Letter to my Wife, Part Two

To my wife, Eileen,

So there's something else I need to confess to you.  I was an Orioles fan my whole life, until eight years ago when the Nat's came "back" to town.  This is also my second marriage.  I think the root of it all is that when the Nat's came back to town...well, you're probably more worried about the marriage thing.  I'll talk on that for a while I guess.

Where should I start, well, I guess we'll go way back in the heart of the spring of 2008.  I was bitten and smitten by love, and she was a red head of all things, not a blonde, a redhead.  Let the magnitude of that sink in.

Me and my lady.

So I guess I'll tell you something about her.  Her name is Pam, we lusted after each other for about two years before we said our "I do's", and things moved way to fast.  That much I'm sure of.

I thought I was happy with her, I was smiling all the time, adjusting to my new life and suddenly, on May 18th, I watched her walk down the aisle and onto the stool.  I watched her lift the veil.  Her parents didn't come, I think they might be dead.  Doesn't matter, we weren't married long enough for me to find out.

You see, I "married" Pam Beesly from "The Office" in 2008.  It was another one of my jokes turned reality, cuz when you're a loud mouthed goon, people do these things to you.  They make you pay, always remember that; family is evil at heart.

Me and my lady, and my Grandmommy.

Also, if you couldn't tell by the pictures, the whole thing was a hoax; an elaborate plot.  Or a joke planned by my cousins (Mostly Jay-Breezy, I think) that was carried out to perfection.  And yeah, I'll break it all down....now.

As you can see, since the real Pam Beesly was occupied filming her show, we called up her sister, who looks a lot like a bottle of cooking spray.  My friend Anthony was supposed to be the best man/preacher, but he wanted to go home (...and from what I remember I jokingly said mean things to him about a garden hose), so he left and my cousin Scott officiated.  My replacement best man was a picture of my grade school best friend Andrew (See lapel), and Pam's bridal party was made up of my other cousins.

As far as other family members in the audience, we had my lovely Grandmommy (See picture) and my Mother (Picture unavailable).

After a quick ceremony that involved me kissing a bottle of Pam multiple times while pictures were taken, which is still a hilarious thing to me, we broke off for the reception.

The first of many.

Well, from here on out I think I'll just let the photographs tell the story from here on out with limited word-type interruptions from me.

I'm very sorry Eileen that I didn't tell you about this before, and that Pam is so attractive.  I'm kinda shocked that it didn't the more I think about it, I mean, I am a Carroll man after all.  We're cunning, funny, handsome people brimming with confidence and drive.  And we're just straight up winners, that can handle liquor like champions...Irish champions.

Enjoy the pictures and if you want to see anything else from the wedding, I have name cards and the "flowers" still in my desk drawer in the den, or as I like to call it "The Room with Bearwa Jima".  Enjoy the pictures, and call me, maybe?

Our cake, clearly I'm the gentleman on the left.

This is how weddings feel.

And I guess this was the beginning of the end.

Eleven Years Later

Everyone remembers where they were on September 11th, 2011.  It's probably safer to say everyone remembers the fear, anger, confusion, and that crushing feeling of helplessness that came with the events of that dark day.  The dead silent skies over most of the country, except in Washington and New York, where and shocked silence was shattered by the sounds of sirens and fighter jets roaring through the skies were the norm for a day or two.

As for me, I was sitting in Miss Parson's science class, right next to the turtles.  We were kids, totally oblivious at the time that the Towers were hit, that the plane went down in Pennsylvania, and only 25 miles away the Pentagon was hit and a we just kept going through the motions.

All of the sudden though, Dr. Love, or principal, came over the PA system and started rattling off names of students to report to the main office.  A ton of kids got called out for early dismissal by parents who saw the news, leaving those of us left in classes to wonder what the hell was going on outside the walls of school.  The teachers knew, but for whatever reason (Probably to keep the level of sanity at a normal level) we weren't told, we all found out from Mom or Dad driving the carpools home.

Now, like I said, most of us remember how we felt watching and hearing what was going on.  I was confused and scared but beyond that I just felt like it wasn't happening. I'm sure people will tell you they instantly felt angry, but it was like taking a punch to the face from Joe Louis; you're stunned, you're not ready to throw your hands up, hell, maybe it knocked you to the mat for a few seconds, but you were gonna get up, eventually seeing the footage of the rubble of three buildings and the plane down in the field in Pennsylvania would pull you off that mat and into the ring again.

