Saturday, July 3, 2010

Pot Pourri

          1] Here's a headline to give one pause: 
Kardashian's Wax Figure Unveiled
Why? Because I thought it said:  
Kardashian's Waxed Figure Unveiled
          That unfortunate mistake, however slight, coupled with World Cup headlines announcing that Brazil had lost to The Netherlands and suddenly I had visions of Madame Tussaud's first Brazilian wax display, featuring one of the Kardashian sisters. I know, the mere thought is TMI.
         2] I've been attending a local "Challenger" men's pro tennis tournament the last few days. Usually I go to the night matches because there is no SPF high enough to protect my skin during the daytime. The tournament is for pro players ranked between 100 and 200 for the most part. Sampras played there. Tim Henman won there. Lots of names before they were names. The event is at a big tennis facility run by a tennis pro I used to spend time with. I was going to say "quality" time, but on reflection, not so much. 
          For example, he used to get comped tennis clothing from the racket reps -- the fancy jackets and matching warmups you see club pros prancing around in. If he didn't like something enough to keep it, he'd offer it to me. But only after he'd worn it enough times to leave lunch marks and cheese drips. Sure they cleaned up nice, but seriously, what was I thinking? 
          So last night, as I was looking for a seat in the stands, someone called my name. It was an old friend I used to play tennis with. Her husband and my former "friend" were buddies. The last time I saw her was at 2:00 am at least ten years ago. She was on her way to the hospital to have her fourth child. With no kids/pets/husband at home, I volunteered to babysit when the time came. I remember her husband doing labor and delivery jokes, which, as another pain kicked in, did not amuse her when they were heading out the door. They had a fifth kid, so apparently she got over it. 
          Anyway, she's smiling, we're chatting, and I get a gander at the forty-ish, supremely homely babe sitting right next to her. I got a good look at her because she was glaring at me with samurai swords in her eyes. The bitch looked pissed. I had no idea who she was, so I ignored her, said good bye to my girlfriend, and climbed up to my seats. Five minutes later who should show up but HIM, the guy who used to give me his old clothes. He sits down next to the homely babe and I suddenly realize that's the divorced woman with three kids I heard he had married. 
          For some reason she knows who I am. Since I broke up with her husband at least a year before she met him, I'm wondering what he [or somebody] has told her about me. Because somebody has told her SOMETHING. The downside is that you always feel guilty about causing other people pain. Or more precisely, you want to know WTF? is her problem. But the upside is that I'm sure I ruined her night, judging by the fact that she got up and moved two rows away from him shortly after he arrived. 
          [3] You can tell the real tennis aficionados from the dilettantes during Wimbledon. When they replay an entire match the next day -- one that you watched already -- and you watch it AGAIN, then you're a true lover of the sport. For instance, I can barely make it through World Cup soccer commercials, let alone an entire half. So I don't qualify as a true fan of futbol. Never mind that I had my daughter's left goalie shoe bronzed when she became an all conference player. But I do love tennis. So I watched Nadal v. Murray again today after watching them play just yesterday. Even before they played, I knew ahead of time that Andy Murray would have two chances of winning: zero and when Hell freezes over. Here's why. Murray is British, Scottish to be exact. Rafa Nadal is Spanish. Knowing what you know about the British character, stiff upper lip and all that; and knowing what you know about Spanish sterotypes, i.e., hot, tempestous, machismo. Who would you pick? Exactly. That's how they played. 
          4] Finally, here's a picture of my younger daughter sent to me from Wimbledon yesterday during Nadal v. Murray. The British fans filled up Centre Court, plus every blade of grass on Henman's Hill and the stands on empty Court 2 to watch the match. I just think it was so cool that we could text and she could email me a photo.  


IT said...

I don't know why, but I have this distinct urge to just write: "First!

I enjoy your blog

Remo said...

I still can't believe you let her marry that guy over me.

Mrs. L said...

Not that I didn't consider the upside of having a son-in-law who looked up to me -- literally.

Chris said...

You really could have made it worse by speaking to him and implying that he knew you were going to be there at the match. That way she thinks he did it on purpose.

Damn I'm evil....

Mrs. L said...

Chris -- Evil is good, when done with the right intentions. [Did I just say that?]