Me, Watching Tennis

Me, Watching Tennis
Me, Watching Tennis

Monday, June 28, 2010


I was trying to type Wimbledon 2010 but I had my caps lock on and 2010 looked like this- @)!). Pretty cool, right? I'm drinking Gin. Some guy named Lu is ahead of Roddick here. I don't care about Roddick. I realize his wife is beautiful, but- eh, Roddick doesn't do it for me. Now, clearly, Roddick does it for Brooklyn (his wife) and so that is great. But it can't be just his good looks- I mean, is he handsome? OK, I guess he is-- but also, he's very, very successful even if he's only won one Grand Slam. He's rich and shit and in the grand scheme of things, doing well in his career. And I've heard he really likes that she has a career, which involves oiling herself up half naked and pressing her scantily dressed boobs together. Man, what I would do to have that be my job, because that is what I do by myself pretty much everday anyway, you know, just for laughs. Oh wait, I have no job. Wait, where was I going with this?

Roddick just hit a dropper and didn't follow it in, but won the point anyway. Hm. Very tight here in a tiebreaker in the fourth.

I loved Venus in the press conference. The English audience sucks. Almost as bad as the French.

I have no cigarettes. This is good for my health, but makes me sad.

Lu is playing well- but someone said about him, " great awareness to take that floater out of the air" - um, not so hard to call. Oops. This is going to a fifth? OK. Fifth.

What is up with Kvitova kicking Wozniaki's ass? A BAGEL. After bagelling Azarenka.

Murray beat Querrey-- I sort of want him to win the whole thing.

Soderling beat my boyfriend, Ferrer.

What else? Where is Mars? Mars usually comes into play when I comment on tennis. Today- well, tonight, Mars is not talking to me- yet.

Nadal is playing Mathieu. Two SUPER hotties. Mathieu is French. I like Nadal better- I mean, sexually--but I would not kick Paul (Mathieu) out of bed for eating crackers. Or for, I don't know, burping. Or for, I don't know, being covered in sweat. Or for, I don't know , being covered in dog hair. Or for- well, let's say- not making love to me. Let's say he just wanted to lie down next to me and watch a Law and Order. I'd be fine with that. Or wanted to watch a Discovery Channel show about MARS. Oh yes! Mars! Phew. Thought I wouldn't get Mars in here.

Nadal got fined for coaching. Now, I've watched many, many matches where the Spanish guys curse worse than sailors, worse than me!, and talk at their boxes. But- I speak Spanish- never have I heard one word of coaching. It's all, " Mother of whore, what the hell is wrong with me, Holy Ghost (Ostia)" and then their coaches say, " Don't worry, just fight, come on, hold it together". But- no one understands what they are saying. So- worries about coaching. I do think- no coaching happened. Ideally, they were saying, "I really want to get off this court and have a three hour dinner with that blogger who loves me, and afterward, make sweet love to her" and then the coach says, "eh, just win first, then I'll get you some hot chick your age to give you what you want, so no worries, just, you know, play tennis". Also, I get very confused about coach and couch. I mean, I am a bad speller. And - well. I mean the guy who tells the player what to do, not the place I am reclined on right now.

OK. More soon.

Yours Truly,

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