I'm a Mistake. Well, in a Certain Way

Some of you will have heard this story from me before, but it's still worth telling and it's a fun story, at least I think it is.

This last Friday, I was at the "Summer Dress Party" at the Clarendon Ballroom in NoVa.  I went cuz I A) love parties, B) I was invited by a friend, and C) the party was hosted by my dream employers, also known as 106.7 The Fan.  Wait, there's a "D)" reason as well, I love sundresses.  If I remember correctly, I even wrote a blog post about how much I love sundresses, well, not the clothing item, it's more how a girl looks in it, so freaking amazing.

Moving on.  Sometimes when I write that I picture myself as Gene Wilder leaving that girl who got all blueberry in "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory".  In case you're wondering, I also want to be Gene Wilder in every movie he was in with Richard Pryor.

So anyways...I'm walking around with my friend, talking, drinking (quite a bit), and overall being my goofy little self when I'm introduced to a guy so let's call him "Hipster" (As soon as I saw him I decided his name would not be worth remembering).  Now, I doubt "Hipster" was a fan of the station, he probably just wandered in with his super tight jeans, comically (in the bad way) large glasses, and just his air of "feel bad for me cuz my parents have my trust fund and timeshares locked up till I'm 27 and I can't get into whatever liberal arts college is popular right now to hackey sack, play guitar shirtless, and prevent the clubbing of minority baby seals with down syndrome that are below the poverty line".  After I introduced myself to him, he looked me dead in the face and asked "Sam.  What brought your parents to name you that?  It's kind of unique."

First off, it's not really that unique.  Dogs are named Sam.  So are people, roughly 32% of people according to my totally made up research.  Second off, what the hell type of question is that?  Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number, why'd your parents name you that, baby?

So I told him "I'm named after a dog my Dad really liked." and kinda walked away.  I also could have said "I lied to him about it cuz I don't know why I'm named Sam really."  It's a good thing I walked away, cuz his next question was probably going to ask if I had the vinyl copy of "Plastic Crying Brontosaurus in a Corporate World" or if Britt's shoes were USDA Organic...

For the record I totally made that up, but if anyone wants for their band name it we can talk price.

So later on, I'm retelling the story when it hits me, there's another story behind my name.  I wasn't supposed to be Sam.  Let's tell that story now.  This is also the main reason for this post.

A few years back, my Pop revealed to me that when I was born, he wanted to name me "Tug", but my Mom said no.

That's really the whole story.  I was gonna be named Tug, they named me Sam.  And when they told me, I began to face a lifetime of disappointment.

Picture all the great things I could accomplish as a guy named Tug.  Major League Baseball player, NFL linebacker or fullback, truck driver, radio host, bartender, tugboat driver, garbage man, professional shot putter, back woods golfer, auto mechanic, porn star, largely unknown bass player in a band, or eight fingered high school wood shop teacher.  Endless possibilities for Tug Carroll.

Just close your eyes and think about it (Like I have thousands of times), "Now stepping up to the plate, 6'1", 240 pound Tug Carroll, batting 0.732 this season with 43 taters, 142 ribbies, and a staggering OBP.  A walking, talking Hall of Famer."

Or this, "Barreling down field, shedding defenders like rain on a windshield (...?) on his march towards the end zone, Tug Carroll's aggressive running style stabs fear into the hearts of defensive coordinators and players alike."  And then the glamour kind of leaves the name outside of those two prefessions.

Tug Carroll.  Awesome, I'm irrationally mad at you about this one, Ma.

There are 619 Million Reasons to Read This Post

In this post, I'm gonna do something I've wanted to do for a long, long time.  It's finally time for me to tell you all how I would spend a MegaMillions Jackpot of $619,000,000.  In list form.  In all it's glory.

Now, I realize most of these will be totally overkill for pricing of stuff, but I'm not gonna price out dollars and cents.  Also, one of my friends said "Did you account for taxes?"  Hell no.  This is fantasy world, taxes didn't exist in Roller Coaster Tycoon, why would they exist here haha?

Enjoy, let's go.

