it wrong. Half the songs purchased on your computer through that account, maybe even BY YOU, are suddenly unavailable. In fact, if I get this notice one more time, I'm giving up and will live exclusively on Genius mixes.

Screw dealing with the finances. The finances are a big deal and likely something you'll fight over regardless. But the iTunes account? The mobile me account? Not likely to occur to someone in the depths of a big breakup.

• Tools

Most girls out there don't have a lot of tools, and I realize I'm the exception to this. However, I bet most have some. They've got screwdrivers, hammers, basic tools kits that are indispensable to any modern woman who considers herself capable of hanging that picture by herself, tightening the loose handle on the dresser, etc. We've got the basics, because one Christmas years ago our father (or some other male) handed us a weighty box to unwrap and we were disappointed to discover it contained a basic tool set.

Then you meet a guy, he moves in and he brings with him a large (at least compared to your kit) tool box. After a little bit, your tools gradually begin to be stored in his tool box, because it (of course) makes sense to keep all the tools in the same place. Right?
WRONG AGAIN!
Because if you breakup, that lovely man who is currently rehanging your bathroom door so that it doesn't slowly open of it's own accord? He will pack that tool box in a truck and leave with it. And a month later, after you've cried your eyes out, you'll decide to take the picture of the two of you down, and replace it with an obscenely large, heavy expensive mirror. You'll go for your tools, and discover that you've been stripped of even the most basic tool kit. THAT BELONGED TO YOU. And yes, if you're the sort of girl who actually uses tools, you'll be devastated and pissed when you realize you're also missing a router, drill, orbital sander, chop saw, and every hand tool you've ever owned.

My point here? Much as you're trying to be rational in the depths of a breakup, bear in mind that the big things will inevitably resolve themselves over time and over several hundred heated discussions/fights.
But the things to try to remember, are the little details. Because those are the ones that'll piss you off much later on when there's no more time for negotiations.

As a side note, playlist artists at present play in this order:
Massive Attack
Muse
No Doubt
Cage the Elephant
Gorillaz
Radiohead
Madonna
Plan B
Nine Inch Nails
Me First and the Gimme Gimmes
Metisse
Coldplay
Britney Spears

Maybe this WOULD be easier drunk?

It's like magic or something

Sarah: We're going to need to get that piano
Mark: What piano?
Sarah: The one from Bite
Mark: The one the naked girls comes out of?
Sarah: They're not naked! They have on thongs.
Mark: Fine, the one the NEAR naked girls come out of?
Sarah: Yes. Of course.
Mark: What possible reason could you have for wanting that piano?
Sarah: It's awesome. You put the girls back in and they come out wearing different colored thongs. Seriously, five girls into a grand piano, and POOF, different colored thongs. It's like magic or something.
Mark: So you want it as what, a parlor trick to pull out when we have guests?
Sarah: YES! Wouldn't you want to have dinner with people who had a piano that magically warps the color of the thongs of naked girls you put in it? Think of what an awesome conversation piece that would be!
Mark: You said they weren't naked.
Sarah: Whatever. We need that piano if we're going to Dallas. I need a conversation starter.

That said, I appear to be moving to Dallas. Or Fort Worth. I can now say this without tearing up. In fact, I was outright giddy about it earlier today, when one of my besties (who lives just south of Fort Worth) texted to tell me she's already planning the welcome party. It also gives me an excuse to get matching cowboy hats for Mark and I. AND a place to wear those red cowboy boots I bought a while back. Hell, I might even learn to make heart attack inducing brisket. Not to mention, I get to don that sanctimonious holier than thou attitude about all things not Texan. Besides, doesn't it just scream amusing to marry a gentlemen from London and then move to Fort Worth? Oh the culture shock!
And no, not selling the house. But hey- anyone interested in renting a 3400 sq. ft. house come February? My goal is to completely finish remodeling my dream home, and then let someone else live it in. (But I'm TAKING the doorbell).
So let me know.
Oh, and I'll be needing help with that piano.

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:)