We Moved

Stranger is still a happening place. More than ever, actually. But if you are still trying to access it through a blospot address, you'll want to get with the times. You can find us at itjustgetsstranger.com. Just drop the blogspot and you'll be good. 

A True Democracy

One of the plus sides to living in These Unprecedented Times is many of my friends realized all at once that they could actually just go ahead and get really cute puppies. Key among these was Emily, who lives down the street from me and who decided to get a cavoodle (same as Duncan) named Jude.

Since we're all working from home, apparently in perpetuity, it made sense to us to start our very own little doggy daycare, which means every other day we each send our own dog to the other's house so Duncan and Jude can wrestle and nap for 9 straight hours. 

Just In Case Cookies

A few weeks ago @gimmeplants on Twitter posted a picture of an absolute abomination called "Just In Case Cookies." We talked about it on Strangerville last week. If you haven't read this recipe or heard the Strangerville episode yet, you absolutely should:

Look at this absolute abomination of a “cookie” “recipe” from a ward cookbook pic.twitter.com/j028nJdLg7

— 🌿aubreys. (@gimmeplants) January 23, 2021

Here's the full picture for easier reading:

Things Are Looking Up

Skylar no longer has time for basic news. If I'm being honest, I'm jealous of the result, but not of the means and methods to get to that result.

Medical school rotations are somehow even more miserable than my worst expectations. I'm talking about my experience with them, of course. I don't know how Skylar feels about it all, exactly. I can only make an educated guess by collecting the evidence and scrutinizing it. Bags under his eyes. His mysterious disappearance every morning before I wake up. The perpetual state of verging on tears. 

He slumps into the house every evening and inhales whatever slop I've just finished cooking. "I only have five minutes," he'll say. That means he's about to take residency on the west end of the couch, put on noise-canceling headphones, and study until midnight.

"What happened today in the news?"

Help me I'm poor.

A couple of quick things:

First, your comments on the Shannon recap are giving me life. Also, SOMEONE IN THE COMMENTS LITERALLY FOUND HER GRANDMOTHER IN THE FILM. Stranger is 100% adding "reunites families" to its resume. It will go right underneath "once trolled TMZ so hard they had to send a cease and desist." 

Second, we launched a Patreon for Strangerville and Strangerville Live. Meg and Jolyn have both been threatening me through local mafia groups to do this for a while but I just haven't because lazy. 

For those unfamiliar, Patreon is a way you can support content by paying some small monthly amount to help with production costs. We launched the Patreon because we have some plans to expand, this site, Strangerville, and Strangerville Live in 2021 and we are hoping to be able to do that without forcing Meg to sell one of her children on ebay. 

Shannon: A Recap Of A 1961 BYU Film About A Very Naughty Girl

When I saw there was a BYU film from 1961 called “Shannon” I pulled the trigger and that’s how we ended up here. I have not seen this. I know nothing about this film other than its fabulous name. I will be recapping it as I go.

The film begins with a young woman walking around taking roll at some sort of party. You always know you’re in for a good time when attendance is being recorded. The attendees of this event are young women who are supposed to be 16 but are actually all 95.

If We Ever Do Meet Again It Will Be Zion To Me

We decided to take the weekend off and drive down to Zion National Park. This was a risky thing to do, we admit, considering our last few attempts to visit the place. 

Zion is one of the most beautiful places on the face of Oprah's green earth. The problem is, everyone else on the planet has figured this out. When I was a child we would go to Zion on a whim and have the place basically to ourselves. Now Zion sports Disneyland-like lines nearly every day of the year.

A few years back we tried to visit in March and the trails were comically crowded. Like, to the point where we were literally shuffling our feet in a four-mile long line of people for an entire day. Every hike felt like navigating the subway during the worst possible rush hour. After that trip I decided that I would never return and would instead just have to live with my memories of the park.

An Impossible Way To Live

My husband, who art in heaven, hallowed be his name, decided to become an absolute terrorist two nights ago.

Look. He's stressed and exhausted and exhausted and stressed and I am the June Cleaver to his Ronald Reagan or whoever the hell she was married to. I cook him meals. I cheerlead him out the door every morning. Well, not literally. He leaves at like negative eleventy o'clock every day and I'm for sure not getting out of bed for that. But figuratively I slap his butt in a "good game" kind of way as he heads off to the hospital or affairs or whatever it is he does all day.

I'm the most supportive spouse of all time. I'm so supportive they should name a bra after me. A good one. One of the ones from the commercials of women jumping in slow motion where they have the voiceover from Jennifer Aniston or whoever is in charge now soothingly saying "finally, a bra for women, made by women." One of those. They should name one of those after me considering how supportive I've been.

So now that I've educated y'all on how incredible I am, you are prepared to gasp and pearl-clutch when I tell you that Skylar what's-his-bottom INTERFERED WITH MY BEAUTY SLEEP two nights ago.

Dishes

"Did you have company in here today?" Skylar was asking it sarcastically, and I knew that was the case, so I guess that's why I responded "just my handful of potential suitors who won't attack me in the comfort of my own home office."

The inquisitive ambush was prompted by the five empty glasses strewn across the desk where I was was working. Skylar was already in the process of reaching around me to gather them up before I even finished playfully threatening infidelity and divorce.

I don't know how it happens, really. I don't remember bringing them all into the room throughout the day. I feel like I only use one glass, shepherding it back and forth between the kitchen and my little office to retrieve water when I'm thirsty or bored. And yet, somehow half the cast of Beauty & The Beast is huddled around me by the time Skylar wanders into the house that evening, demanding to know why I've decided to be so wasteful. 

Companionship Inventory

When Skylar and I got married my mother—the woman who birthed me into this world—the being from whom my body emerged through a process she has since called "a bloody massacre"—the person is supposed to live her life in absolutely loyalty to me—that mother committed an absolute hate crime against her only son.

She didn't mean to hurt me, I think, when she told my husband—the man who swore to worship me in front of all the angels in heaven at an extremely expensive party where I had to pay for napkins that must have been made of pure gold considering how much they cost—my mother gave that man advice that has resulted in a scheduled and weekly torture session for me ever since.

"Good marriages require you to be on the same page," she told him. "So I'd suggest you pick one night a week to have a planning session where you can talk about what you have going on over the next seven days, schedule quality time, and discuss any areas where your relationship might need work."

Well, Skylar what's his name frickin loved this idea. And the next thing I knew, a recurring event was added to our shared calendar on Sunday nights. "Companionship Inventory."

Skylar had just learned this phrase from some absolute monster of a person who decided to start teaching him Mormon lingo so Skylar could slip it into conversations with me at random. Within just the few weeks before this, he had told me "the Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight" and to "return with honor" when I left the house. But none of his new phrases caused me as much immediate emotional pain as "companionship inventory."