1. $ 1,000,000 to Anthony (@MDsOwn) for his dream truck(s).  That's right buddy, you're #1.
2. $ 300,000,000 straight to my fancy new PNC Bank Account (Lame I know, but it's a lot of money to spend).
3. $ 5,000,000 to a trip through Europe for myself, my family, and whoever else I wanna bring.
4. $ 500,000 on this house.
5. $ 1,000,000 on things for that house.
6. $ 2,000,000 home theater and garage upgrades for that house. 
7. $ 2,500,000 on this vacaction home.
8. $ 1,000,000 on things for that house.
9. $ 1,000,000 to pay off my parents' house and the rest for utilities.
10. $ 5,000,000 to my friends for their "Dream Cars".
11. $ 500,000 to the "Dream Vacation" for me and the girlfriend.
12. $ ?,000,000 for Redskins Season Tickets for life.  It will probably wind up being well over 619,000,000 million just for parking alone, Danny Snyder, you're an asshole.
13. $ 15,000,000 to give to people going to Redskins games for their parking.
14. $ ?00,000 for six seats for a life time of Washington Capitals tickets (Up in them 400s!)
15. $ 7,000,000 for a trip for my whole  family to Alaska.  By air, land, and sea.  Boom.
16. $ 500,000 for the cost of the bar tab from that trip, after that ya'll on your own.
17. $ 5,000,000 to Boys and Girls Club of America.
18. $ 1,000,000 to the ASPCA.
19. $ 1,000,00 to Habitat for Humanity.
20. $ 5,000,000 to the Community of Hope - DC.
21. $ 5,000,000 to the American Cancer Society.
22. $ 5,000,000 to Lance Armstrong's LIVESTRONG Foundation..
23. $ 3,000,000 to DeMatha Catholic High School for whatever.  It would get my name on a brick, or a plaque in a hallway I'm sure.
24. $ 1,000,000 to University of Maryland for new football jerseys (Zing.).
25. $ 1,000,000 to St. Pius the Tenth Regional School in Bowie, MD (Where I graduated grade school).
26. $ 1,000,000 to St. Jerome's Catholic School/Church in Hyattsville, MD.
27. $ 2,000,000 to my friends to pay off college loans, sex change operation surgery, Taco Bell franchises, prostitutes, "Booger Sugar", or maybe they'd bribe their parents into letting him/her (her) buy a puppy.
28. $ 2,000,000 for my friend Gina's (Twitter: @tiwytk // and  her blog is here) conservatory (I had to Google it to find out what it is).
29. $ 45,000,000 for one of these bad boys, Pappa's gotta get from place to place, right?
30. $ 5,000,000 for a bus rental, driver, tickets, etc. for a trip around the country to every Major League ball park in the US and Canada for myself and a few friends.
31. $ 1,000,000 to the "Sam Wants to go to Alotta of Concerts Fund"
32. $ 5,000,000 for a pimped out M1 Abrams tank, cuz I gotta get to 7-11 somehow.
33. $ 2,000,000 for all new clothes, suits, ties,shoes, hats.  I know, I know, that's a lot of money for a ton of Under Armour shirts, thrift store suits, and hats...but I'd have to pay a lot of shoe companies to make shoes that are normally only "Regular" size to wides...
34. $ 63,000,000 to the Smithsonian Institution.  That's a sure fire way to get me on the board of one of them and then I can see all the behind the scenes stuff.  Sixty three milly well spent.
35. $ 5,000,000 to scientific research to make chickens with for more than two wings so the price of chicken wings will finally go down.
36. $ 1,000,000 for chicken wings.
37. $ 1,000,000 for a sit down with John Madden and Troy Aikman in front of an audience.  Everyone with a comment on how shitty they are at commentating can step up and let them know.
38. $ 500,000 for tomatoes to throw at Aikman at the sit down.
39. $ 2,500,000 to "Out Bottle Service" Jay-Z, Kanye, Kevin Hart, Floyd Money Mayweather or whoever else wants to rise to the challenge in Vegas or New York.
40. $ 2,000,000 for a tricked out Irish pub in Downtown Annapolis, called, uh, Carroll's Corner, or something like that.
41. $ 2,000,000 for a epic 72 hole mini golf course/driving range/batting cage complex...also with a full service bar.
42. $ 10,000,000 liquor budget.  Cuz that's how I roll.
43. $ 7,000,000 for a "Speed Camera" budget haha.
44. $ 1,000,000 for an empty aircraft hanger with a basketball court, giant moon-bounce boxing ring thing, foam pit, and softball field just outside of it on the grounds.
45. $ 1,000,000 for an empty warehouse with tons of floors and obstacles...and hundreds of NERF guns and thousands upon thousands of rounds of ammunition.
46. $ 3,000,000 to some waiters or waitresses for the tips of his/her lifetime.  I wouldn't give it to one person all it once, just big tips over time for a while.  That's how you impress a girl on a first date.
47. $ 45,000,000 to, as Kramer put it, "Do?  Do?  Hey, I'm doing what I do.  Ya know, I've always done what I do.  I'm doing what I do.  The way I've always done it, and the way I'll always do it."  Basically, this last forty five million is for whatever strikes me at the moment it strikes me.  

On a serious note here, I put links to all those charities there (Numbers 17-22) and donating is never a bad idea.  I try to  give what I can each month to one of those five charities, Community of Hope and LIVESTRONG being my most frequent choices.  It's never bad to donate to a charity and help those who need it more than you, and it feels pretty good when you get a "Thank You Letter", even if they are just a cookie cutter response.  Pay it forward people.

 

Word Vomit Part Something

Hey everybody, I'm in a bit of a summer slump.  Lately I've been all about the gym, playing tennis, softball, and doing anything but thinking about what to write, but Friday something hit me and I decided to do another one of my "Word Vomit" posts, which are by far my favorite to write.

So let's start off with me talking about tampons, cuz that's the obvious path to take here.

Wait, wait, wait.  I'm gonna change something.  I'm gonna talk about "tam-puns".  Get it?  There's going to be puns.  I'M SO EXCITED!

