Cursed With Ambition

The Bleary-Eyed Law Student

The Bleary-Eyed Law Student

By Ojo Rojo

Fifteen hours in a semester you say,

“Doesn’t seem like much,”

For once you enter the fray,

Eighty hours a week you’ll work for your pay.

For Secured Transactions, Wills Trusts and Estates

I’ll listen to hours of UCC Chapter 9 debates,

Financing statement filing dates,

And cases of decedent intestates.

Real Estate Trans, Business Planning to endure

I’d much rather play Yahtzee

Than hear about Pretrial Procedure

From my professor, the Nazi.

And, oh yeah, I’ll even work part-time

In a civil defense firm

For a nickel and a dime.

My sleep takes a reduction

As I toil in the office

Responding to copious Requests for Production.

Stacks of paper exhibits

And lawyerly tidbits

Answering Interrogs

And trying to keep up with all my friends’ blogs.

Read for class, go to work

My boss has a quirk

Of piling on more reading

Man, I’d rather be breeding.

Then I get picked for the Mock Trial team

And I say to myself to gather up steam,

“I’ll be fast, I’ll read quicker”

Maybe the answer is a bottle of liquor.

I could’ve been like Tom Sawyer,

Instead of a lawyer.

But I’ve got a prohibition

‘Cause I’m Cursed With Ambition.

American Empire

Jakey:  "I've been pleasantly surprised by everything so far.  The resort I stayed at in Khalifa was phat, the food's been good - it's like eating at Luby's everyday and it's free.  The danger is less than I thought; we got this place on lock down.  We got some weaponry over here."

Ojo Rojo:  "Man, that all sounds pretty good."

Jakey:  "The most disappointing thing is that I can see why everybody in the world hates Americans.  We're rude, disrespectful, demanding and arrogant."

Ojo Rojo:  "Really.  So a lot of the dudes you've been around are like that?"

Jakey:  "Yeah.  You know, a lot of these people who come over here are rednecks and shit.  Low-class.  They think just because we're Americans that we're running shit.  Like, 'We won the war bitches.  We got the bling.  I'm King Ding-a-Ling."

Ojo Rojo:  "AHAHAHA!  What kind of shit have you seen people doing?"

Jakey:  "Well, in Kuwait none of the Kuwaitis work because the government is so rich from oil that every citizen gets like $40,000 per year for doing nothing.  So they import Pakistanis to do all the work.  I've seen American dudes get in their faces and be like 'Fuck you' and tip them with pennies and shit like that."

Ojo Rojo:  "That sucks."

Jakey:  "Yeah.  I don't care if you are running shit.  You don't treat people like that."

Jakey Jakey Make No Mistakey

So my brother Jake left today for Iraq by way of Frankfurt, Germany and Kuwait. He spent the last week here in Houston doing his training and all so we got to spend quite a bit of time together. Last night we hung out and watched the Astros fucking choke in the 9th inning. Then I took him back to his hotel.

Jakey: "Arright man, I'll call or email as soon as I can from the hotel in Kuwait."

Ojo Rojo: "Okay. It's an email every week on Tuesday right?"

Jakey: "Yeah. Two weeks go by without an email and you call Christine at KBR headquarters at 713-XXX-XXXX. My password is VYINMFHOUSE. If they can't connect you to me in 48 hours that means the dune coons are gonna cut my head off soon."

Ojo Rojo: "Vee Whyin M-F-House?"

Jakey: "VY in the motherfuckin' house. V-Y-I-N-M-F-H-O-U-S-E"

Ojo Rojo: "Oh. Right."

Jakey: "And you got the signals down right?"

Ojo Rojo: "Yeah. Eye movement up means you're north of original position..."

Jakey: (interrupting) "No man, we said we were going with the head bobs!"

Ojo Rojo: "Oh yeah. Shit man, I'm sorry. Head bobs. Right."

Jakey: "You sure you remember the patterns?"

