We have Photoshop so now we're ALL going to college.

Because I STILL cannot stop reading and talking about the college admissions scam stuff, I tweeted the other day 

Could someone out there help photoshop my face onto a water aerobics athlete? I’m trying to get accepted into my mother’s elite sewing group.

— Eli McCann (@EliMcCann) March 13, 2019

That's only partly a joke. I really do want in on Cathie's sewing group. So do several of my friends. A few years ago I told Cathie that Brianne and Matt had both asked how they can get in and she just laughed dismissively and said something about how they couldn't even get into her C group. Then I found out from my sister Krishelle that there really are several sewing groups and Krishelle has tried to infiltrate the top one but you basically have to be part of the Illuminati to get in at this point.

Anyway, only 21 minutes later someone named Shane responded:

I got you. pic.twitter.com/8pIdxuFobH

— Shane (@_robotshane) March 13, 2019

which is EXACTLY why I'm on Twitter.

The Girl F Word

A conversation between Brianne and her very young nephew, as was told to me this morning. I can't stop laughing.

Nephew: My little sister has a potty mouth.

Brianne: Really? Does she say swear words?

Nephew: Yeah. She's been saying a really bad one lately.

Brianne: Which one?

Nephew: [Whispers] The F word.

Brianne: What?! No. She doesn't say the F word.

Nephew: Yes she does. I hear her saying it all the time lately. Sometimes she walks around the house yelling it.

Brianne: Buddy, I don't think she knows the F word.

Very Mississippi

Matt is leaving this week for very Mississippi to spend a month in his hometown. You might think I made a mistake by including the word "very" in that sentence, but I assure you that I did not. If you ever heard any of his family members communicate using the English language, you would know what I'm talking about.

Matt is like most of my friends in that he apparently has the ability to leave his job for entire months at a time and work remotely. Rebecca used to do this before she got knocked up. (If she reads this, she will definitely call me and object to that characterization and demand that I change it to something like "experienced God's miracle" and we'll ultimately settle on "lost her innocence"). 

When Rebecca was living in sin with me in 2014, out of the blue one day she told me she was moving to Paris and I didn't see her again for four months during which time zero keys to my apartment were lost BECAUSE IT'S NOT THAT HARD TO KEEP TRACK OF KEYS REBECCA.

I have yelled, nay screamed, at Rebecca eleventy hundred times about losing my keys. Recently she was in Salt Lake City and told me she wanted to come hang out at my house during the day while I was at work for reasons that are still not clear to me. I hid a key for her and later found out that she lost that key literally within 30 minutes of retrieving it.

Peggy the Therapist

For a while I've been wanting to write a post about my former therapist, Peggy, but I haven't gotten around to it because TV and Eating and Lazy.

It all started when a few years ago Brianne barged into my office and said "I made an appointment for you to see a therapist named Peggy." Then she left before I could ask any of the obvious questions.

This was offensive. Not because I think therapy is a shameful thing. But because it's always going to be a little jarring when someone out of the blue facilitates the provision of mental health services for you.

But I'm 85% afraid of Brianne, so the next Wednesday at 4:30 PM I got into my car and drove across town to see this Peggy person.

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

Last week Brianne was lecturing me about love languages because she said that I need to be better at understanding how to work with people and she suggested that if I knew people's "love languages" I would have some success in this. This seemed like a strange lecture because I thought I was working just fine with people. Then I realized that the whole reason for the lecture was so she could say, "for example, your love language is telling people what to do and just getting your way all the time."

No matter how many times I try to remind Brianne that the nature of our professional relationship is one where I am supposed to ask her to do things and she is supposed to do those things, she refuses to not criticize me for "being bossy."

Please enjoy some Pictures & Distractions:

Mr. Pants lookin for cats.

Diphtheria OMG I actually spelled that correctly on the first try

Last month the Stranger troll said I was desperate because I shared the most recent Strangerville episode twice in one week and I'm nothing if not consistently pathetic so you should all definitely click on the below. Every time you do a troll learns one new grammatical rule.


In other news, I'm still alive, thanks for asking.

The neighborhood was probably worried starting around 9:30 on Saturday night when I found myself slumped over on Lynne's couch while two dozen well-dressed people tried to make conversation with me. This included our mailman, whom Lynne invited to our party after apparently developing a much more successful relationship with him than I have.

I really probably should have gone home. Nevertheless she persisted. I stayed out at the party until around 1:00 in the morning. So late that you can see Bob and Cathie shaking their heads from space.

Scary Gandalf

It was Thursday morning and I was very late for work. Or as Brianne would call it, "having a typical morning."

Brianne decided some time ago that I never go to work. This is based on the two or three times in the last year that she has stopped by my office to see me and I wasn't there. Now occasionally when she sees me around 4:00 in the afternoon her usual greeting is "did you just get here?"