So the other day, I was walking through Target with a lady friend of mine and she needed some, uh, "feminine hygiene products", since I'm always looking for new material, I tagged along and said things like "I'm here to soak up some information." and "How much tampon information can I absorb?"  Yes, I know those were some of the worst, most obvious, low brow jokes I can make, but I loved em.  Tampuns.  Classic.

Moving right along, from the tampon aisle (I debated typing "Tampun Kingdom") to the bedroom.  A strange segway.

I listen to a lot of FM radio cuz I constantly need to be fed sports talk when I'm not near my phone/laptop/television and in my area (The DMV), they play a ton of "Sleepy's Mattress Warehouse" commercials and all of these commercials end with the jingle "Trust Sleepy's, for the rest of your life".

Now in all my twenty two years of "wisdom" and "attentive listening" I never realized that "the rest of your life" means for like the duration, and the best rest of your life.  When I told people this they just kinda looked at me like "Yeah you idiot."

But I said it.  It's out there.  I'm happy I realized it.  This post is going great.

And now it's over.  Like the title says, word vomit haha.

I am so sorry.

The Good Ole Hockey Game

It's hockey season, and maybe for once people outside the diehard Washington Capital's fans are taking notice, tuning in, and rooting for the Weagle (If you didn't know, that's what we call the logo here in the DMV).  Even people that have been watching hockey their whole lives, like myself, feel a rejuvenated feel in this season, and it's really tough not too be giddy about each game.

That's not what I'm here to talk about, but I'm gonna talk about it anyways.  This Caps team feels like they're built for something big, something special, something maybe...worthy of a parade.

Thousands and thousands of people groan for shots off the post, hold their breath when the puck comes flying towards the Cap's net, and explode with cheers when the Cap's turn on the lights.  They celebrate with strangers in bars, feel euphoria for days after a big win (Or maybe that's just me), and most important have faith in a team that is a winner.  Something this city has been craving since the early nineties.  As someone who was raised a DC diehard, it feels great to finally have a team that I don't feel will let me down (I'm looking at you, Skins).

So what am I saying?  To be honest I don't know.  I could just say this, when Saturday morning comes and you're getting dressed, Rock The Red.  At every red light, roll down your window, honk your horn three times and yell "LET'S GO CAPS!", at 8 'o' clock, start chanting "O-V" for a few minutes, punching Penguins/Bruins/Flyers/Rangers/Canucks/Canadiens fans in the face, blow your speakers out with the "Unleash The Fury" video on YouTube, and if you're building something, make it "America's Hockey Capital" (That one was lame, but it's the team slogan...).

Time to play seven.

Go Caps.  

Sorry if this is a crazy random post.

Word Vomit, or as some people say "Random Thoughts"

So I haven't done a post like this in forever, cuz the Man Crush bracket took up all of my time so it feels good to be back in the regular-post saddle.  I also want to take a second to thank everyone who voted and contributed to the Man Crush Bracket, it sounds like a lot of people enjoyed it and I'll do another bracket either later this year or next year.  Now back to the voodoo that I do (not)so well.

Everyone who has been into a Chinese "joint" or restaurant (I never spell that word right on the first time, thanks spell check)  has probably the sign in the picture below (Take time to scroll down a bit to see it).  They seem to be in like, 90% of the places I've been, and I'm almost nervous when I go somewhere and I don't see one, I worry I'm not classy enough to order anything that's not no a backlit and faded sign.

Every Chinese Restaurant

Now, the sign in the picture is in Top China across the street from my house, it's a brand new place, and the sign looks like it's thirty years old.  I've never seen one of these signs and thought "Damn, what a clean, crisp, new looking sign."  And I also don't remember seeing any changes in the signs.  It always seems dumpings, General Tso, Orange Chicken, and stuff are just up there all the time.  The signs must be family heirlooms, passed generation to generation.

Random thought number two, cuz one is never enough.  And cuz I'm all hopped up on strawberry rhubarb pie from Easter, also known as the best pie ever.  Sorry, other pies.  I was driving the other day, rocking out to my music (Rod Stewart, DUH...not really) and I look out the passenger window and the Cracka in the Volvo station wagon (Matt James) next to me and he's staring back at me, while he sings whatever was on his stereo.  I feel like this happens a lot, mostly I'm the one singing (And drumming on the steering wheel, occasionally playing guitar, and certainly thinking I sound just as good as John Hiatt...or Rihanna), and what do you do?  You look back ahead and continue singing...like nothing happened.

Well that's all I got for now, I'm working on some new stuff (Maybe a interview type thing with "Cruz Missile") so stay tuned Aunt Jean.

Hostess.

Let's Go To The Mall....Today!

In case you were wondering "Where did SamWow get that super awesome title?" Well, that clearly means that you don't watch How I Met Your Mother (Monday nights on CBS, 8PM EST). That's the hit song from Robin Sparkles first music video, duh.

That being said, I do want to go to the mall...today, tomorrow, next week, next month, or even right now. I know that may be weird, but I enjoy it, free samples from the food stores, the people, Lids, the women, and just shopping.