Ojo Rojo: "Yeah. Same as the eye movements. Hold for a count equals ten miles from original position. Got it."

Jakey: "Damn I hope so. I don't want to be out in no desert with Osama-bin-gonna-cut-Jake's-fuckin'-head-off without any hope of rescue."

Ojo Rojo: "So you get to your base when?"

Jakey: "I don't know. I might be in Kuwait for a few days before a convoy is ready to go to Cedar. I can wait though."

Ojo Rojo and Jakey: (in unison) "No bitches, no booze."

Ojo Rojo: "Yeah. That's gonna suck."

Jakey: "Well, at least the wank bank is full. I just hope I have my own room."

Ojo Rojo: "AHHAAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

Jakey: "Well man, I gotta get up at 3."

Ojo Rojo: "Arright." "Hey, don't worry about the signal fuck-up. I got it. Besides, you ain't gonna get captured anyway. You got nothing to worry about."

Jakey: "I know."

*pause*

Jakey: "I thought hold for a count was five miles."

Ojo Rojo: "Ten."

Jakey: "Coulda swore it was five."

Ojo Rojo: "We'll go with five." "We're not going to need 'em anyway."

Jakey: "Fuckit."

Jakey: "Allright man, I'm outtie."

Ojo Rojo: "Allright."

*brotherhug*

Jakey: "Later man."

Ojo Rojo: "Later."

Jake heads up the stairs into the hotel -

Ojo Rojo: "Jake the Snake!"

Jakey: "Unbeatable."

Almost Too Far Gone

You know how sometimes when things in your life are so far gone that you want to hide from them because you feel like there is no salvaging them?  That's how I feel about CWA right now. 

I haven't posted in a coon's age due to various shitty reasons mostly having to do with obligations that I foolishly took on.  That and the fact that I haven't had any good ideas, have been in a shitty mood, Jakey was leaving for Iraq and my lungs decided to start producing glow-in-the-dark phlegm.  Oh well, maybe this will get me off the canvas.

No. of days I failed to post on my blog:  7

No. of times I felt guilty about it:  26

No. of times I was chastised for not posting:  3

Sweet Victory

Final score:  Texas Longhorns 45, Oklahoma Sooners 12

Things are as they should be.

Here's my take on the game: 

1. I thought we were fucked when Tarell Brown fumbled the opening kickoff even though he recovered it - it was a real bad omen.
2. I was wrong about the opening fumble.
3. We did not get the ball to Ramonce enough.  He touched the ball twice.  We threw to him two or three other times.  He is one of, if not the best offensive playmaker we have.  Further evidence that Greg Davis hasn't a clue.
4. Selvin Young is done.  His fumbles in light of the fact that Jamaal Charles is even better than Cedric Benson means he's officially the new backup tailback.
5. VY had a shitty game all told.  He barely completed over 50% of his passes and he ran for less than 50 yards.
6. I fear that VY is being over coached.  He looks restricted when he sits in the pocket.  He got sacked three times - all because he sat in the pocket instead of running to the open field, which was his trademark last year.
7. Our defense is way better than our offense.
8. Greg Davis is still a fucking idiot - something we have all known for five years.  Is it any wonder that he hasn't been offered a head coaching job somewhere else by now?
9. Fifteen penalties for 110 yards will not win a national championship.
10. Our kickoffs are too short and the kickoff coverage is horrible.  Those weaknesses will cost us a game against an opponent with equal talent.
11. Henry Melton (#37) has been disappointing the last couple of games.  He failed to convert two one-yard runs for first downs.  He needs to realize that he is a plowhorse and not a prancing pony.  For God's sakes, man, you weigh 270 lbs.!!
12. 12 out of 22 Sooner starters are from Texas.  I don't know what I hate more, Texas kids who turn traitors to play for a degenerate university in a degenerate state or the thievery of the OU staff who make raids on our Texas high schools, cherry-picking the best talent in our state.
13. It's 11:32am and OU still sucks.

