Federer d. Mathieu 4-6, 6-1, 6-4, 6-4!
In retrospect, thank goodness I was out when he lost the first set. Otherwise, I would've been sitting in front of the TV, hugging my pillow close to my chest, hyperventilating and perhaps even re-triggering my long-gone asthma. Seriously. Roger losing the first set isn't the same as him losing the second after winning the first; it's a lot more nerve-wrecking, simply because it's never a good thing to start a match by, well, losing.
Having said all that, I came home in time to watch the middle of the third set. My parents, who were both watching the match (at 1 AM. Seriously), were all, "He's losing! He's down 15-40!" That seriously worried me for a while...until I looked at the score myself, after which I had to seriously resist the urge to scold my parents. I did, however, say something along the lines of, "WHAT THE HELL LAH. THEY ARE ON SERVE. NO BREAKS YET LAH." They - especially my dad - get all doom and gloom whenever Roger doesn't make a dent on his opponent's serve. As if they think he has to win every single game or something. Damn funny.
But back to what I was saying. What was I saying? Oh yeah, so I came home in time to watch the middle of the third set, which he won 6-4. He got the early break in the fourth set but got broken back. My parents were doom and gloom and the most hilarious thing was that they were both way more nervous than me. I was still relaxed, mostly watching the match but texting away on my phone, and even when he got broken back I was all, "Aiyah whatever lah he's just practising. Bad Roger, toying with your opponent's emotions!"
See, the thing is, I'd bet on him to withdraw from the tournament before I'd ever bet on him to lose before the final. And since he's not going to withdraw...well. He's made a career out of winning Grand Slams, and sure, it's true that every match is a new match and everything can happen...but when it comes to him, there are many sure things that you can pretty much bet your whole life savings on: he's not going to lose before the final.
And that is even more true now - now that Novak Djokovic has been upset by PHILIPP KOHLSCHREIBER. Djoke was supposed to be Roger's SF opponent. Now that he's out, omg, I think it might be...Juan Martin Del Potro. AGAIN. Good luck to you Potty, maybe a repeat of the Australian Open QF can take place in Paris, yeah?
HOPING WITH ALL MY MIGHT THAT POTTY LASTS UNTIL THE SF. I love it when Roger gets him. If you've never seen Potty play anyone else but Roger, you'd think he's some subpar piece of shit mug player, when actually he's not. It's just that his game matches up poorly with Roger's, because he's so tall, and he's also one of those new-generation boring baseliners (when I say this I mean he's more comfortable at the baseline, not that he can't play at the net. Obviously they all can, but not everyone does it comfortably, or does it well) who'd try to out-hit you from the back of the court, but unfortunately for him, Roger doesn't stand for that kind of crap (unless he's playing Nadal. Then he has no choice. Usually, that is, though Madrid proved that wrong) and he'd force you to return a low slice - nightmare for Potty because of his height - and force you to go to the net, and then hit some backhand passing winner. DAMN AWESOME. And of course, whoever wants to try to out-hit Roger Federer from the baseline can try all he wants. He can keep trying until he loses the match.
Okay, unless his name is Rafael Nadal lah. That's a different story. But Nadal is...just...in a league of his own. That is all I can say.
And speaking of Nadal, WTF his match with Lleyton Hewitt was SO DAMN BORING. I was so sad Hewitt got pummeled like that. I used to have a crush on him in secondary school. He used to be World Number 1. And now...sigh. How come Nadal keeps getting these easy opponents? He's playing Robin Soderling in Round 4. Seriously. Robin. Soderling. WTF, why did David Ferrer lose? Actually it's not like Ferrer would challenge Nadal much anyway. It's just the way it is.
You know, I'm actually hoping Murray makes it to the final to meet Roger. Roger has a much better shot of winning the French Open if his opponent in the final is a guy not named Rafael Nadal. Even if it's Andy Murray. Especially if it's Andy Murray, I think. The last time they met in a final, Roger won (the US Open). And I'm sure he's dying to get back at the stupid Scottish punk for his, what, four or five straight losses to him since New York (actually, four official losses, one exhibition match loss. Why do I remember these things). Of course I'd love to be proven right that Murray will lose before the QF, but I'd much prefer Roger to win this damn tournament so...here's hoping he beats Nadal.
HA HA HA HA HA WHO AM I KIDDING ANDY MURRAY BEATING RAFAEL NADAL IN ROLAND GARROS. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA I MUST BE GETTING DESPERATE.
(Which isn't untrue.)
Anyway, back to Djoke. I'm quite sad he lost. He's an annoying arrogant ass but he plays freaking good tennis. And he lost on some random Court 2 or 3 or whatever, which makes it worse. And he lost in straight sets. So poor thing. And he lost to Kohlschreiber whom I've seen play against Roger once and obviously he lost. Poor Nole.