She also thinks that I don't dress appropriately for the office, a sentiment apparently shared by a colleague named Ryan who upon seeing this picture posted on Instagram recently

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

Every single December I have the exact same interaction with Brianne. I hand her an envelope with her name on it and tell her that I picked out something really special for her for Christmas. She hurriedly opens it and sees that it's a Nordstrom gift card. Then she pretends to cry, holds it to her chest like she's hugging it, and says "this is the best gift anyone has ever given me." I give her a knowing nod and then walk back to my office.

Five years running now.

And now, your Pictures & Distractions:

Personal Assistant: Apply Now

One of the reasons you shouldn't be friends with me is I will turn you into my personal assistant.

Look. It's not like the job doesn't pay. It pays exceptionally well.

Not money. No. It doesn't pay money. But what it pays is much more valuable than money.

Take, for instance, yesterday when Matt texted me 17 pictures of a bleeding mole on his back and asked me if I thought it might be "stage 7" cancer.

A normal person would have ignored these texts. Or at least educated him on how many stages there are. And then blocked his number before he sends more close-up shots of his least appealing body parts.

Not me. Matt is on my staff and so he is entitled to his salary.

So I texted him back and fed his fears. Because that's what he wants. Not someone to talk him off the ledge. But someone to ask him when his appointment is with the dermatologist and then tell him that next Monday is probably too late. Then I forwarded all of the pictures to Skylar without any context.

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

I woke up this morning to an angry email from Brianne demanding to know "why the hell" I hadn't shared with you all the story of our annual date, which happened yesterday. Brianne and I go on a very important date every October, date selected weeks in advance, wherein we walk the ten minutes to Starbucks, arm-in-arm, and purchase pumpkin-flavored treats.

We dress up for this event. It's our favorite thing that happens all year. It is the most important thing we have going on in our lives. And I failed to mention it anywhere on the Internet. So I hereby do so in hopes that I do not end up dead by the end of the day.

And now, your Pictures & Distractions:

Autumn in Utah.

Breaking & Entering

Look. I know. I should have been paying more attention. That's what a responsible person does. He pays attention to the dogs in his care. Because dogs can be unpredictable.

When I told Brianne about this I started the story with "you know how important it is to keep an eye on your child because you're also a parent" and then she wouldn't let me finish because she was screaming over the top of me "STOP COMPARING RAISING MY SON BY MYSELF TO HAVING A DOG."

Brianne doesn't understand that moms are supposed to stick together and not attack one another.

The point is, I knew better than to look away from Mr. Pants and Mr. Doodle when I had them off leash on a college campus yesterday.

Mr. Pants is staying with us this week which means that for the last three days this has been constantly happening:

What are you wearing?

A barely-exaggerated transcript of a conversation that happened today at work:

Woman: What are you wearing?

Eli: Oh I see what this is! Brianne put you up to this! Listen, I can wear the same t-shirt two days in a row. That doesn't make me a bad attorney.

Woman: But--

Eli: Not everyone has to wear a suit all the time. Get with the picture. This is 2017, ma'am.

Woman: I mean--

Eli: And another thing! What makes you think it's ok to walk up to someone and criticize the way they choose to dress?! Do I ask you why you're wearing those shoes?!

Woman: No--

Eli: Exactly! I leave you alone! I don't judge you for looking like a homeless person in a work environment so why do you think it's ok to judge me?!

This is Brianne

I told Brianne that I was pretty sure I had pneumonia considering that the cough I inherited from winter 8 weeks ago has not only failed to die but has actually gotten stronger in recent days. Brianne informed me that I was being a hypochondriac, but then gave me an office-appropriate physical, which she does at least once a week.

I use the term "office-appropriate" with some tongue-in-cheek when I talk about my sassy-single-mother assistant who isn't afraid to tell me regularly that I'm "behaving like a child" and "stop bothering me, I'm busy" and "can't you take your requests to someone who cares?!"

Sometime in 2016 Brianne decided that we needed to bring some feelings back into our relationship, which had soured due to a little thing called "work" and "professional responsibilities." And so she instigated an "I love you" policy, which meant that we were required to end every single office interaction with a mutual exchange of "I love you."

I complied, because this is less complicated than protest, and we began loudly pronouncing our love for one another six to seven times per day.

Be it known that Brianne and I work in a law firm that employs roughly 400 people. What this means is that during 2016, a small army of folks consisting of a large range of personalities observed our sentimental pronouncements on a daily basis. This was met with mixed reviews.

