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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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)