Then, as the referee started calling numbers, American pride and the human condition rose out of the rubble of three buildings and a field in Pennsylvania, and stepped up into the fight.  First responders flocked to New York and Washington, American flags flew in every neighborhood, the military started chomping at the bit, and for once, everyone across the United States, black or white, Democrat or Republican, KFC or Popeyes, picked each other up, dusted each other off, and said "How can I help?"

Now fast forward five years, I was watching a "first account" documentary from New York and that's when the magnitude of 9/11 hit me.  Seeing everything all the footage that had been put in front of us on a seemingly endless loop with the addition of survivors accounts and stories from the families of survivors had me (A) crying like a baby and (B) it made cry like a baby.

After probably three hours of watching, I realized I was leaning off the couch (Which was literally right next to the TV set) glued to the TV, emotionally drained, and just shocked at all I had seen and heard from the documentary.  It's amazing stuff to see these people who lost parents, lovers, friends,

So why am I writing this?  Because I still think about that day and those events a lot.  Working in Washington DC clearly brings it up from time to time, the first time I was in New York City reminded me of that day, and naturally watching "United 93" made me think of it.  I'm writing about it because, well, because it's been on my chest and on my mind for a while.  It is one event I will truly never forget, along with Osama Bin Laden being killed, the Beltway Sniper, a few major breakups (one comes to mind), and (as sad as it sounds in comparison) the Rangers/Caps playoff game where Federov scored the OT game winner.

Also, if you haven't seen "United 93", go out and see it as soon as possible.  Also watch "Rescue Me" (It was on FX for like seven years), which tackles the issues of the NYFD/NYPD post 9/11, and all the seasons are on Netflix.  And if you're a fan of the blues, check out this song by John Hiatt.

Epilogue

I've made a lot of fun of the WMATA on here (For good reason) but riding it every day lets you meet a lot of different people with different stories on the world.

Today, I was speaking to a friend of mine, Jason, who works on Capitol Hill and he was telling me that they were on the second floor of the Capitol Building and watched the plume of smoke rise from the Pentagon.  He got pretty much everyone listening a little misty eyed and choked up, if by everyone we mean me.  The most lasting image for me is what he told me he saw when he left the building; women's shoes scattered all around The Hill from women who decided to run and couldn't do it in heels.

Then the gentleman sitting in front of us turned towards us and chimed in with his story, and a new perspective, at least to me.  This gentleman is blind and worked with the Parks Service as a guide (Irony not lost on anyone) and talked about what is was like to hear people bustling around the National Mall and then chaos broke out.

Sadly, Jason and I reached our stop before he could finish his story but for the three blocks we walk together, we talked about it nonstop.  Picture that, being there in middle of the darkest day in American history, and not seeing a thing.


Never forget.

My "Last" Christmas Prank

My friend just posted something that started "A few days late but..."  so I jumped in with about eight pregnancy jokes, then her mom messaged me.  Granted, her mom was pretty upset.

But, it reminded me of a story from when I was in my sophomore year of college at AACC that I wanna tell everyone, any maybe give them some ideas, or maybe it just makes me a super terrible person.  You decide.

I was dating a girl who had shattered my world about a year before but being a dumb, younger person.  I'm easily friend zoned, I'm gonna write about that one soon.

So back to the point,  Christmas time came around and I was just joking around with a few friends of mine when I said "Wouldn't it be hilarious if I got (To protect her identity lets call her "Dexy's Midnight Runner") her some baby clothes and baby supplies and put them under her familys' Christmas tree?"

We all laughed, we all thought it would be epic, a prank to be talked about for the ages.  So I went to Target.  And bought some baby clothes, a binkie thing, and almost one of those pumps for breast milk, but those were expensive, but looking at them made me laugh.

I checked out, told the cashier a bit about my prank and he laughed a bit and made a joke along the lines of "Cheaper that child support man.  That stuffs a bitch." and I went home, one hundred percent confident in my prank that had been approved by a few of my friends and a random cashier.  What more did I need?