Episode 11: The World of Guardians

We somehow made it through our first year of Strangerville. The learning curve has been steep, and will surely continue to be so. But somehow Jolyn and I have survived the year without

1. Killing each other

2. Falling (mutually) in love

3. Getting married for tax reasons

4. Getting divorced for tax reasons

5. Starting a band that specializes in Caribbean-themed bat mitzvahs

6. Destroying the entire internet except for the Spacejam website

7. Prison for more than one month

So as you can see, it has been a miraculous year.

When we started Strangerville at the beginning of the year we never dreamed that by the end of 2016 we would have obtained the reach that we have. And we have all of you to thank for that. Jolyn and I would have an illegal amount of fun putting Strangerville together even if our mothers were our only listeners (Cathie and Nancy? You are listening, right??? You've been awfully quiet lately. We know where you live.)

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

This morning I woke up with zero puppies, which is exactly too many fewer puppies than one should have. So tonight I drove to Adam's house and made some excuse about why it would make sense for me to take Teddy with me and to my shock this actually worked. Then I drove to Matt's house with Teddy in tow and gave Matt a guilt trip about how lonely Mr. Pants was going to be if I didn't bring him with us and have a puppy slumber party, and to my shock, that worked.

So now I have two puppies. And they are hysterically barking at each other because there's only one bone at my house and they aren't good at sharing and this town is only big enough for one of them. So, yeah. I used my super powers of persuasion to achieve this result.

And now, your Pictures & Distractions:

Brianne and I took a work selfie and posted it on Instagram. 

Check Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself

You know I'm a hypochondriac. What you don't know is that I only tend to believe I have a disease when I don't actually have one. The moment there really is a serious medical concern, I'm like, "Nah. I'm immune to that. I'm fiiiiiiiiine."

For example, I was sure I had leukemia in 2009, and in fact read half of a book on it so I could best understand how to cope with the inevitable diagnosis. Two months later I was taken ill while everyone around me was incapacitated from Swine Flu. When my friends insisted that I also had Swine Flu, I repeatedly assured them that I was immune to this.

It wasn't until my friend Annette picked me up off of the floor where she found me in the hallway of BYU Law School and took me to the doctor that the diagnosis was confirmed. What proceeded, then, was the most dramatic Christmas of my life, including fainting spells, a broken hand, emergency surgery, and law school finals while under the influence of drugs that doctors promised me were legal.

And so it was no surprise when I disregarded Brianne's screaming with a dismissing hand wave, despite the obvious merit in her concerns.

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

Skylar: Why did you just pour half a bag of grated cheese into that?

Eli: Because it's mac & cheese. Duh.

Skylar: You do realize that the box comes with the "cheese," which you already added into that pan, right?

Eli: WHY ARE YOU TREATING CHEESE LIKE AN ENEMY IT NEVER DID ANYTHING TO YOU!

And now, your Pictures & Distractions:

Mr. Pants took care of me while I was sick. 

How Do You Overcome Anxiety?

Oh, to be Mr. Pants.

The other day I told you about my anxiety attack in the middle of the night last week that came about because of a story we did this month on Strangerville. What I didn't tell you is that these are a semi-regular occurrence for me and have been for some time.

I have no idea when I started getting them. Bob and Cathie tell me I was a very nervous child. I didn't notice because I was too busy hoarding candy with my best friend Mandy Williams when we were six years old because Bob told me one night when I wouldn't eat my dinner that there were people in the world who didn't have food and "would be happy to have that" and so I became obsessed with preparing for famine and this seemed like the best way.

This Might Be My Last Post

This might be my last post because I am so so sick. Like, exorcist girl during the the swine flu year at a daycare sick.

I don't even know what happened. I woke up at 4:00 AM and vomited the sins of all mankind mostly into a previously-clean toilet bowl. Apply, rinse, repeat. For several hours.

Then, like an idiot, I drove to my office for a meeting. And the whole time I was saying in a crying voice that I hear my nieces and nephews use when they want candy, "I'm too good of a person to deserve this." Just over and over again.

Then I got into the office and Brianne said, "you look like a Chucky doll that replaced sleep with drug addiction." Which was hurtful. And she knows I'm sensitive about my secret gingerhood.

Then I went to my meeting and I stared at a person across a table like I was a zombie and I was trying to convince him that I wasn't so he would let me get closer. Then I walked back to my office, which took 12 minutes when it should have only taken 2 because I had to stop and sit on the ground a few times on the way.

Wedding Picnics

This weekend is Rebecca's wedding, which she purposefully planned at the exact times that I have eleventy other commitments. And because Rebecca insists on being a complication in my life:

Ring Ring

Eli: What.

Rebecca: I need you to do something for my wedding.

Eli: I'm already in charge of the clowns. What else could you possibly want me to do?

Rebecca: The wedding picnic. I need you to plan the wedding picnic.

Eli: That's not a thing.