But there are a few things I've noticed about going to the mall and the differences of stores that sell mainly women's clothes and those selling clothes to the "un-fairer sex", also known as men. Sorry guys.

Women's stores always tend to have a unique name, like Avenue 9, Forever 21, Victoria's Secret, Lane Bryant, or Body Central. They also tend to smell good, have some select mood lighting, mannequins displaying the store's wares, and some light, generic, "feel good" music pumping into shoppers ears while they hold dresses up to themselves in front of mirrors. But this stuff isn't what I wanted to talk about, the first thing I mention rarely is after all.

Let me preface this by saying I'm a bigger guy, I'm six foot one and roughly two hundred fifteen pounds of pure, lean, well, body stuff, not muscle. I also have a giant head, big feet, and to top it all off I'm clumsy and easily distracted. Now guys/fellas/gentlemen, next time you and your beautiful young wife/girlfriend/mistress/daughter/granddaughter are out shopping for clothes, take a break from hating every second of it and notice how un-fit for men these stores are, which is reasonable cuz we're not the intended clientele.

The stores are just so damn small.

Now, I don't mean square footage, some of these stores can be pretty big, but I mean the spaces between the clothing racks and the width of the aisles. Holy god, I've followed ladies through stores countless times, and as soon as they find a rack they like, they dart away like a little kid into a corn maze and they're impossible to find until after a few hours, they emerge victorious, clutching thrity sweaters, two pairs of pants, and a bra they won't ever let you see. It's amazing, to a full grown man, those aisles are like what they used to put in ancient forts so camel's couldn't come in (Which is stupid, how many ancient races fell due to mauling by camel?). Then if you look across the mall, past the old men sitting on the benches, you can see a store built more for men, like Dick's Sporting Goods, Modells, Sport's Authority, or Bass Pro Shops, and it's like looking into the mouth of a whale - the entrance is cavernous, empty, and moist, well, not if it's a good store, avoid stores that are moist. That's the tip of the day.

A store like Dick's or Bass Pro, a guy my size can go prancing down the aisles, twirling my arms, thrashing violently (Like how it looks when I zumba), and guess what people, I can do that across the entire store and I won't touch a damn thing. It's amazing, at the check out, there's no fru-fru stuff, just Big League Chew bubble gum, chewing tobacco, fish lures, bullets for your .22, Michael Jordan cologne, and porn magazines (You'd be surprised what some of those "Muscle & Fitness" magazines have in them). This is a kinda abrupt ending to the post, but that's all I have. Enjoy my immature antics below the picture.

If I were gonna caption the above photo, or maybe make a movie and use that image as my poster, I'd call the movie "The Waiting". I snapped the picture standing in the Misses department waiting for my girlfriend to try on somethings and after the third hour, decided I would take a picture and now I'm gonna end this corny little joke.

Ok, I lied, my girlfriend took the picture while I was in the fitting room, it's just so darn tough to find a new sundress to match my favorite heels and clutch.

101 Ways to Get My Blog Read in Mother Russia

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Ha Ha Business! That's for you Brian...

Oh man...so pressure from my friends and family has mounted and I'm doing another blog post.
This is the blog post by the way. It started right up there.

Well, I hope you can tell unless me not blogging for a while has affected your collective mental capacity to know what things are. Hey, don't wipe your ass with that shard of glass, and that girl you're looking at who you think might be a seven, might also be a thirty year old...dude. So I dunno why the blog has been running so slow. Well, actually I do know, but I wanna spew out some random things before I get to the climax of this post.

This climax will be disappointing...trust me. Also, feel free to insert any jokes you'd like to in there. I don't mind really. I'll give you a moment.

Okay, so you good now? Now I'll tell you some lame things. Like that I went from drinking "real beer", you know, the beer that comes in bottles, to stuff like Bud Light, Miller Lite (Kelly, that one's your fault.), and of course my personal local favorite, Natty Boh (Which I drink in excess with my Matty Boh.). Sure, it tastes like liquid garbage, but it's a Brotherhood thing, and you wouldn't understand.

I like whiskey. I also like how this is seeming to take a turn towards the "Is Sam an alcoholic?" question. Which if it is, I'll tell you a story.

My friend Anthony once told me "You'll be a non-functioning alcoholic by the age of 24.". I dunno how old I was when this happened, but in my head I was probably like, seventeen, sober as a priest (Which after knowing the priest I know and partying with him, that statement doesn't mean much. According to that, it means I was sober enough...to not drive. Cuz I woulda crashed the car and died.). Wait, is "sober as a priest" even a saying? I guess a Google search could clear all that up...but the internet search bar thing is all the way up there. So screw it. It's a saying now.

But for the record, I'm not an alcoholic. But I also have three years to get on that so we'll see.
What else. Well, I'm sitting at my desk. Which I moved a few feet from where it used to be in my room. Now get your socks ready, cuz I'm about to knock them off...I also moved my bed over towards the center of the room.

I'll give you a moment to retrieve your socks.

