Stressed Out

I don’t handle stress very well. I handle stress like I handle uggs and I say, “Why-hy-hyeee-uh.” It’s like everyone who’s wearing them is attached to the inside of a space ship with an alien about to explode out of their chest pleading, “Kill me… kill me.” And I say, “Okay.” That’s what my stress is like: Ugg wearing, ugly crying, alien occupied hos that I want to take a flamethrower to. Megan told me once that when life hands me lemons, I don’t make lemonade. I throw my lemons on the ground and step on them. Too many metaphors that don’t make sense? I say not enough!

First of all, my body changes when I get stressed out. I get like, a million gray hairs. Second of all, I make unhealthy decisions. When Stupid Head broke up with me I drank Ice Hole watched The Human Centipede by myself. Third of all, I make very rash choices.

When I was working at Disney World, I heard from my managers that Lady Gaga was in Disney World that she might be coming to the Rockin’ Roller Coaster. I nearly died. I begged my managers to put me at a position that I would see her. They almost didn’t because I was hyperventilating and they thought I might pass out in the tracks. I promised them that I wouldn’t and that I would totally behave but instead I called my managers every ten minutes asking them where she was.

Brenda: Coordinator Base, this is Brenda.

Brad: Hey, Brend-

Brenda: Brad, we’re working as hard as we can to make sure you are moved to a position to see her if and when she comes.

Brad: Okay, I know, it’s just that I love her so much, and I’venevermetherandthiswouldjustmeantheworldtome (gasp) andIpromiseIwon’tcry-

Brenda: Brad. We’ll take care of it. Stop calling me.

I think I only called five times after that. I spent all day freaking out, thinking what I was going to say to her. Would she like me? Would she be impressed with my crying skills? Or my self assumed ability to seize out upon viewing her? I bet both. My heart raced for over FOUR HOURS and then she didn’t even come. I literally freaked out all day and she couldn’t even ride my ride. So then I freaked out even more because she didn’t visit me. I blew off some steam that night and chased an armadillo named Henry. Literally, literally, the next day, the top headline on Google was how armadillos were spreading leprosy to people. So.

                Also, I tend to make things to control my anxiety but they often turn out terrible or are the biggest waste of time… like a blog. Or this picture!-

                So like, I think the main cause of why I get so upset sometimes is when something is out of my control. Like, when I lived at Disney, there were these girls who lived above us who we called the creatures because they stomped so loud. It was like Jumanji. Rhinos just paraded around constantly above us. Well, I had pink eye (which I think I also get from stress) and my roommate and I were fed up with the stampede so we went upstairs and this is how the conversation went-

                Brad: Hi, we have a roommate who’s culinary and he has to get up at five tomorrow. Can you guys try to walk lighter?

                Creature 1: Um, well, we’re not stomping around.

               

                Brad: Well, you are because we’re up here asking you to stop.

               

                Creature 2: You’re being really bitchy.

               

                Brad: OKAY! Well thanks for your time.

And then I shook her hand and she closed the door. The best part was that I wiped my hand all over my eye before we went upstairs. And then all over her door handle when she closed the door. That’s right. I implemented my own biological warfare. I call it the war on Fugs.

                And then I made this picture of me! -

The other day… I mean fourteen years ago, I was invited to someone’s birthday at this place called Gigglebees. Gigglebees is like the poor man’s Chucky Cheese. You could get tetanus on any corner but it didn’t matter because they had 25 cent ice cream cones! That’s probably why they went out of business… Anyway, I was , like, eight and I was really upset that I wasn’t getting any tickets out of game machines because everyone else was doing way better than me and I wanted a prize. This next part proves that I have always been the same person and that I have never changed. I walked up to the man at the counter with the prizes and I said in my sweetest, most confused voice, “Um, the machine with the light that spins and you have to hit it, yeah, um well I won and it didn’t give me my tickets… I don’t know it just didn’t.” I was a liar, liar, someone no one will hire… when they read my blog.

Here’s the thing. I really wanted this Buzz Lightyear pencil. It was the crazay kind where you take the lead out of the top and then push it into the bottom and newer sharper lead comes up out of the top! I needed it. I needed it. So lied and I got it. Welp, the next day when we were studying religion (because I went to a snobby, Catholic, rich kid school) we talked about stealing and lying and how it was NOT okay to do either.

I felt like Judas. I betrayed my Lord for the most awesome pencil of all time. I was racked with guilt all day and when I got home I decided to do something that seemed very appropriate at the time but in retrospect may have been a bit dramatic. The space between our garage and our house was filled with rocks and I dug a whole. I then smashed my Buzz Lightyear pencil into a million pieces while screaming and crying my eyes out. You know when Charlize Theron kills that guy in Monster? That’s what it was like.

And then I didn’t steal or lie for the rest of my life…

Another picture! I did this one when I realized I was I was still alone and I couldn't drive to Starbucks to make myself feel better... because I was drunk.

What can be learned from these tales of stress and drama? If you’re going to steal something, it should be better than a twenty cent pencil. Or don’t go to Catholic School. Either way.