McBallbabe!

I’ve wracked my brain for the last day trying to figure out how I would write this entry. Not knowing where to start, I’m just going to come out and say it.

THE BALLGIRL FOUND MY BLOG!

I know, a little anticlimactic. I’m sorry. But holy shit, the fucking ball girl found my fucking blog!

For those of you scratching your heads, allow me to explain. In early September, my friend Scott treated me to a night at the US Open. We were watching a men’s quarterfinal between Richard Gasquet of France and Australian Leyton Hewitt. The match went to five sets, and as the night wore on, the crowd thinned. Those of us that stayed found supplemental entertainment in the other people present on the playing surface, specifically the single ballgirl on the court. With a tan complexion, hoop earrings, and a purty lil’ smile, she was the Fabulosa of Flushing Meadows, the ‘eartthrob of Arthur Ashe, the Cutie of Center Court, the…sorry, got a little carried away there. Between each play, male spectators (including myself, nay, especially myself) cheered, applauded, and catcalled her presence as she chased down ball after ball.

The whole experience was hilarious, and I blogged about it shortly afterward (including pictures from the match a friend found on the internet).

Yesterday morning, I discovered a new comment on that post in my spam folder. Now, my blog happens to get a TON of spam, anywhere from 20-40 spam comments per day. They vary in topic – E.D. pills, porn, mortgages, fake myspace links, etc. The publishing tool I use has a fairly effective spam filter, so most of this never makes it on to the actual site. However, occasionally the filter grabs legitimate comments from actual readers and junks them. Generally speaking, spam tends to show up on older posts, while legit comments are on the newer ones. So every few days or so, I’ll skim the junk folder to see if there are any comments on newer posts that should have made it on to the blog but didn’t.

Ordinarily, I would skip over a comment left on the US Open post, since it was written long enough ago that any comment on it would likely be spam. But for some reason, I happened to catch this one:

umm yea so that was me !… go on my myspace lol!… that was so embarrassing just to let everyone noe thanks …www.myspace.com/star17

Unbelievable, right? I was skeptical too. There was the blatant self promotion (“go on my myspace”) as well as the actual MySpace link, which pointed toward spam. But the spelling error (noe -> know), internetspeak (lol!), and erratic punctuation made the comment a little more human. Plus, she signed it “Raquel” – which is, quite frankly, fucking sexy. A quick review of my visitor stats revealed that this comment did in fact come from an actual human being, someone who found my site by googling: ballgirl hewitt match, which yields this blog as a result.

Next stop: MySpace.

My curiosity peaking, I just had to check. Admit it, you would’ve done the same thing. Some of you are probably doing it right now. And you’re probably hitting the same road block that I did. Her profile is “private,” meaning only her friends are able to see her full details. All that was available to me was a location (New York!), an age (20, whew!), and one picture, which did little to validate her identity. Though it did look a little like the ballgirl I remembered, her pose, as well as the lighting, made it hard to be sure.

There was only one thing left to do. I had to become her friend.

And therein lay another dilemma. Those who know me know that I do not like MySpace. Although I do have an account that I login to occasionally to stalk check in on my friends, I have previously refused to become an active member of the community. No picture. No profile. No friends. No nothing.

Could I do it? Could I sacrifice my values and, as Kido puts it, join the dark side? Could I become an active MySpacer? Could I request her as a friend to satisfy my silly little pseudo-crush?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

Would I add a picture, copy and paste in my entire Facebook profile, and add three of my other friends in an effort to make my profile a little less creepy, and thus increase my odds of success, when doing so?

Yup. (If you’re not laughing with me at this point, you should at least be laughing at me.)

So I did it. And spent 1 out of every 20 minutes checking in, like a 13-year old with self-esteem issues, to see if she had accepted my friendship. And finally, after what felt like days, I had my answer.

THE BALLGIRL IS REAL. SHE FOUND ME, AND I AM NOW FRIENDS WITH HER.