Why couldn't the top-seed upset have heen Murray? Dammit.
OMG, I just saw that Caroline Wozniacki lost. OMG. Dementieva (who looks so pretty out of her tennis outfit with her hair down) also lost, to some scary-looking Australian I've never heard of before. Oh, and Venus lost too, though that's not surprising. What is surprising is that...Serena lives to lumber around the clay another day.
Safina's likely to meet Ivanovic in the next round (after Round 4. Oh that's the QF). THAT IS SO EXCITING. I HOPE I CAN WATCH SAFINA TAKE OUT THE IDIOT THAT DENIED HER THE TROPHY LAST YEAR. BWAHAHAHAHA.
Safina is AMAZING. Her results have been 6-0, 6-0; 6-1, 6-1; and 6-2, 6-0. SERIOUSLY WHO DOES THAT. WHO DOES THAT. Even Roger's results this RG have been kinda rocky. If Safina doesn't win, I will be very surprised. And shocked. And upset.
Okay I'm done. Moving on now.
How weird is it one of my ex-JC mate is getting married? I got wind of this info at the beginning of this month when Mel, Pei, Yuenmei and I ran into Maybelline at Essential Brews, but it slipped my mind until I was reminded of it last night.
How weird is it, right? Good for her and all, but wow. Sometimes I wonder if it's just me who seemingly cannot find a bloody boyfriend, or if it's...not just me, or if it's really just me. And maybe it's really just me. My mom keeps telling me that my relatives have told her to tell me to lower my standards, and all I can say to that is that I'd rather die. Or remain single forever. What is the point of settling for less, right? And since I know myself really well, I should know that if I ever tried settling, it's just going to be huge, HUGE disaster.
Actually, all my relationships, or attempted relationships, have been pretty disastrous, so maybe I'm much better off not going anywhere near this stuff. Besides, I really don't care at this moment whether I'm with someone or not. I'm really happy the way things are and I'm not at all looking to rock the status quo. In fact, I'd like to keep things this way for maybe the next year or so. Of course, no one plans to be single, no one plans to get attached (unless they're weird, and...okay I shall not judge), no one plans for such things to happen or not happen; but all things remaining constant, I haven't had enough of my own company yet, and I'd like to enjoy singlehood a little bit more before that changes.
Is that weird? Is it weird that I've been single exponentially longer than I'd been in a relationship and yet I really don't care that I'm single? Is it weird that I actually love it? Of course, I like getting a guy's attention too (though not the unwanted ones. Let's not get into this), but I'm really okay without it. And I'm loathe to ever find myself waking up one day, reliant on a guy, losing my independence and my ability to do things by myself.
Maybe it's just me, but that's extremely important to me. I'm not a stark-raving mad feminist by any means, and feminism kind of pisses me off; but at the same time, I value - deeply - my autonomy, my ability to do things on my own, even if they are small things like carrying my own shopping bags and taking a cab home by myself or driving myself home. Of course, like everyone else, I do have moments when I start whining about how much I wish I had someone to drive me home because I was too tired to do so myself; but when all's said and done, I'm so glad I can do things for myself. I'm so glad I'm not one of those girls that rely on their boyfriends for EVERYTHING. I'm so glad that I have the option of driving a guy home, that I have enough pride not to always let, or expect, the guy to pay for everything, that...well, to put it really bluntly, that I have a bloody brain. And that I love myself way too much to let some random dude come in between me and myself.
Okay, so maybe all I'm saying is that I have a huge ego. But whatever. That works for me. And it works really, really well.
I had dinner with Tong last night at this stupid place at Orchard Hotel, which he picked, and thankfully so or I would've felt really bad that he barely touched his food. Which was kind of surprising considering...um, nevermind. I shall not deface his character on a public domain.
Anyway, I ordered some vegetarian cous cous thingy which once again reinforced all the reasons I hardly ever eat vegetarian: it had pumpkins. A lot of pumpkins. A LOT OF PUMPKINS. And I hate vegetables. Clearly my impetus for eliminating most meats from my diet had nothing - NOTHING - to do with my love for vegetables (which everyone should try to remember, the next time someone raises a quizzical eyebrow at me and go, "You don't eat vegetables? But you're vegetarian!" First, I'm not a fucking vegetarian if I fucking eat fish; and second, what the fuck, who said I had to love vegetables just because I don't eat meat? Not my fault people have peas for brains). So I ate up the rice, the raisins, the tomatoes, the nuts, and left the pumpkins - a lot of pumpkins - and the capsicums, which I also don't eat.
