Oh Great, Another F*cking Blog: Part 4

~The Gang
                So why are we writing a blog? What do we bring to the table that makes us any different from the menagerie of yuppies that currently inundates the internet? Probably nothing, and probably everything. Our little trio gets into some pretty crazy adventures, sometimes deliberately, sometimes sitcom-style. We love telling stories and sharing the embarrassing or awesome things that happen to, and around us. Not only are our stories pretty fun, they’re cheap AS SHIT. We’ll share these tidbits of “on the cheap” ideas with our ride-or-die readers.

We have great taste—we’re super humble—most of the time, and when we have bad taste, it’s usually cringe-worthy and worth a look.  Carissa has a slight amazon addiction, and rates the things she buys. We all eat out too much, as is the millennial curse, and we rate/review those places, and we watch DUMB shows, so we’ll tell you how we feel about those.

We like to think we’re clever, so we’ll probably write some musings or other bullshit like that. We post pictures of our dumb costumes and crazy make-ups and give tutorials and how-to guides for those as well.

We’re going to write this crap whether you read it or not. We’re bored millennials that have to find something interesting to do between brunches and craft beers. You may as well read, because you’re bored too, and likely supposed to be doing something better right now. We got you. We hope you enjoy wasting time with us.

Oh Great, Another F*cking Blog: Part 3

~Rob
And the final piece of the puzzle. I'm Rob. I am the youngest of the group, the most detached from reality, and the one who joined the trio late.

I'm a 24 year old, going on 40. I love America, beer, guns, and America. I'm by no means a redneck, despite having grown up in a trailer park in Ohio. As a matter of fact, I prefer to be well dressed, or in a costume. I dislike NASCAR and absolutely hate Miller High Life.

I grew up with a sense of duty from my father, a cop. He sort of indoctrinated me and raised me to become a Marine. It worked. I got to travel the world, from Afghanistan to Germany, from Cuba to Romania. I got to see and do a ton of cool and weird shit along the way. I fucking love what I do, and am genuinely happy with my choice, as is my father, who I'm pretty sure is living vicariously through me at this point.

That being said, I have zero intention of talking about politics, the world or its issues, or really anything of merit. Everything I say will be my own personal opinions, experiences, and stories. Nothing I'll say is representing the Marine Corps, or the U.S. Government. (They make me say this.)

The things I do intend on writing about are what I know: sex, working out, video games, guns, beer, and how to be a proper modern gentleman. Before anyone thinks to ask, no. I don't know my number. I lost track of that many moons ago. Not all of them have been great. In fact, you'll probably read some of the worst. While I may not be the most "swole" guy in any venue, it's not lack of knowledge. I'm actually just fucking lazy. When I do work out though, it's my release. Video games make up a small but important part of my personal time. It's my escape from reality. Guns are fun, get over it. Beer is fantastic, get over it. Being a gentleman is something I'm actually really adamant about. I feel that in today's society, the art has been lost. Men stopped being men. I support wearing a suit any time you leave your house. I support knowing how to dress, speak, and act, so as not to come off as some uncouth fuck-boy. I will teach you, if you'll let me.

Come along now kids. There is danger afoot. 

Oh Great, Another F*cking Blog: Part 2

~Riss
I’m the begrudging de-facto-leader of this ragtag little group. I’m a planner: not necessarily a good one, but I try (and, at least, it looks like I succeed).

I have the attention span of a goldfish; pretty much everything distracts me. A lifelong and constant search for balance is my only saving grace. I manage to be extremely confident in some areas while simultaneously crippled by anxiety in others. One thing that helps me deal with my anxiety is planning my next adventure. I always give myself something to look forward to. I have an overwhelming drive to observe the ridiculous. It keeps me moving forward.

I have more costumes than any reasonable adult should, but I hate being the direct center of attention. I like to observe and report, but not in a Seth Rogen way. It helps that I am usually surrounded by people even more ridiculous than I am.  I seem to be a magnet for weird experiences, they find me even when I’m trying to be good and mind my own damn business. You see, apparently, I have a very inviting face. Ever gone up to a stranger and had no idea why you overshared everything about your life? I was probably that stranger. I’m not overly friendly, empathetic, or wise, but, more often than not, I’m at least open minded. You learn a lot of things when you listen to the "weird" ones.

My sense of humor can be abrasive, but you’ll get used to it… Or you won’t. I don’t know you’re life. I’m not the fuzziest but I do what I believe is right and genuinely enjoy helping people. Just don’t tell anybody I said that. 

Oh Great, Another F*cking Blog: Part 1

~ Edd
Ever since I can remember, people have been telling me, “you’re ridiculous!” And, they’re right. I’m a 6’4” pile of extra with a healthy dose of sass thrown in. I’m a 13-year-old girl perfectly blended with a crotchety old man. I go on stupid adventures, and then make a million excuses just so I can nap. I think in bad metaphors and speak in 80’s movie references. I can be unintentionally pretentious in a way nobody has really any right to be, but will also unironically GET DOWN on some glitter-party-era Ke$ha songs. So yeah, I may be just a bit ridiculous. I wear that shit like a badge of honor. Screw anybody that doesn’t like me! (Please like me.) 

It took a long time to be happy with myself. I’m 31 now, and finally comfortable in my skin… I have a lot of skin, so that’s really saying a lot. I spent a lot of time being too cool for school, literally being a figurative “rebel without a cause,” being a chameleon, not realizing all that made a douche of the highest caliber. I could wax poetical about my trials and tribulations, but nobody gives a shit. Hell, I barely give a shit anymore (That’s a lie… I give ALL the shits.) Later, I spent years being defined by my job, “Hey, my name’s Eddie and I’m a delivery driver/construction worker/forklift driver/grumpy 25-year-old going on 50.” It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t making me happy. It took a long time, but I realized I don’t give a shit about what I “do” so long as I get to do what I want in my spare time.

I consider myself an adult. I do things that are moderately adulty: I pay my own bills, I buy sensible shoes, I pretend that my crippling student debt doesn’t exist or was at least in some way worth it. I spent a lot time worrying about what should be making me happy, instead of what actually does. I thrive on experiences; I’m all about the ride. They say sharing your experiences with somebody special is fulfilling. I guess you’ll have to do. It won't be profound, it won't be enlightening ,and it wont be classy, but dammit it will be funny.