I wrapped the presents in my traditional Legal Pad wrapping paper (Which is really just sheets off a legal pad taped hastily around a box.) and got ready to take them over to Dexy's Midnight Runner's house.  I went over to pick her up for dinner and as she as upstairs getting ready, I ran out, grabbed the gifts and put them under the tree and we left for dinner.

Three days went by and it was finally Christmas morning, which means I was probably awake at four in the morning chomping at the bit to see what was under my families Christmas tree.  Around ten thirty, I got a text message from Dexy's Midnight Runner's brother, let's call him Pete, cuz that's his name, saying "Holy shit.  Did you send these?" with a picture of baby clothes attached.

At first I laughed, a lot.  I forwarded the text and picture to all who knew about the prank, except the cashier, and it got rave reviews.  From my friends.

Around eleven, I was headed to my Grandmommy's for the big family bash, and my phone went off.  I looked down and saw a text from Dexy that read, well, it was a lot of words people don't like me using on this blog.  Safe to say she wasn't happy with it.  Cuz her parents grilled her for about twenty minutes, which may have (Which means it did happen) ended in a pregnancy test.  " Classic joke." 


When the various friends texted me back later, they all wanted to know what happened and how it went down.  Once I told them, they all basically said something along the lines of "Yeah, it never really sounded like the best idea."  I just kept asking "Why didn't you stop me?"  And they all said "It was hilarious, mostly cuz we wouldn't suffer from what would happen after."


So long story short, don't buy a girl your dating baby stuff.  It will bite you right in the ass.

By the Light of the Moon, He's a Frenchman for the Night

That quote above is from a Jimmy Buffett song off the 1994 Fruitcakes album (Track title, "Frenchman for the Night", and yeah, I'm a huge Parrothead. Come at me.). It's also from the legendary night where I first met my friend Matt. Hopefully it's 100% accurate, but if it's not it's still damn close. I've told this story thousands of times and some things may have been embellished.

It was a weeknight, probably a Tuesday or so, that's when we used to go to Buffalo Wild Wings. I hopped in my 1997 Chevy Blazer, called Dave and was all like "Hey man, I'm on my way to the Condo." He probably said something like "Cool Ski-Doo Ninja." (Haha, what?) and I stomped the gas pedal through the floor. That Blazer used to roar, loud, every last ounce of that 4.3 Liter Vortec V6 rumbling, shaking, and roaring down 193 towards College Park as I watched the gas gauge steadily tick down. Way off topic.

So yeah, I get to the Condo, call Dave and he comes down to let me in. I'm pretty sure this was the point where he told me we had a special guest, Dave's friend from birth, Matt. It might not be, but meh. Either way, I was going to meet him that night.

So yeah, I get upstairs, meet Matt, sit around on the couches hanging out for a bit, then we roll off to Buffalo Wild Wings for dinner. Now, there's one part of all this I forgot. We were going to meet me and Dave's co-workers at dinner, Megan and Matt. Well, naming two Matts in the story will get confusing, so we'll call Matt II SpaceCadet (Thanks, E. She nicknamed him that because "His ears are so big you can see them from space."). Megan and SpaceCadet didn't have the best track record of showing up to places on time, but this night we actually did something about it.

Practical jokes are fun, elaboarte plans are even more fun, or at least they are to me, a twelve year old trapped in a twenty-one year olds body, So I get a text from Megan, and basically she says they're going to be running late. Real late. So Matt, Dave and I hatched a plan. Now neither Megan nor SpaceCadet had ever met Matt, and we decided as a threesome of immature goofy "young adults" decided to do like the French and "Gâchis avec leurs chefs parce qu'ils n'étaient pas très intelligents.", also known as "Mess with their heads cuz they ain't too smart."

And just like that, French foreign exchange student Herve Benoit was born. "By the light of the moon, he's a Frenchman for the night, by the light of the moon, it'll be alright"...

So yeah, the ground work was set. Did Matt know any French? Maybe a little, but we all knew Megan and SpaceCadet didn't, so we could throw a few random words in there and make everything Kosher. From there we ironed out details, Herve was from Nice, which is in South Eastern France. How did he know Dave? Well, Herve's mother and Dave's mother had been pen pals (I wanna say we decided they were college roommates for some reason?) and when the foreign exchange program opened up, Herve came to America to learn from a wise man named David.