Minus the gross vegetables - I took a tiny bite of the pumpkin and had to force myself to swallow the damn thing - the food was actually not bad. I liked the spiciness (spicyness? Fuck, is this even a word) and the raisins and the rice also didn't gross me out, and I'm usually not a fan of rice.
The tiramisu though, which Tong, claiming that his friend claimed, said was the best in Singapore, was...not. Not the best in Singapore. Not anywhere close. A few nights ago I was craving for tiramisu from Original Sin. Two nights ago I satisfied that craving a little bit at the Sheraton. Last night? I could've bloody got drunk on tiramisu. The alcohol was a bit much. And that's putting it mildly.
Oh, and at around 9 p.m. the waiters came out with small white dishes and started smashing them. I was freaked to death. The sheer noise and cacophony of the plates being smashed was really, REALLY fucking scary. And then after that everyone had to walk to broken bits of porcelain/glass/whatever. Imagine if I wore slippers.
Oh wait, I never wear slippers.
According to Tong, who's never been to Greece, that's what they do in traditional restaurants in Greece. I went to Greece with Mag and I don't remember ever seeing the pavement outside restaurants lined with broken plates, and neither do I remember ever seeing anyone do that in Greece. Seriously, if it happened I would definitely remember it because it was traumatising last night, so either the programme he watched was outdated, or Mag and I simply went to the wrong places.
Can't be what. We our last dinner was at Plaka, a.k.a bloody Tourist Trap. Surely they'd do the plates-smashing thing in a tourist trap to, like, attract tourists and stuff. Maybe we left too early. Oh well.
Speaking of Greece, I spent an hour this morning at some ungodly 4 AM looking at my Athens and Paris photos, and I felt so nostalgic for that vacation. I'd never seen bluer skies than the blue skies I saw in Europe. I love Europe becuase of its rich history and culture, its historical architecture and ruins, its distinct European quality that I can't quite describe. At the same time, Europe isn't a homogenous entity, and those three countries I visited, at least their cities, each had a distinct, intangible feel to them that they are all memorable in their own ways.
And yet, it's not just Europe that I want to see. It's Europe, Asia, Southeast Asia, South America, the US (though the US...not so much), everywhere. Especially Southeast Asia. I loved being in Europe and I love being in Southeast Asia, going to Cambodia, these less-developed countries that have not caught up on the cynicism of the post-modern, developed world, and somehow seem more innocent, more real. And yet, who am I to even say that when I know I wouldn't trade my life for theirs? How hypocritical. But still, I get nostalgic for my Cambodia trip as much as I get nostalgic for my Europe one.
Okay, enough about that; back to last night. After dinner Tong dragged me to the hotel bar where we ordered a succession of teas and coffee. And then I spent the rest of the time laughing. Actually I was already laughing over dinner but it got worse (okay, better) at the bar. I don't even remember the stupid things we were talking about but they were damn stupid, and Tong is damn mean. He kept wanting to tell me his story about the baby seals and how they're killed for their furs, precisely because such things would traumatise me greatly. Then after he found out I get creeped out by supernatural shit easily, he kept wanting to tell me about his stupid scary army story. Not only that, he went on this weird, WTF stream of consciousness about how we'd take a cab back and when it reached my house first the cab driver would ask me to pay because there was no one else in the cab with me.
WHAT THE FUCK OMG. It really scared the shit out of me, even though it was just Tong being irritating. When we did reach my house I made him take the lift up with me because my lift has mirrors on all three sides and I was scared. Served him right; no one asked him creep me out.
Oh and he left his iPod in the cab when he got out at my place. Brilliant. Just brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I have no other word to describe him but: Brilliant. With a capital B, in bold. Totally.
So pupillage starts tomorrow. Whoopee. I'm thinking of wearing t-shirt and shorts on the fucking MRT, and flats, and then changing into work clothes at the Raffles Place toilet. I cannot - CANNOT - stand the idea of squeezing with the whole of fucking Singapore in my uncomfortable white shirt and black whatever. And my stupid heels. I wore my new black heels the past two days to break them in, and I almost broke my ankles. Fucking hell, I swear, I'm at a point where I'd TOTALLY fork out a few hundred dollars for a pair of good quality non-leather shoes. It's really not the price; it's the fucking leather. I find it ridiculous that this stupid country does not have, or does not seem to have, good quality pleather shoes for sale. Fucking irritating. I can't...the thought of going to work in those shoes and having my feet blistered like fuck mad is just...making me swear a lot.
STUPID SINGAPORE. STUPID STUPID STUPID SINGAPORE.
I will stop complaining lest I ruin my mood even more. I am going to wash my clothes now. How exciting.