Nalbandian versus Djokovic

I wish Ferrero had taken Nadal to a third set. Oh well. I love Rafa. I have a cat named Rafa. His named has since digressed to Waffleberry. But- his name really is Rafa.

David fucking Nalabandian. I basically started this blog because of him! And he's back after all that time away with his hip surgery. OH MY GOD. I... I love him. I think it is safe to say that he made me cry upon a few of his big wins. Cry tears of joy. When he won the year end championship against Federer? When he won Madrid and Paris, back to back? Oh man, I'm getting all choked up just thinking about it. He's so noble and polite and - no pushover - and Argentine and stoic and emotional and handsome and good at tennis and a choker and ......

I'm sipping on some Dominican rum. Rockytoad is on his way back from "band practice". Also, Rockytoad made the JV tennis team. We are proud. He's also grown six inches since I last posted- not yesterday- but the time before that.

Djokovic is interesting me here. I think he really really wants to win this. And he most likely will. He's hitting fabulously. As much as I'd like Nalbandian to win this match, and the French Open, and the presidential election, and the lottery, and so on, this has been a good run for him so recently healthy and having been gone so long. So, like, I'm trying to be happy for him. That said- what if he turns it around and wins this match!!?? I'll roll around on the floor, hugging myself.

Which brings me to- do guys only think about sex all the time? I was thinking about that recently. Like, does Nalbandian think about tennis a lot? Or while he's playing tennis, is he thinking about getting it on with his girlfriend later on? Like, is he imagining her naked body, or just thinking about tennis. I have some of the strangest thoughts when I play tennis. Some of those thoughts go like this, man, I'm hungover. Wow, how many cigarettes did I smoke last night. Ug, I don't feel very good. And so forth. I think it's safe to say Roddick maybe- just maybe- thinks about Brooklyn, his fiancee or whatever she is-- occasionally when playing tennis. Sort of like a carrot on a stick sort of thing (want to win this match, go home and nail her, oh, there in my head is a picture of her naked while I'm on this court, but it's OK, I can still play tennis). Of course, I could be wrong. Perhaps they focus better than I do when I play tennis. This is a serious possibility.

Yours Truly,
Paula