And just like that, we waited for Matt and Megan to show up. I was worried about slipping up and laughing, but luckily we all held it together and sold it. As far as individual memories from what Matt did were air-masturbating and drawing a picture of him suffocating Dave with a pillow, a picture I'm proud to say that I still own. I dunno what else to really say about the dinner, other than the fact that Megan and SpaceCadet bought it hook, line, and sinker.

Are you wondering if there were any problems? Any slip ups? No. We came close, but Dave helped Matt count out "American dollars" from his wallet...even though his MARYLAND (Remember your Maryland license Matt? Love ya Chief haha,) drivers license was exposed the whole time. The best part of the night however may have been when we piled into Dave's car (Matt, Dave, and I) and had to keep our composure till Megan and SpaceCadet drove off. Then we all busted out laughing, like gut busting, ab crunching, knee slapping bellows of laughter. I'm pretty sure I cried.

So now fast forward a few months, or maybe weeks. I dunno, I wish I had written all this down when it happened because then I'd have it all fresh in my brain. Damnit. But anyways, so we all get together for Dave's birthday at Hard Times for what me and my current idol Matt had planned as the Herve/Megan & SpaceCadet reunion. We were excited, I had told Megan that Herve would be there and that he had "asked" about them, at which point Megan told me she had Googled (Is Google a proper noun? Does it need to be capitalized?) Nice and planned to visit Herve....

We. Had. Them. Fooled.

Then Dave leans across the table and tells them "Hey Megan and SpaceCadet, this is my friend Matt. He's not French, he's from SP, and went to school with SpaceCadet." or something to that effect and me and Matt were furious. We were ready to keep the charade going, and then it was over because we let someone else have control...

So in honor of Matt's birthday and the (Unoffical) Herve Benoit Anniversary, I present this story. 

Happy Birthday buddy, let's do fifty.

Rebound Relationship.

She's back in my life. I thought I had lost you, that you left me for another, but now it looks like you've come back. You sent me a text a few weeks ago, we had a little chat then. Then the next day you called me and we talked for a hour or so, caught up on the old times, and even made plans for coffee the next week. Then the next week came, we met, hugged, shared a quick kiss, and sat down and laughed and re-lived old times.

Then, we re-signed our own free agents then the open market hit and we started calling agents, getting in contact with the players, and spending tons of money on free agents. It's so good to have you back my love, the NFL. I mean, your parents finally settled back down and your mind is clear.

Football is back and I know I'm a few weeks or days late on writing this, but I have a problem writing articles about sports because it hits a targeted audience and maybe some people will ignore this post once they read the letters "NFL" and they won't get to read me type "I apparently sleeptalk in addition to my sleepwalking. I just never shut up. Also, I enjoy watching Gossip Girl on occasion."

Damn, aren't you happy that you kept reading and got to see all that? You guys are lucky. And those of you who have the stunning privilege to know me personally, are even luckier. If you want to know me personally, it comes with a prize, the regret of the fact that you know me. It's a big prize, cuz there's a lot of regret. Like, shit tons of regret. If I go out with my friends, I have those guys you see at the circus running behind the elephants to shovel up the poop following us to scoop regret., it's expensive but worth it. Less embarrassing for them, the shit-scoopers, and more embarrassing for my friends.

So what was I talking about? Oh yeah, the NFL. Lockouts over biatches. Football is pouring back into the news, I'm glued to my phone talking with guys from high school about who we wanna sign to the Skins, who we wanna cut, where the big names went, and of course taking cheap shots on the Iggles, Cowgirls, and G-Men.

I HATE THE EAGLES.

So yeah, got that out of my system. But until September 11th comes around this year and Giants/Redskins kicks off, there's one thing that I get to obsess over besides chasing women and my meth lab, that one thing is the 1615 League. The first season of our annual (hopefully) months of trash talk, betting, beer buying, and trophy awarding.

So yeah, I mostly wrote this to get back into the blogging saddle (I hope) and too kinda vent some of the energy I have cuz I'm waiting for fantasy to start. There will be pictures and more to come on 1615 League.

Billy-Bob the Caterpillar.

So as many of you know I love to write. On legal pads, notebooks, napkins, hands, or walls. In trains, cars, planes, bathrooms, beds, kitchens, and restaurants.