That's really it as far as room re-arrangement. I know that was an exciting bulletin.

Now where to go to next in this Orange Crush fueled rant....I know. Stop bitching about Facebook changing. Seriously, if it really bothers you that much quit it right away. If you're my age, you grew up with computers. We know how to work them pretty well by now, it takes what, like a minute to see "Oh, there's my news feed thing. And my photos. And the photos of that hot girl...oh my God. Look at her...she's so hot." As long as you can still creep someone on Facebook even a little bit, we're all gonna stay on it.

Ugh. So here comes the climax, are you excited? No. I'm not really feeling it either. I wrote all this in HTML format. That's not the climax, but it had to be done. It's amazing I remember any of it cuz the whole time I took it I was high on pain killers, right Anthony? Right. But I need your ideas! Please people, you all know me, you know what I like and that I love writing this blog. It's killed me, but I've had no ideas. I've tried for some, and I have a few scraps ready to go for after this but please, I'll leave my contact information below...come at me with stuff damnit!

Facebook - SamWowCarroll
Twitter - @therealSamWow
E-Mail - samcarroll9@gmail.com
Phone - 867-5309
Carroll Out...for now.

Untitled Post Part Two

I once did acid with Morgan Freeman.

Yeah, you're probably pretty jealous right now, but wait...I didn't really do acid with Morgan. I had a dream where I did though.

You're probably wondering two things - (A) What the hell is Sam writing about? (B) What's Morgan like on acid?

Well, the answer to your first question is I'm writing this post about my dreams, sleep problems, and sleepwalking. I decided to do it when I dreamed I dropped acid with Morgan Freeman, even though I wouldn't know acid if you dropped it right in front of me.

In the dream they were just little tea-bag looking things(which after some research I found out isn't what they look like) that we bought from a dealer outside of PG County Stadium (Home of the Baysox) after a game then went to Chik-Fil-A and went crazy on those Spicy Chicken sandwiches. Me and Morgan both hate pickles, or at least he hates them in dream world.

Now, for your second question. Morgan is awesome to do acid with. We talked about how he made Evan and Bruce "Almighty", how he drove Mrs. Daisy, how he redemption-ed Shawshank, how he summed up all fears, and how he helped make sure to keep baby out of the corner. Then we high fived, he walked into the parking lot, flipped a SmartCar with his bare hands, and rode off in his sleigh which was pulled by Matthew Broderick, Denzel Washington, Jay Pharoah, and Cary Elwes.

So onto the next dream, this one is extremely normal compared to the one above.

And note the fact that there's no semi-witty segway, I'm swinging for the fences here.

This next dream happens a lot, like, four or five times a week.

It always starts out the same way, with me running through different places whether it's down the hallways from episodes of "Scooby Doo" (You know the ones with all the doors), running around DeMatha, Maryland's campus, Dave's condo, the Taco Bell in Severna Park, Ace in Severna Park, around a couch or table, or sprinting through the set of "Community".

I run for a while, turn a corner and there she is, "Mystery Blonde Girl".

I've never seen her face, she just keeps running away from me so I keep chasing her and chasing her but I never catch her. I ususally just run after her for a while until I trip and fall or run into something and next thing you know, I'm awake lying on the floor of my room.

This dream has been going on for maybe four months, but "Mystery Blonde Girl" has made guest apperances in my dreams for at least a year, it's weird. Really weird. But at least it's "Mystery Blonde Girl" instead of Jake Gyllenhall.

The next dream is easily explained, I have dreams where my friends murder me. Well, I can't really explain it, they just kill me. It's that simple. It's always a different friend and always a different way for me to die. Thanks guys.

And if you're wondering, Wes gets me with the machete, Kelly hits me with her car, Dave shoots me, Mikey stabs me, Mike beats me with a baseball bat, BoomKing uses a bazooka (I can actually explain that), and Brian uses nun-chucks.

My friends mercilessly beat, stab, chop, shoot, eat (the one who ate me will surprise people, I'll just say it's a she), and hit me until I'm fading out and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, then I wake up. Next time I see them, I'm secretly mad, concerned, and very alert. They're really weird dreams and I don't think my friends would kill me, but I can't be too sure cuz as soon as I trust them, it's over and I'm getting chopped up like in the end of "Things Fall Apart".

Okay, so now we're going to get into the final piece of this freak-show I've presented that just happens to be my sleeping habits. Sleepwalking.

The first time I sleepwalked (slept-walked? I dunno) I just remember going to bed in my room and waking up on the couch. That's happened a few times and it's never a big deal, just kinda weird but hey, at least I'm staying in the house and on the ground.

This next story took the game to the next level. This story is triple overtime with game seven on the line. This story is streets ahead. This story is, well, epic. And one I'll tell till the day i die.

So, if you've played "Call of Duty Black Ops" you remember the scene where you're the guy in the space suit walking across the runway to get into the Blackbird to fly around and guide the squadron. If you didn't let me paint you a picture.

It's a hazy day, you're in a yellow space suit walking across the tarmac, saluting the men out there with you. Then you get to a flight of stairs, you walk up them, get into the cockpit, close the hatch, and you take off to start the mission.