What I Need

Upon the advice of filanmonet, I asked Google what I needed.  I used my real name, my blogging alias and finally a nickname before I came up with anything that Google said I needed.  Here are the results:

Redeye needs...

to go out more.

a medal for this lot.

his fix now.

a driver.

to fix that thing.

peace and a time to heal his wounds.

a little more confidence on the mic.

Taken for a Ride

James and I made it in to San Diego, California in the early evening on Day 2 of our trip.  We found a hotel, checked in and made preparations to go to Tijuana.  We took a cab from our hotel, which was about six miles north of the border.  When we crossed over into Mexico we were greeted by a throng of cab drivers all asking to take us to someplace called Revolucion.  Apparently this was the area of town where all of the clubs were.  Surprisingly, being from Texas and all, this was my first time in Mexico so I was shocked at the driving conditions.  It was as if there were no traffic laws, no sense that people were concerned about self-preservation and the concept of defensive driving, well, that was like some foreign luxury.  The Mexican cab driver was swerving and cutting people off; merging with traffic right before slamming into a concrete divider.  And the horn turned out to be the most important component on a Mexican cab - it served as blinker, headlight, brake light and "fuck you" sign.  Somehow we made it the few harrowing miles to Revolucion.  We paid the cabbie a couple of dollars for the ride and off he sped.

Once there we began drinking in earnest.  I remember that James and I ordered two Sex on the Beach drinks apiece at the first place we went to.  There was a special - two for a dollar.  I think we each spent three bucks there when we realized that we were going to be trashed before we got to sample any of the other places around.  We trekked down the street, which was choked with bars, and entered any that looked promising or that had especially convincing criers on the street corners.  The only other place that I remember in any detail (not because I was so wasted, but because they were all pretty much nondescript places) was a place called Rio Rita.  Their logo was a jaguar - I remember this because James paid one of the bartenders $20 for his blue apron with a yellow jaguar and the words "Rio Rita" on it.  The bartender was incredulous when James said to him, "I'll give you twenty bucks for your apron."  After that, the guy brought us all kinds of free shit - mostly promotional junk from Jose Cuervo, Dos Equis, Carta Blanca and so on.

Eventually we were hammered; James especially so.  We were stumbling down the street when a group of criers beckoned us to try their bar - Fuzzy Bear's.  James and I looked down the alley at the entrance to the place, which was actually quite a way off the main street.  It looked kind of shady.  It was dark down there and an eerie red light poured out of the door.  We looked at each other, shrugged, and headed into Fuzzy Bear's.

*Content omitted per CWA censoring committee standard No. 786-JR.421(a)*

When we made it across the border back into the USA there was a band of cabbies waiting to take the revelers back to San Diego.  We got in the first one we came to and told him the address of our hotel.  He seemed to know exactly where it was.  We chatted the cab driver up on the way.  Turns out he was a professional poker player. 

The drive back seemed a lot longer than the drive down.  At some point, there was some confusion about our destination.  James and I were agitated because we had taken a wrong turn and the meter ran the whole time the driver got back on the right course.  We finally arrived at the hotel and the fare was around fifty bucks.  It had only cost us fifteen on the way down.  We emptied our pockets and only had twenty or so dollars between us.  We had more cash in our room upstairs so I told the cab driver to wait for a few minutes so that we could go up and get more money.  He insisted on coming up with us because he didn't think we'd come back down and pay him.  While I negotiated with the cabbie, James was teetering on the sidewalk.  The three of us went into the lobby and waited for an elevator.  As soon as we got in one and the doors closed, James turns to me and says, "Man, that cab driver is fucking us.  He took us for a ride, man.  He knew where our hotel was the whole time and he drove all around town.  He's fucking us, man."

James hadn't noticed that our cab driver was riding up the elevator with us.