I like to write about beating the odds, I like writing about sports, a lot of sports. Hell, I even wrote a few songs, speeches, and the occasional random eulogy (They're not all about people I know, most of them are just random characters I come up with in my brain piece). I just love writing. Always have and hopefully I always will.

I dunno how this fascination started for me, I guess I know pretty quick that math and science weren't really my thing at all. I didn't like them but I did love history, english, and sports. And I've always bean a talker, so I guess writing was my way of talking when everyone around me wanted me to just shut the, uh, well, let's say they wanted me to shut the "front door".

Hopefully one day I'll get paid to do this, how awesome would that be? I've always wanted to write a column like what Rick Reilly writes for ESPN.com and the one he used to write for "Sports Illustrated". He would go behind the stories of the really big name athletes and instead write about the quarterback at some random D-III college in "YourTown, YourState". It would be more about the human element behind sport, not so much the star athlete, the giant contract, the asshole head coach, or the off field problems for a primadonna wide receiver. It was about the college football and basketball team driving off campus to pick up a school booster who had been in a wheelchair since he was seven. The human condition. Stories that made you laugh, cry, smile, and gave you chills.

So I wanted to share with you all something that I think only three people have seen in my lifetime. It's the first ever short story I wrote, or at least it's the first one that's recorded and will go down in history one day. It was literally written on the day that I turned ten, March 14th, 2000.

I didn't edit it at all, this is the straight uncut dope. Best of the best, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I still do. I almost died I laughed so hard when I re-discovered it.

And now, without further delay, "The Caterpillar Story" by SamWow Carroll...

"One day there was a caterpillar named Billy-Bob who lived in a dump. He thought he was very ugly. Finally, more caterpillars moved in. One day someone came and dumped it out.

So he went out into the world. He had to cross the ocean. So he made a boat of sticks an went off. But he got sucked up in a waterspout. He landed in Europe. There he made a cocoon.

He emerged a butterfly. He flew to the United States but he got took under by a tidal wave. He flew over a battlefield. He got his wings blown off."

The picture is backwards, I'm sure you all can deal with it. It's just proof that this epicness exists. Ignore the stupid "Dove Prayer".

Summertime and The Livins Easy

So about two weeks ago I went to a wine (vomit) festival in a little old place I call "Three Hours From Home", Virginia with a friend and his co-workers. It was called Valley Fest, and they had a lot of wine, beer, and some awesome bar-b-que but I noticed something far more important there that I should have wrote about two weeks ago.

Girls. More specifically, girls in sundresses.

That's right, my Official Sign of Summer's Start. Screw Memorial Day, when pools open, the first day out of school, or any of that other crap. For me, summer starts with the first girl I see in a sundress. And flip-flops. And avaitors. And who has blonde hair, a Southern accent, brown eyes, stands about 5'5", and that has a rich father who will see me as the son he could never have and shower me with love and upon meeting me (A) writes me into his will, (B) allows me to marry his daughter, and (C) let's me choose which of the fine automobiles I would like to drive from his stable of fine automobiles.

This woman has been elusive to say the least and I hope every girl I've dated that wants me back (Haha, none of them want me back.) will read this and get on the ball.

I feel those jokes could have offended some people. Oh well, like Mike Birbiglia once said, "Some people laughed, some people didn't, so I was one for one."

Now, back on topic (for a brief time until I go off on another random tangent). Summer is finally here. I spent all of Memorial Day hanging out with my boys Dave, Josh, and James (aka "Cheeks") in "America's Largest Whites Only Country Club" also known as Anne Arundel County.

We had a "blasty-blast bitch tits Ninja!" to put it as Dave would. He doesn't really talk like that, but he does talk in catch phrases and those are some of them so I guess that counts. By the way, the random tangent counter for this post in up to #2. Lifetime counter for this blog is probably in the low seventies, it's like this blog is just my brain on the internet; random crap until I find a point and try like hell to stick with it. That was #3.

So yeah, summer is finally here. Time for shorts, flip flops, tank tops, bathing suits, sunglasses, convertibles, and, ya know, stuff.

It's a time to hit the beach with your friends and family. Which is awesome. Get that beach house, hotel room on the boardwalk, or tent on the beach. Whatever it is. Buy some sunscreen, a kite, ice, soda, water, towels, beach ball, beach umbrella, and a cooler. And beer. A ton of beer. Like, cases upon cases of Natty Boh (Gotta represent that Mura-land {Maryland}) and get blitzed and jump into something or drop the Atomic Elbow on a pool float.

