It was a toasty one today in NYC. I know this because Aunt Pimmy told me so. Also because I finally ditched the jeans and t-shirt look and went with shorts and a tanktop. A wise move, I think. But between the heat, the crowds, and the size of the grounds, I've come to realize that you have to really want it to win it here at the USO, and I don't mean the players.
Typically when I go to a tournament I like to just wander the grounds and pop in to see whatever match tickles my fancy, or I'll stick around the practice courts to watch random players. Not so here in NYC. Nope, there better be a damn good reason for me to haul my ass out of the somewhat tolerable shade and stand/sit in the sun for the better part of an hour. Even today, I could barely get it up to stick around to watch Sveta, MaKiri, FeVer, or Elena for anything more than five minutes. To the extent I have pictures of any players or matches it is a reflection of my love for them. I thought I was going to go blind when Nole, Sam, and Dani were practicing, what with the Iguacu Falls-like deluge of sweat that was running into my eyes. At one point I looked down and realized sweat was just running down my legs. Which could have been weird if anyone who knows me, knows FD, and knows my love of all things Corgi had seen me.
IT WAS SWEAT! I PROMISE!
There is no wandering here at the USO. If you wander, you must do so with intent. And a lot of water. And sunscreen. And...patience.
Mikey Llodes and son.
Stop making this awkward, Sam. Just. Ignore. Me.
Dani and Elena. Underachieving. As per yoosh.
Mama Vera shagging balls.
Vika and Sergei Bubka Jr., who, according to Boyfriend Jon, is her man friend. No word on how long his pole is.
Team Venus taking the far practice court.
Happy Vera. I know. It's weird.
Oh, hai, Eva. You kept me thoroughly entertained all evening and for that, I thank you.
Really, Nadia? Really? Did someone eat a bowl full of Skittles, pound a huge Icee, and then puke on your dress? Oh, they did? Ok, well then I feel a little bad now.