Now, let me set up my part of the story. I have a "split level" house and all that means is that when you walk in my front door, you can go upstairs or downstairs from the landing.

Below is a fine artist's rendition of the layout of the bottom half of the steps. He's probably pretty proud of the fern-thing he drew, so be sure to compliment it.

Ok, so that arrow is pointing to a major player in this story. Like, what Jason Campbell was to the Redskins. A big deal. That arrow is pointing to a part of the ceiling that drops down and slants, giving you less clearance. That's really all the set up I guess this needs so here we go.

I dreamt (Dreamed? You'd think an English "major" would know) that I was walking up the stairs about to climb into my jet, the hatch closed and I did the final checks, throttled the engines, worked the elevator flaps, and flipped a bunch of random switches before looking out the window and giving the thumbs up to the men on the ground who quickly pulled the equipment away so I could take off.
Then I kicked the throttle open and, felt the jet burst from under me, and then...

I woke up.

Well, I didn't just wake up, I woke up perched on the landing, toes curled over it, arms swept back like wings, and knees bent, ready to launch into the air and go defeat the Communists. That's a terrifying way to wake up and now I'll tell you why...

I was ready to explode into the air, and as we all know from that nice little arrow I drew in that awesome artwork I made, if I had jumped off the landing, there's a 100% chance my head would have smashed into that piece of the ceiling so hard that it would have been one of those moments where my body kept moving, but my face stayed in one spot. The ultimate clothesline.

In between my face smahing into the ceiling and the roughly seven step drop that would have followed (if I missed the ceiling, I would have just smashed through the drywall at the bottom of the steps which would have also been painful), that would have hurt. Alot. That shook me up pretty bad when I was able to step off the ledge and get my head straight.

That would have be tough to explain to the parents when they woke up and saw their son lying in a bloody crumpled heap on the floor. But I know what I would have said when I realized they were there and they saw me. "Mission accomplished sirs. Our country is safe, and the wind of God is at our backs." I dunno why I would have said that, I dunno why the wind of God is at our backs, but it just was.

So yeah, that pretty much wraps this one up. There might be some more weird dreams posts and I would love for someone to tell me what they think the "Mystery Blonde Girl" dreams are trying to tell me. Actually that would be awesome if someone could, cuz those really bother me.

Also before I forget if you have a beard/have had a beard/are a beard lover, I want your input soon. I'm doing a post on beards, the pros and cons, and the perception on beards from guys and girls alike. I have a few people I want to talk to, but any input is welcome and will be used.

I also want some more guest posts cuz then stuff gets posted that I don't have to do any real work on! You can write it on any subject, just email me (samcarroll9@gmail.com), Facebook me (SamWow Carroll), find me on Twitter (@therealSamWow), call me if you got my number, or write it down and just hand it to me.

Inspiration and the Lack There of...

Disclaimer - This post is a bit dry and unwitty. It also involves some heavy beggin at the end. Hey, don't make that face. You know you love it. So post starts....now.

Inspiration. I guess I'm writing on this subject because at this moment I have none. I have zero ideas for a new post. I wrote a bunch but I wound up deleting them cuz I think they were total crap but who knows, they may have been awesome and I just hated them.

I've even been thinking what inspires me lately. Is it my family? My friends? The image of what could be my future? My camera? Quotes from favorite writers? Lessons from favorite teachers (The One and Only Mr. Sam Haller)? Truth is, I don't think I can pinpoint just one thing that inspires me to do what I'm doing and to keep living the life I live but I'll talk about one of them on this post.

What I'm going to mention with these next paragraphs is what got my quest for where my inspiration comes from and also what is a big driving force for my inspiration now. I feel like that's a pointless sentence, much like this one. Anyway...I was looking through a book a friend got me as a Christmas gift last night and noticed something. Now, I have flipped through that book thirty times studying the pictures and descriptions but it never noticed that on the cover page written in pencil was this message -

"From the moment I laid eyes on this book I thought about three things, you, your camera, and (duh) Washington. I'm sure that your pictures are better than these, but I hope they atleast inspire you to keep doing the things you love." It's signed "Customer Serivce". I'd put his real name but he doesn't read my blog so I'll leave it out.

That note now sits in a frame (replaced my Keb' Mo' & Robert Cray poster, if you know my music taste you know that's huge) and I look at it every time I walk out of the room. It's what's driving me to keep picking up my camera, writing this blog, and all the other stuff I do.

Okay, so I'm running low on ideas here people. If you have anything you want me to write about, any opinion you wanna voice, a story you want me to tell, or anything really. I'm down for your ideas, I do this for you, the people (even though you probably don't enjoy it) and I wanna keep doing it so give me some ideas! I'll leave all my contact information below.

So one more thing. If you all like reading and think I'm funny or just like laughing about how dumb I am, please tell your friends to read, comment, and send hate mail if they want too. I wanna see if the only reason people like it is cuz they see me alot and don't wanna hurt my feelings.

This post is weaksauce...