It's a beautiful thing to be on the beach. My family rents a big ole house in the Outer Banks and just parties it up for a week. There's beer, card games, a pool table, movies, a poker table, a fooseball table, and most importantly, two hot tubs and a pool. And most years, there's a pretty banging fireworks show that the family puts on (Carroll's tend to be pyromaniacs) and we usually get a god bonfire going down there on the beach and spend a few hours sitting around it talking and drinking and just having a blast.

What else comes with summer? I guess going to the pool? I haven't had a pool membership since Glenn Dale Country Club closed down like, fifteen years ago but I'll always remember four things about that place. One, the water fountain tasted like copper. Two, the floor of the bathroom felt really weird on bare feet. Three, that one life guard was wayyy hot, even when I was six, I think she's the reason I have a thing for pierced belly buttons. Weird. Four, Coach PeeWee tried to teach me how to dive, still working on it Coach!

I like going to baseball games too in the summer. My friends and I went to a Baysox game well before "Summer Dress Day 2011" but I went to one after that so I'll write on it anyways. Baseball games are great whether you like baseball or not. It's you, your friends, beers, hot dogs, nice weather, and occasionally fireworks.

The first one we just kinda heckled, well, not just kinda. We heckled the crap out of the Richmond Flying Squirrels. We laughed, talked, ate, drank, and been merry (that's terrible english). And we took a ton of pictures, one of which is sitting next to me on my desk, and that picture will travel with me for years to come. I love this picture, it's got a lot of my favorite, most beloved people in it and soon I'll get one with all of those damn people in it. "That's Mahoney!"

That's really all I have for right now. It felt kinda random, but whatever. I'm confident and I liked it so it ain't nothing but a thang chicken wang (Proper people would say "Nothing but a thing, chicken wing" but I roll fresh outta "A Livable Community" aka "Gawjus" Prince George's so I say it different. Tangent #4.)

I've really slacked hard on updating this stuff, I'm gonna fix that. I need more ideas though, please please please if there's a story, opinion, or something you want to read about or that you want to write about, let me know.

Nostalgia Sunday

I've been feeling extremely nostalgic ever since my first "Offical Unoffical Grade School Reunion" was planned and I wanted to share a few memories from my grade school years. I'm hoping to string a few of these together but we'll see how that goes. It's 1995ish. I'm in Miss Andrea's kindergarten class at Ascension Catholic Church. I used to sit near the door next to Joe, Joel, and maybe Emily. Can't exactly remember. What I do remember is every morning when we came into class, we'd have to get out our journals and crayons and draw something. When we were done, we had to take it up to Miss Andrea and show and tell her what we drew so she could give us a check mark on the page. Since I was a boy (and awesome) I drew tanks, bears, and other deadly stuff.

I wish I could find that book and scan in a few of the pages but I wouldn't know where to look, probably an art muesum but that's not the memory I wanted to share. I already told you guys about the girl trying to kiss us and us running away (we were so naive) and that's my only memory (along with the drawings) that's clear enough to tell, so I guess I just wanted to show you all how good looking I was in kindergarten.

So now I'm in first grade at St. Pius X Regional School. It's November of 1996, Mrs. Cavanaugh's 1st Grade class. This memory I can promise you is 100% solid. I wish I knew how I could hold all of these random memories in my head, it scares me sometimes but it's also a really cool thing to have.

Okay, so back to the memory. I was sitting next to Anne on the window side of Mrs. Cavanaugh's (1A?) classroom all the way at the end of the hall in the "Old Wing". My Grandfather had just died and I was telling Anne about that (I don't know why) and while I was telling her, I had a pencil in my hands with a pair of scissors onnit. What I was doing was holding both ends of the pencil and spinning my hands, making the scissors spin around the pencil. Apparently that wasn't "safe" to do in a classroom full of kids so I was told to stop and I was pretty embarassed.

I also remember that Mrs. Cavanaugh always took off her shoes during class and just walked around barefoot and apparently I was the only kid that could read the word "creation" off the board (well duh, I was in Sister Cecilia's reading class so I was kind of a big deal).

