September 2nd, 2009

Charah coffee

The sweetest thing.

Wrote this at 4 a.m. today after watching the Safina match. Shall put in blockquote:

The WTA is...oh my god.

I just watched some of Dinara Safina's first round US Open match against an 18-year-old Australian ranked in the #100's. I love Dina and all, but what the fuck kind of shit tennis was THAT? Both players made over a hundred unforced errors between them, and they kept dropping serves/sets on double faults. I mean, really. The woman commentator was quite spot-on when she said, after Dina did some retarded DF on some big point (as usual), that it'd never happen to the #1 player on the ATP.

That is for sure. FOR SURE. Compare Dina and Roger, and the gap between women's tennis and men's tennis is clear as day. I'm totally not being sexist here - women's tennis is really a joke compared to the men's. It's a fact. I don't see where the women get off demanding equal prize money in grand slams when they're not willing to play equal number of sets, and when they got preferential treatment in terms of scheduling, i.e. women's matches are scheduled first, and the men's pushed to the end of the day. So you had people playing tennis at 2 a.m. which is plainly ridiculous.

But back to what I was saying. What's this equal prize money nonsense when the standard of tennis is nowhere comparable between the two tours? Maybe the women pros should consider raising the level of their game to match the men's, because it's's a joke. Dina's match only got exciting towards the end, third set 4-4, because I was curious to see if the Australian was gonna pull the biggest upset of the US Open (Dina losing in the first round would've been the biggest upset 'cause no way in hell is Roger gonna lose before the final). I love her for many reasons, the most prominent of which is her fight and how she never gives up a match. But the problem with that is that the number of times she finds herself fighting for her life is a bit ridiculous, considering she's the best player in the world on the women's side. There are only so many times I can stand watching her dig herself out of shitholes before I start wondering what the hell was wrong with her that got her into that shithole in the first place. She's shaky on serve, and when her game is not clicking, it's really a nightmare. And my impression is that her game doesn't click more than it does. 17 DFs against Jankovic in one of the US Open series final is seriously incredibly disastrous.

And then we have snobs like Serena Williams shooting her mouth off about who "the real #1" is when she doesn't even give a shit about the non-Slam tournaments. Hello, tennis is a year-long sport. You don't check in and out as and when you like, give shitty commitment to the competition, fall in the rankings, then suddenly come back and win a Slam, and then complain about how you're not ranked #1. A real #1 plays every tournament as if they're equally important. A real #1 doesn't pick and choose; he gives his absolute commitment to the sport, and he gets his ranking based on the veracity of his performance and what he's able to achieve in tournaments, and the points he's able to defend.

Sometimes I don't know why I bother with the WTA. It's an absolute joke compared to the ATP. I guess the bright side is, it gets such lousy coverage here that the only time I really get to watch the women play is during Grand Slams. I really don't know what these women are doing, but wow, it's a huge disgrace.

Dina needs to sort herself out. That is all I can say. At this rate she's never going to win a Slam, and that is just unbelievably sad; she's definitely better than Jankovic.

Well, anyway.

Saw Jim Courier's tweet about double faults in the WTA on the frontpage of the New York Times.

Toss the Ball. Hit the Ball. Oops! Oops!


The advertisement for the Ralph Lauren US Open store on the right of the article is SERIOUSLY tempting me, despite the fact that one polo costs S$195 (which is batshit insane). Oh, and not to mention the fact that it didn't look good on me when I tried it on. Boo hiss.

Shall settle for Nike's US Open t-shirts. They have a Roger one. FINALLY. A FEDERER T-SHIRT FOR FEMALES. YESSSS.


Anyway, I'm currently "doing" the CPCM nonsense and I'm all but ready to hang my client. Forget about the death penalty and the state hanging her; I'd do it myself, and quite willingly too.

What was seriously retarded, though, was Question 1. Explain how you made arrangements to see Cecilia at Changi Women's Prison.

HUH? WHAT THE FUCK? Chloe told me the answer during Prof Res and I couldn't be arsed pretending her mother's interested in knowing how I got to interview the daughter, so I just wrote some short answer thing in half a page on MS Word. Basically I summarised the FAQ on the prisons booking system website.

What fucking...okay whatever.