To contact me with ideas
Twitter - @therealSamWow
Facebook - Sam-Wow Carroll
E-Mail - samcarroll9@gmail.com

Untitled Pt. One

Okay, so this post is gonna be a bit lengthy and maybe off my regualr path but what's the point if I don't do that every once in a while? The following paragraphs are the set up to the post and also just some fun memories, not all of the names are accurate but if it's you, you'll know. Enjoy it.

It's 1995 or 1996 at Ascension Catholic Church's Kindergarten class, the one right next to the freaking graveyard. Creepy shit. I was there with my friends Joe, Joel, and Brian at the ripe old ages of five and six so firetrucks, playing war, and taking a hulu hoop and running around with it like it was your ship playing "spaceships". Those were the most important things to us at that time. Now, the girls in the class used to run around and try and kiss the dudes and when you're that little, you don't know that (A) girls are awesome and (B) that "Michelle" will turn into one hot piece of woman that will be talked about with your friends to this day like legend. I'll probably tell my kids about how stunningly hot "Michelle" is and they'll be all like "We know Dad, we read it on your super popular blog that made you super famous and got us all this awesome stuff from all the money you made with the radio shows, albums, televsion series, movie deal, and speaking tours. We're gonna go play with our yachts and gold plated monkeys. You're the best Dad, we love you." (Dramatization. I don't have an ego, that's super humble).

But you're in kindergarten, you still brought in show and tell and shot hoops on a Fisher Price basketball hoop that comes up to your hip today. You didn't like girls, they were just in your way on the way to your cubby to get your Color-By-Numbers and bucket of eighty year old crappy crayons (we only had black and white left) each morning.

{I really hope these two paragraphs mesh together, these things usually do but I have no real faith in my writing ability}

Now fast forward (like on a VCR, look it up if you don't know what a VCR is). It's October 2002 in Bowie, Maryland and around that time is the first school dance for the 6th & 7th graders. It was supposed to be at night, but after the tragedy that was the DC Sniper (the Benjamin Tasker shooting was maybe a half mile from our school) so the start time was moved up to right after lunch cuz as we all know, snipers don't snipe after school gets out. So we're all having a good time, dancing and eating and talking to each other in the Hall and then it happened....the "DJ" played a slow song.

What do we do? We had never danced with a girl, I mean sure Mrs Farnia probably hung her CootieZapper4000 (Patent Pending) above the doors as promised but what if there was a more dominant, maliscous, blood thirsty, version of cooties? We didn't know, we couldn't read science journals, tune into CNN, or assume a clean bill of health. For the time being, the safest move was to just steer clear, I'd try again next time. Or maybe not, we were talking Cooties after all, I was young, had my greatest years ahead of me, I didn't wanna die never having tied a tie.

So most of us sixth graders wandered off to the bathroom, to get a pretzel, or just too chairs and watch those brave seventh graders dancing with a few of our classmates with them. Scanning the room on my way back from the bathroom, I saw my best friend Andrew dancing with a, wait for it, girl. My heart stopped, I might have dropped my (generic brand) soda, I dunno. This was my best friend risking two things, cooties and feelings. I started thinking of a uluogy for him right there on the spot.

I walked over to my friends Mike and Ryan and we watched, like lions waiting to eat a gazelle (wow, that's a bad reference but I've got lions in my head for some really weird reason so eat it). The song ended and Andrew walked back over to us. I swear to God he had chest hair and a Rollie Fingers moustache (Google him) when he got close enough. Mike asked him what it was like dancing with a girl and thi smy not be the exact reply but it went something like "I feel like I just put a warm, fuzzy sweater on my insides" and from that moment, cooties died. I loved warm fuzzy sweaters, who the hell wouldn't? And to wear one on my insides? Sign me up man, I'll go take the CootieZapper4000 off the wall and then go into storage and destory last years model, then go to the manufacturer and burn the place to the ground. I wanted Cooties, cuz who doesn't love a warm, fuzzy sweater?

So since 2002 I've been hooked (on women...and meth), and that story is a good lead in to what this post is gonna be about. I also just love that story, I have alotta stories about my friends and I'd love to tell them and have them tell them to you. We're a different group but I don't want it any other way cuz if it was anyother way, I'd have no idea what a "de-gloved hand" is (don't Google it, it's really gross. Also, don't make my mistake and Google de-gloved [insert different body parts] just cuz your friend says "What about de-gloved....". It's bad, so bad.

So let's close the nostalgia book for now and get to the old meat and potatoes of this post. I want a girlfriend. Now, being single is okay to me, it's fun to be able to go out and not worry wether or not my "lady friend" is having a good time or if my friends hate her. But the single game gets kinda thin when you get into the mid-twenties and even for me today at twenty-one. One of my friends is already married, two are engaged, and a few have been in relationships for years. I still like hanging out with them and I like the significant others they bring with them, but it gets to a point where playing the third wheel is just sad.