I debated sharing this next memory for a while for two reasons, (A) the finer details are kind of foggy and (B) it's embarassing to me. I think it was sometime around second or third grade and we were playing a game that put basketball and kickball together in some weird sports orgy but it was a fun game (everything was then). I was up, kicked the ball, and made it to first. It was a close call, but an arguement arose.

My team said I was safe, the other team didn't so they yelled at me. I started to cry like a little bitch. Mrs. Sikorsky came over and said I was out so I walked back to the bench and hung my head in shame. We lost the game by one point (I made that up for dramatic effect, I have no idea if we even kept score).

Now let's skip ahead to third grade. Mrs Curran's 3B classroom. It was close to the end of the day and we were all writing down our homework in our "Homework Books" and I was sitting next to a classmate that will remain un-named (if you really wanna know, send me a message on Facebook). My classmate asked me what the homework was that Mrs. Curran had just mentioned. I told her to shut up and thought it was over and done and I returned to jotting down the day's homework.

She raised her hand, presumably to ask Mrs. Curran to repeat the homework that she had missed. Wrong. She ratted me out. I looked up at the front of the class like a deer in the headlights. I got in trouble but I don't think anything happened to me except the fact that I had to apologize, which is dumb, cuz if I told her I would have just been slowing myself down then I would have had to ask Mrs. Curran and it would make it look like I wasn't paying attention.

What takes longer to say, "Shut up." or "Finish the color by numbers, read another chapter in our 'Children's Bible', and learn why two plus two isn't five." Women.

Okay, so that's really it for this "Nostaigia" post. Let me know what you guys think and I'll post more pictures and stories later in the week that will cover the fourth through eigth grade years.

Summer...It's Almost Here

May, June, July, August. When life is good again. When summer is upon us, when it's ninety degrees but feels like 98 with the sun and humidity. Where when you walk into the house, the air conditioning hits you and you walk back to the freezer for a popsicle. Or soda. Or beer, beer is always good. It's live baseball, the smell of grass, those nights during the weekend when it's seventy or eighty degrees and you're talking with your friends on the porch just enjoying another night.

If you're still in school, summer if freedom. The three months where you put away the books and backpacks and get out the bathing suits and stay up late for no reason. If you're the right age, it's a summer full of graduation parties and just plain old parties (parties for no reason are the best).

It's the time of the month where college campuses are empty, and the beaches are jam packed. When a t-shirt and mesh shorts is all you need on to go outside and do whatever the hell you want (horseshoes is gonna be the summer sport of 2011 for me). It's when you can drive whereever the hell you want (faster the better) with the windows down and music pounding out of your speakers.

And then there's the yearly Carroll Family trip to the Outer Banks. About fifty of us pack up and leave Maryland/West Virginia/Pennsilyvania before the sun onna Saturday morning and live it up for a week. It's all about the pool, go-karts, playing pool, the ocean, walking the beach after dinner, booze, hot tubbin, N-64, poker, kites, fishing, and cigars. It's going to bed at one in the morning and waking up six hours later. It's always knowing Grandmommy will be upstairs reading/playin a puzzle/playing solitare/napping cuz we don't let her out of the house. It's going to Dune Burger and Kill Devils every day for burgers and onion rings after you ate Cheetos and cake for breakfast.

It's always a good time, even if all I did was just sit up on the third floor deck and just watch the ocean crash in, it would be enjoyable. And it's the beach, so there's hot chicks. That's another part about summer that I won't dive into right now cuz some people would stop reading. But dear god, chicks are the best.

I hope this post makes sense and gets you even more excited for what's to come in summer. I don't really proofread this things, just kinda throw them out there and cross my fingers that some of the crap I throw will stick to the wall.

Also, I'm still interested in trying a "Guest Blogger" thing. If you're famous or just bored, send me your idea for a post and start writing, I'll post anything really, I'm desperate for internet fame.

And finally, I'm about to hit a major milestone. My 21st is days away and things will get crazy over the next few weeks. I have Blogger on my phone, so I can rant from the bars or you can follow me on Twitter @therealSamWow. Shit's about to get real, it's me versus my liver and that's a fight I won't lose.

Playing In the Street

It seemed like every day when I got home from grade school I would get in, take off my blue pants and white shirt and put on "play clothes" and run back outside where all gaming hell would break loose.

