Stress stinks, my babies. It sucks the joy right outta the day, siphoning your mental and physical energy like a chance-meeting with an ex. We become listless, cringing, reactive boobs, addicted to triple-caf macchiatos and To-Do lists, the bottom of which are never reached. Slaves to everything but good sense and self-care, hypertension just waiting to squirt from our orifices. The only decent exercise I’m getting is folding into the fetal position at night.
I’ve not posted here for almost two months, due to various forms of merde hitting various fans; i.e. – life. As John Lennon said in his beautiful Beautiful Boy, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” (Or, as the Cosmos is assaulting your person thrice-weekly with More Problems Than You Knew Existed. But I digress.)
The time-tested, traditional ways of stress-reduction, such as lying in wait with a rifle atop your workplace, stabbing tires with a switchblade at church or hitting a coworker on the head with a ball-peen hammer have, for some reason, fallen out of favor. Remember, we live in the United States of Anal-Retentive Political Correctness, and so must take care in how we blow-off steam.
Here are 9 fun ways to help keep that mental even-keel:
- Become a peeping Tom (or Tina). It’s great exercise! Dress in black and creep about several hours after sunset. This will not only hone your skulking skills, but afford you free decorating ideas, not to mention a peek into the disgusting sexual practices of your neighbors (if you’re lucky). Note: don’t skulk in yards of neighbors with large-stooled dogs.
- Start a rumor at work that couldn’t possibly be true, just to see how quickly it gets around. Suggestions: someone just bought the building next door and is turning it into the County Home For The Unpleasant; someone saw the boss’s wife coming out of McDonald’s with a man wearing Sansabelt slacks; the next Martin Scorcese film, School-Bus Driver, soon will be filmed in your town and needs extras (apply at the police station); a new strain of baldness has been discovered by ISIS and is being transmitted to American men in beer.
- Drink your lunch. Once an art-form, the three-martooni lunch died with things like ’69 Buick Electras and cheating on your taxes. Figure out your perfect alcohol-to-food ratio so as not to return from lunch obviously shit-faced, but tight enough for the afternoon to go by in a gauzy, semi-blur.
- Announce to all that you have converted to Judaism, thus eliminating the need to buy Christmas gifts or participate in any other stress-inducing holiday tasks, like grab-bags and the dreaded office Christmas party. Go get a nice menorah and put it on your desk, so they remember why you’ll be taking off 10 days at Hanukkah. Decry religious persecution if you are thwarted, reminding them that you have the firm of Spielberg, Reiner & Ratner on speed-dial.
- Find a friend with some medical marijuana and read a childrens’ book together. Nurture that inner child! Might I recommend, My New Friend’s Two Daddies or Don’t Beat Up Ahmed, He’s An American Citizen!
- Volunteer at your local animal shelter. Bring outfits your toddler has outgrown and have an amusing afternoon in the cat habitat! (Half the fun will be gently man-handling the kitties into the outfits. Bring Neosporin.)
- Loudly sing “Nessun Dorma” at stoplights. Windows open and the more off-key, the better. Really belt it out, Pavarotti-style. Lots of arm gestures.
- At the Burger King drive-up, strive to annoy both the order-taker and everyone behind you in line. Ask about the daily specials, what the soup of the days is, is all the food organic and why, exactly, is it called a Whopper. Then order a pork tenderloin sandwich and a Shasta orange.
- Call a local pharmacy and ask – dejectedly – if they have any of the new Discreet Petite brand condoms in stock. When they say “No,” ask for the pharmacist’s personal condom recommendation.
You get the idea. Anytime you can have fun at someone else’s expense, your stress level will plummet! (At least until your next migrane-inducing crisis.)
Thanks for reading, my babies! Now come fly with me – subscribe to Planet Michelle! You’ll get notice of every post I yank from my little monkey brain. Just enter your e-mail somewhere up there, to the right. No spam-ola ever, and you can escape at-will.
Need to vent that spleen? Need advice? Wanna send me a love letter, a jeer or a cheer? Simply comment below, or e-mail me: planetMichelle4u@gmail.com. Prompt replies, mate!