In some cases the scariest part about relationships is the affect it has on those around you. When you get that serious girlfriend/boyfriend, your friends kinda fall to the wayside. Instead of playing dodgeball at the "Y", you're apple picking with her or holding her purse at the mall. Your friends get fed up with you and eventually there's an ultimatum handed out and you have a choice - her or your Bros. I've always chose my friends cuz they were there first and if one Crazy shakes loose of the tree again and tells me to decide, she's gone, cuz I love dodgeball.

Also, Sunday is the Holy Day and no, not for Church, but for other two things. Thing number one is sleeping in before I go to Hyattsville and goof off with my family all day. Thing number two (the more important thing) is the twenty-two weeks that the most powerful sports machine in the history of the world, say it with me, The National Football League, is dominationg television and radio. It's the music that starts every broadcast, the NFL shield, my constantly re-newed hate for Troy Aikman, the many teams and players I love to hate, the fight for the playoffs, and that gift from Heaven known as the "deep bomb". but this is gonna go way off subject with the football so I'll kill it here - moral of the story is don't mess with my Sundays.

So why do I want a girlfriend? Cuz I like playing the "boyfriend" role, doin stuff like opening doors, pulling out chairs, all that stuff. It's fun and it's nice to do nice things for people (shocker) and it's even nicer when that person is a attractive girl who likes you. It's just that feeling of being needed for something, even if it's simple. It's like when the guy kills the spider in the movies, it's a simple ass thing to do but it makes you look like a hero (for the record, I'm scared of spiders so I'll look really girly trying to kill one but he will be dead). I'm just flat out a better version of me in a relatioship. I watch what I say and do, I take better care of myself, work out more, and eat less. I guess its beacuse I need to live up to some expectations I have in my head of what type of guy I should be, the type of guy she deserves so I demand self-perfection which is good (I guess).

So I have more to say on this stuff but I don't really know how to word it right now seeing how I'm not having the best day. I sat here for forty minutes staring at the screen before deciding to cave on the rest of this post and there will probably be a follow up to it at some point. I also tried to wait till I was done to title this post, but I'm not really sure what to title it as so it will be "Untitled Pt. I". Eff it. I'm done.

I'm just vomitting a post

DISCLAIMER - I'm not really vomitting, it's just I don't have one good long post ready so this one will be a bunch of random one liners, random thoughts, my theories, and one shameless plug.

So I have a theory involving our friends from Asia - they travel in packs (atleast around College Park they do). If you start looking around, you'll rarely see just one walking around, there's always a few in a group moving together like a school of fish (maybe Koi fish?) or a (insert your own group of things here, I was gonna say "Terracotta Army" but I figured that didn't really work or make sense and also might be taken as racist). I think it's because of there size, a group makes them look bigger, fish do the same thing, we all saw it in Finding Nemo.

I've proven that theory multiple times and it always feels good. I'm sure the guy who cured Polio was like "Damn, nailed that cure. High five!" everytime he heard that someone was cured. {Editor's note, one quick Google search confirmed Polio has been cured, crisis adverted.}

Now if you know me, you know I've spent alot of time working in "Mom and Pop" hardware stores (roughly 4 years). I started America's Most Lucrative Career (haha, no way in hell) at "Hardware City" in Bowie, MD which shut down years ago so I moved up to "Clement Hardware" just outside of Annapolis, MD and spent two years at there.

They're really awesome places to work if you're around eighteen, you learn alot wether it's about tools, plumbing, electrical, paint, small engine repair, or hardware, the stuff I learned inside both stores will be with me for life. Maybe the best part about the hardware stores was all the stupid stuff you could do and get away with. At "Hardware City", me and Eileen used to race down the warehouse in office chairs, me and Jose used to build crazy shit out of the plumbing parts, and me and Cedric used to work out using the shelving and stuff.

Clement Hardware though, I took slacking at work to a whole new level. I worked with people who are still today some of my closest friends and if I had kept track of how many hours I spent doing everything but my job, I'd have an embarassingly large number. I'll tell you why, it's cuz if you get your work done and get it done right, you can mess around. Shocking I know. I would do my inventory and re-stock my departments, then I could go talk to the girls in paint, flirt with the cashier (well, only two of them really), mess around in the back room with Redneck Roskam, or goof off with Stefan, Dave, Derek, Andrew, and my man Joben. And I did that stuff, efficently.

Now I did get into trouble now and then, there may have been store wide memo that went around about keeping lunch times to only thirty minutes. Psh. Talk about a slap in the face, the "Carroll-Baker Memo" as I called it, was clearly directed at the forty to fifty minute lunches me and my friend Megan used to take but like most rules at that store, it was enforced for a day, then faded away with name tags and tucking in your shirt. SamWow 1, Clement Hardware 0.

Today I was told that if you get on Google and search "SamWow Blog" mine comes up in 4th place. 4th place, behind people who still use MySpace, for the love of God they use MySpace. So maybe if you're a teacher and give quizzes on a half sheet of looseleaf paper with five questions and one extra credit, you can work it out so the extra credit is SamWow Blog based so I can get some footsteps through here. Thanks, I'm off to be mad at stupid things like iTunes for playing my Dad's Nickleback instead of the O.A.R like I asked it too.