I'm talking about playing in the street man, the proving grounds, the football field, baseball diamond, basketball court, kickball place, and hockey rink. The border line in capture the flag, guns, and sometimes, the war zone for dodgeball and smear the queer. Okay, so maybe smear the queer isn't the best game to play in the street, but I like saying "smear the queer".

Now in the hay-day of my street baller status (wow, scary to type) we played alotta football, some baseball, and alotta guns. "Hey SamWow, what's guns?" I'm glad you asked loyal reader. Guns is a game where you get guns (NERF, water guns, toy guns) and run around yards and the street shooting each other. Guns was the perfect boys game and not a game for girls, a girls simple mind couldn't possibly comprehend all the running, diving, sliding, screaming, aiming, and trigger pulling. That's an art that cannot be learned quickly. The only problem with guns is what I'm gonna write below this.

Shooter - "You're dead! I shot you!"

Dude Who Got Capped - "No I'm not, you missed!"

Shooter - "No you're dead, lie down/go back to base!"

Dude Who Got Capped - "No, you missed!"

These arguments could go on for hours, sometimes ending in fights, usually ending in either the Shooter or Dude Who Got Capped running home crying like a little bitch. It's kinda like when you play dodgeball and you throw, hit someone, but they say they weren't hit. Arguements explode, laywers are called, and then the gym teacher takes dodgeball away from the whole class. Thanks alot Un-named Freshman in my high school class...thanks alot.

Kids in Cambodia play Guns for keeps.

But out here on North Cliff Road, we were uh, innovative? We thought we had the best idea ever. Why not combine playing guns with capture the flag. Oh my god! Totally original! But probably not. I guess before we could all handle our pieces(glocks, straps, guns), we played by tagging people but come on, it was like, 2001, technology and shit led us to guns. And it led to a awesome game that pretty much turned into Guns with a insignificant objective that looked alot like a tennis ball hidden in a tree.

Now, if your Dad was born in the '50s or '60s, ask him if he remembers/owned and Johnny Seven OMA (One-Man-Army). My Pop did, and I think a few of his brothers did too and they played Guns like champions. I don't really know what words to use to describe the pure awesome firepower that the Johnny Seven OMA contained so I'll put up the picture and tell you this - I want one. Bad. Heres the commercial. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPhZsauluXM

So now I wanna talk about my true street sport passion. Street football. What was the only place I could pretend I threw like Tom Brady, ran like Marshall Faulk, caught passes like Jerry Rice, pass rush like Lawrence Taylor, and ball hawk like Ed Reed? The street. The home of the three, five, and seven Mississippi blitz (I only put seven in there cuz I'm told in MoCo they rush after seven. Lame.), the place where saying "Shotgun" meant you take a few steps backwards before you hike it and the defense can come at you free, without using their one blitz. Street football was the home of two hand touch rules, two completions for a first down(some went by car lengths), never punting, no extra points, where running the ball was done by the quarterback, and where a recievers route was a thirty step fade route that would cut back twenty steps towards the quarterback.

You learned to talk smack, you could "Moss" people (for those of you who didn't grow up in Gorgeous Prince Georges, to "Moss" someone was to make an epic catch and burn the coverage for a touchdown), you played until dinner or until it was too dark to see the ball, the curbs were out of bounds and mailboxes, cars, and cracks in the street were the endzones. It was the sport at it's purest form, drop back and sling it. And if you were like me, you always tried to do touchdown dances like Ladanian Tomlinson, Terrell Davis, T.O., or some other superstar.

It was an amazing thing to play and still is today. On Christmas we played on my Grandmommy's street (a fine place to play) and it just gets competieve. It starts off all fun and games then you start fudging holding rules and pass intereference (looked that one up in the dictionary). This years game was a rout but it's still fun, I still picture myself as Jason Campbell, Donald Driver, Jerrod Mayo, or Champ Bailey even though I'm unathletic and white.

So that's what playing outside was to me for the most part, if you have anything awesome you used to do playing on the street when you were a kid type something up and send it to my e-mail (samcarroll9@gmail.com) or find me on facebook (SamWow Carroll) or twitter @therealSamWow.

Also, in my last post I said this was gonna be about Jim Vanve, rocks, and my future wife(maybe that'll be the next post). I got off work and stepped outside and decided this post would be more suiting to the weather seeing how it was about seventy degrees in the District.