I looked at James and calmly told him as I pointed to the third passenger in the elevator, "James, this is our cab driver."  James was confused.  The cab driver piped up, "Hey buddy, I ain't fucking nobody."  I quickly tried to diffuse the situation by assuring the cab driver that we didn't think he took us for a ride and that we were going to pay him anyway just as soon as we got to our room.  Fortunately, right about that time the doors of the elevator opened up.  I walked briskly to our room, got the cash and paid the guy off.  He left without further incident.

For the record, the guy probably was fucking us. 

The next day we surfed in the Pacific Ocean.

The Ham Got Out

I worked in the structural iron shop at a Union Carbide chemical plant the summer after my senior year in high school.  Technically I worked for Brown and Root Construction, a subcontractor on site.  I learned how to weld and use an acetylene cutting torch.  It was probably the hardest physical work I have ever done.  It was a hot summer and on the Texas coastal plain, which is humid as hell.  Plus, I had to wear long sleeves and pants, a hard hat, safety goggles and earplugs at all times.  I had to wear a respirator when I ran the grinder on galvanized steel.

At the end of that summer, my friend James and I planned to go on a California road trip.  The time came to go and all of the preparations were made.  James' parents never gave him permission, but he went anyway.  We had charted our course on a map and had loaded up with provisions for the trip.  We were trying to do everything on the cheap, so we agreed to buy groceries instead of eating at restaurants the whole time.  We had an ice chest full of cokes and food.  We had bags of bread and granola bars.  We felt pretty good about ourselves for having made such good preparations while saving money at the same time.

We stopped at a rest area west of San Antonio and had a very pleasant lunch of ham sandwiches, chips, cookies and sodas.  James and I were chirping about surfing in the Pacific and drinking in Tijuana as we ate.  Soon we were back on the road.

We were about eight hours into the trip, somewhere on I-10 deep in west Texas when James, who was driving, asked me to reach back and get him a coke out of the ice chest.  I opened the lid, looked in and said, "Uh oh."  James asked what was wrong.  "The ham got out," I said.  And it had.  You see, we hadn't bought enough ice so what ice we did have had melted so there was about four inches of water in the bottom of the ice chest.  The ham was in a plastic package that had come open as it sloshed around in the water.  There were four or five slices of ham floating in the water among the jars of jelly and mayo and soda cans.  The ham that had been pink in the package was now white and the water was stained pink.  There were little bits of fat or ham floating in the water as well. 

The ham was ruined, although we did consider trying to eat it anyway.  Despite washing the hell out of all of the soda cans, every one of them smelled like ham.  It was hard getting the smell of ham out of the ice chest too.

From that point on "The ham got out" was a running joke; one that we still use today.

TX vs. OU

It's 2:18pm and OU still sucks!!!

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Sept. 24, 2005

A seven-year-old boy was at the center of a courtroom drama today when he challenged a court ruling over who should have custody of him. The boy has a history of being beaten by his parents and the judge initially awarded custody to his aunt, in keeping with child custody law and regulations requiring that family unity be maintained to the degree possible.

The boy surprised the court when he proclaimed that his aunt beat him more
than his parents and he adamantly refused to live with her. When the judge then suggested that he live with his grandparents, the boy cried out that they also beat him. 

After considering the remainder of the immediate family and learning that domestic violence was apparently a way of life among them, the judge took the unprecedented step of allowing the boy to propose who should have custody of him.

After two recesses to check legal references and confer with child welfare officials, the judge granted temporary custody to the Oklahoma Sooners, whom the boy firmly believes are not capable of beating anyone.

36 O'clock on 46/19/2215

I have finally decided on the biggest fuckall of life: NOT ENOUGH TIME.

Being cursed with ambition, such as it is, I simply do not have enough time to do everything I want to do. I realize that other people may also have this problem; but only about one sixth as bad as I do. I figured it out - I would need approximately 42 hours in a day, a 9 day week and 23 months in a year to do all that I want to do. Oh yeah, and an average life span of 346.

You know, I am beginning to understand why people embark on the amphetamine downward spiral. Sleeping eats up a lot of time.

Eightball anyone?