THE SEMI-FINALS OF MONTE CARLO AND THE RETURN OF RICK ROCK

PEOPLE. Rick Rock returned at 8am and everyone is much better off for it. Even the cats. For instance, the cat food can get full of ants and sometimes I take care of the situation, but sometimes I do not, pretending that it doesn't matter. Rick Rock - he'll help out with things like that. Aaaaahhh. A helper. I love help. I'm going to try to get him to blog, too. That would mean a tiny break from the "I want to have sex with tennis players and man, I feel hungover" meme that I work very hard to adhere to because of it's deep importance to the understanding of sports in our nation. Aw, he just brought me a cup of tea. I feel so grateful.

Ferrer is losing. I once saw him beat Nadal at the US Open. But that was not clay. Rafa and clay is like shrimp and cocktail sauce or a burger and a coke, or vodka and cigarettes, or bourbon and cigarettes, or martinis and oysters, or brandy and chocolate cake. Wow. I just got inspired for going out to dinner. I slept until 1pm today, so I'm not tired enough yet to have a "tennis nap". I'll try to get into this match. Sometimes, at the end of events- the final four and the final-I feel bereft and detached, like I can't maintain the initial love and frenzy I felt at the beginning of the week, when I had ten hours of tennis every day. Other times, I savor the last moments like a fine cognac, or even a decent bourbon, or like, a perfect martini, or -shit-a Coors tallboy with a straw stuck down it.

OK. It's 2 all in the second. Perhaps something exciting will happen (that would mean something like Ferrer starts getting ahead, or, like, jumps out of the TV and into my lap.)

Yours truly,

Paula