Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Sit there and let me tell you about the time I saw Roger Federer in the flesh

And don't you dare move....

...or move. You should probably leave me alone with my thoughts.

In my world this week, it’s all Federer, all the time. You already knew I was obsessed with him. Imagine what an IRL (in real life) sighting has done. I freaking dreamt about him last night. Embarrassing. And I'm not a twelve year-old. You'd think I'd be able to control myself and not write a detailed blog post about the three minutes I spent looking at him. You'd think I wouldn't, but you'd be so wrong.

I’ve already grossed out my twitter followers with the gushing. Now it’s your turn. Prepare to feel revolted.

I’m going to transcribe the “story”, because although none of you care, I need a record for my own amusement. In the past I’ve said that if I really want something to happen, it always does. Add this story to the list.

Two nights ago, Roger Federer stood six feet away from me. We were in a store with four other people. There were no fans crowding around him, he wasn’t playing tennis, it was just him and his wife, in their element. It was the coolness.

On Monday, DKM and I went to the first night of the ExxonMobil Open. When we found out Rafa and Federer weren’t playing that evening, we watched a set of crappy nobodies rally and got the heck out of there. It was cold outside.

Next, we went to the Hyatt. The night before, my agency organized an event and I forgot my laptop onstage, so we had to go and fetch it from security. Sidebar - only in Doha could you forget a laptop somewhere and be 99.9% guaranteed to have it back the next day. I'll let you figure out why that's the case.

After leaving the Hyatt, we rolled up to my favourite hotel in the world, the Ritz-Carlton, to seek out the manolo blahnik sale I mentioned last post.

After roughly three minutes of browsing the store, Federer’s wife (Mirka Vavrinec) walks in the joint. This is me: “Holy shit, that’s Federer’s wife. Great hair. Awesome.” I turned around, (the best way to prevent myself from asking what’s it like to be married to the second most beautiful man alive).

Suddenly, it hit me. “Wait a minute…. If Federer’s wife is here….”

I turned back around.

There he was. Tall, handsome, smiling.

He was dressed in jeans, a blue plaid dress shirt and a deep blue cardigan. He was with a big Qatari businessman. They stood, chatted, bought stuff. The whole encounter lasted about three minutes. I spent that time pretending to look at shoes. I also leapt out of his eye line for a minute in an attempt to calm my furiously beating heart. It didn’t work.

I didn’t talk to him or ask him for an autograph. That’s what fraidycats uncool people do.

So that’s it. An insignificant three minutes for Roger, a lifetime memory in my bank. I have the best luck with these things.

Anyway, once he left, I was feeling especially good. Bought the miu mius I had in hand when he walked in. They’re bright red, patent leather and are obviously now my lucky shoes.

DKM also bought me blue suede Manolos!! My first pair. If anyone steps on my blue suede shoes, I’mma hurt them.

Up next, five nights of watching Federer and Nadal knock off oponents until they inevitably face each other on Saturday and I explode from an overload of beauty.

I wonder if they coordinate outfits?

Yes, I took this. Shame is for the weak.

Bonus! Here’s Rafa looking happy at his doubles match. He plays with Marco Lopez- the shorter, stockier, crappier, less dreamy version of Rafa. He has way more mustache than Nadal so that's got to be something.

Yay for tennis, right?


  1. Okay, maybe that should have read "yay for tennis PLAYERS."

    Tennis (the sport/competition part) is good too.

  2. I really don't like Nadal. I blame his habit of biting trophies.

  3. Where is the Davydenko love post?


Ramble on...