Scanning through Common Object muggers (THANKS RUI!) now for some wriggle room, so I can write my representation to the AGC. Bleah. Had to laugh, though, when I read about a just criminal process on the AGC website.


I threw an inexplicable temper tantrum yesterday afternoon when I was trapped at home with no food, and most egregiously, no McDelivery (because of the heavy rain). I felt miserable enough to start crying like some weirdo on heavy anti-depressants, pretty much for no good reason. I texted Tong about how miserable I was and how I was crying and couldn't stop, and a while later he asked, "Do you want me to come over?"

Half an hour later he came over with lunch. He was a bit wet from the rain, and when I opened the door he took one look at my gross puffy eyes, and then hugged me.

He is SO sweet. Before he arrived I accidentally knocked my favourite cup to the floor where the handle broke off. Upon seeing the mess I made I cried even harder (fuck, I think I'm menopausal or something. I spelled that wrong) because it was my FAVOURITE CUP. I texted him about that too, and when he was inside my house he asked me about it. I pointed him to the broken cup and he bent down and picked up the broken pieces for me.

I love him very much. He's such a wonderful boyfriend; I honestly don't think I could ask for anyone better. He had a 3.30 class which he missed because I was being all hormonal and moody and Just Plain Weird. He kept asking me why I was crying, saying that there had to be a reason; but there was really no reason. I'm just weird like that. And all I can say is that I hope yesterday's random freak-out was the exception rather than the rule.

I guess I was so miserable from having no food and having the heavy rain spoil my tennis plans that I started reacting like a freak. And yes, the whole time I was crying all I wanted was for him to come over and hug me. After a while I was too tired to even remember that I hadn't eaten, so the lunch was a bonus more than anything. Him coming over, with food too, in the rain, was just incredibly sweet. Gives me one more reason to love him - as if I don't already have those in abundance.

And because he was over at 3-ish, he met my mom when she came home from lunch with her friends. It was um, good. I found out from my mom later that night that Tong told her I was in a bad mood.

I think it was a timely meeting really. It would've happened sooner or later; better sooner than later. My mom seems to like him, so that's good. I told her about how he held my cow out of the window when I was disturbing him with it and she laughed and said that he's just like my brother. Which is true in the sense that they're both retarded and tend to behave childishly (I say this endearingly, of course), but that's about as far as it goes.

Anyway, we went out after I showered and after he showed me how to hunt for stupid rose medals on Evony. Oh, and after he made me use up all my game coins on the stupid wheel of fortune, because he wanted to watch me spin the wheel. WTF, right? I know. He's adorable.

We went to Vivo where I satisfied my craving for junk food at Carl's Jr. I think I prefer Mac's double filet. But all the same, junk food is only to be had once every three months, and I've maxed out that allowance for the next three months. Sorry love (he was surprised when I told him I ate at McDonalds' with Mag and Ven one of those days before tutorial, and after he was done being surprised he said, "Stop eating McDonalds' without me leh."). At least we ate Carl's together.

After dinner, I realised I hadn't had my caffeine fix the whole day. We sat at the outdoors area of Pacific Coffee. For about three hours. Because it was a nice romantic night and the air was cool, and sitting on the swing next to him, facing the river, it felt so unlike Singapore; it felt like we were on a holiday. Couldn't help but picture us in Greece, in Paris (the River Seine is uber-romantic), in Cambodia (walking up to Bakheng Hill to see the sunset, with the glowing red sun right before your eyes), on a beach somewhere in Southeast Asia, in Russia. Couldn't help but want to get away, take a vacation from life, with him, just the two of us.

I am still affected sometimes by what happened in the past, both his and mine. The thing is, though, he's bigger than that, and the way I feel about him transcends whatever baggage I still carry from past relationships (okay let's not kid ourselves - relationship, singular. Though calling it that might be a bit of a misnomer). Words fail me at times like these - how do I adequately sum up, let alone express, how I feel about him? I don't think I can. Words have become trite, even rather useless; they have been rendered unimportant after being passed down and recycled from couples to couples, ex-lovers to ex-lovers. He means the world to me, he is utterly precious to me, my life would suck without him, I need him in my life. All well and good, and true, but oh so inadequate.

It's simply this: I love him. He's amazing. He's the best I've ever had.