The Art of Being Pleasantly Unpleasant

There are many things in daily life which are necessary pleasantries, which are in essence unpleasant and annoying, but mostly tolerable. Sometimes things cross the line. I’m an actor, and as such, all my non-thespian friends love to ask “how’s acting going?” in that tone, THAT tone, and if you’re an actor you recognize and hate that skeptical-disparaging-get-a-real-career-I-can’t-wait-till-you-make-it-so-then-I-could-be-friends-with-a-movie-star tone of voice.

How’s acting. Let’s get a few things clear.

1. You aren’t my friend. If we’re connected on Facebook, yet you proceed to ask me what the name of the show I’m on is…you suck.

2. You don’t think I will ever be successful. Oh, but you will! You’re going to make 80K a year, and have a boring life. You’ll also be thinking on your deathbed of how pathetic your life was, and how you should’ve been anything in life but what you were. You bitter critical old fuck. I’ll be sure to bring flowers to your grave.

3. You hope that when I become successful you will get lots of pussy because you can say you know me. Right? Wrong. At worst you’ll be handing me pussy on a silver platter. At best, they’re fucking you thinking of me inside them.

4. You ask questions such as “How’s acting going?”. I don’t ask you how’s doctoring going, how’s being an accountant or how’s zookeeping going. I ask how’r the wife, the kids, the job, the boring stuff. But then again, what should you ask? I don’t feel like acting’s a job after all, it’s my life. Maybe just stick with how are you? Especially since you don’t really give a shit. Continue reading

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Me VS My Laptop

Ok, this isn’t working. You’re not getting this done. You need to prepare, shut off communication for a few hours. Reflect on this role.

Goddamit dude, c’mon do it.

Close this tab..x out Twitter, log off Facebook. No I can’t log off Facebook. Facebook is one of those things, kinda like breathing, ya know? It’s supposed to not stop, it’s good to have it open. Healthy.

Ok dude stfu, close Youtube, there, done.

Close blog, no wait refresh page, check stats. Ok not bad, steadily climbing. Not bad at all man.

Fuck, I’m hungry!

Shit dude, focus.

Ok, write post about what i’m thinking now as I attempt to shut off my computer.

No!

Yes, inspiration strikes, you write. Ok.

Dammit. I hear kids playing.

Turn on Pandora. No. Yes. Prepare the fucking script already, it’s no easy role. No.

Ok, pause writing. BRB.

Good there it is. Shit, too loud, volume down.

Yes I actually just did all that. Fuck what song is this it’s annoying. Change channels. There much better.

Take picture for the blog, it’ll be stupid and boring otherwise. Ok fast.

Shit. Turn off the flash. There. Better angle.

K hurry upload it.

Shit Imagine by John Lennon just came on. I gotta listen to the whole song. Turn that volume back on.

Ok SIGN OFF THIS MOTHERFUCKING THING.

Go Climb Back Into Your Mousehole

“Love is cuddly, and so fuckable.” – livingnowalways

I’ve got this friend on Facebook. She’s 24, always manages to have money from family, etc. She’s not at all a slut, as I know she’s only been with maybe one or two guys. But her statuses consist of things like “Dude, if I turn my back on you, I’m NOT INTERESTED.”, or “partying it up at XYZ Club with my bad biotchhhhhhesssss [insert dumb slutty names here.] We the baddest bitch in town!” Followed by “Where is the man who will sweep me off my feet? <3”

Dear _____,

You’re 24. (25?) You used to never sleep around, because you had a crazy psycho ax murderer for a boyfriend. You broke up with him and you’re still alive. My congratulations. Now you’re the hottest shit in town. I understand, that although this is a big city, there must be a need inside that psycho head of yours to feel self important. Go ahead, put on make-up, look slutty for us. Or stay home and stop abusing your already worn and torn body. And make me a sandwich.

When you go to a club, you’re in OUR TERRITORY. We’re the hunters, and you’re the poor fucking hunted doe. Want a head start?

Sure babe, that’s what we call betas. Betas are your head start. Their weak, pathetic attempts at currying favor with you makes you feel powerful, sexy, even invincible perhaps? Alpha males won’t look at you. Because although perhaps you’re hot, the bitchiness you walk around with makes you  look like a deer caught in the headlights.

So go climb back down your mousehole. Maybe you can gaze out at thew world from the tiny, mildewy mousehole that is your life.

With much love and a sincere desire to fuck the living shit out of you,

-livingnowalways

“The need for security stems from being insecure. Or perhaps insecurity is the lack of security. Which one goes first and what risks will you take? Obvious, but brilliant.” – livingnowalways (pats self on back)

My Inner Beta

I usually avoid becoming Facebook friends with any girl I have a romantic interest in, at least for the first few weeks. And by romantic, I mean anything ranging from a bar-slut you want to pump and dump/be steady fuck buddies with or a cute girl you met and asked out for drinks, and have a feeling she isn’t the fuck buddy type, if there even is such a thing as not being a fuck buddy type.

Well I took my own lesson with blue-haired girl, and haven’t friended her, and won’t at least not until I get the bang, hopefully this weekend. I didn’t take my lesson with another girl I met at a get together a friend was having at a bar. I friended her before getting her number. First mistake. The reason I did that was because I wasn’t sure if she was with a close friend of my buddy or not…until my buddy said, “Hey, she’s single, go for her.” So I did. I walked over to her and said let’s grab a drink tomorrow night. Good.

“Be bold. Make your move. Ask her out. Just kidding, fuck her without asking her out. Or forever regret it.” – Cookie Monster (just kidding he never said that)

But now, I’m sitting here, a day before our meetup, and am thinking twice before posting anything on Facebook, because if i keep posting stuff, she’ll think I sit at home all day on my computer. Which of course isn’t remotely true. Honestly. Now on one hand, I’d hate to have my verbal stream of diarrhea that is my Facebook feed cut off, as I feel it’s a good method of expressing myself, and I have legit things to post about. On the other hand “Dude, WTF, posting on Facebook more than once a week? So 2007.” Possibly, but irrelevant, as I’m discussing the reason why, in my current state, I don’t friend the bitch right away.

On another note, I’m taking this girl to a spot I usually reserve for girls I want to fuck, more than date. It’s a hip neighborhood type bar/lounge. But with a divey vibe to it. Pool table + couches + exotic beer list = fun but very cozy spot. I am however second guessing myself as to my choice of locale for tomorrow night. Perhaps I should have chosen something more upscale? But no, why am i treating this girl differently than any other girl I went out with for a drink. I dunno, but something about her screams date material only. Perhaps it’s my inner beta coming to the surface, perhaps it’s just me, not wanting to conform to social dictates of the PUA community saying not to put any pussy on the pedestal.

(Oh, by the way, anyone ever get the feeling between the time you met her originally and set a date, to the time before the date, that she’s not interested/date won’t be good, etc.? Maybe she’s just a really shitty texter…

Which is why I also like to avoid texting…)

Besides, I’m not a PUA anyway. I’m just a regular dude, who loves constantly approaching girls (as I haven’t been in a long term relationship recently) and having a good time.

“Good night moon.

Good night work and your annoying boss that always emails.

It’s time for you to come and play.

Turn your phone off, sidle up to me.

I’ll grope you, feel you, strip you naked and fuck you.

Good night world.”

-livingnowalways

Time will tell won’t it.

The place DOES have a pool table...

This represents the 8 ball.

Except I’m stupid so I posted a 7. Kind of the way you see a girl, think she’s a 9. Look again and she’s a 7. Least she could do is strip dance on the pool table.