The seed of a blog...

Picture this:
Three beautiful women. stranded for 3 months on a tropical island full of gorgeous Marines...Sounds great, right? That was my life during the summer of '04. I lived and worked on the gorgeous island of Okinawa, being a camp counselor for the military children on base.
That was where I met the love of my life...Patty. She and Megs and I were pretty inseparable the entire summer. We worked all week, played hard on the weekends, and broke as many hearts as we could.
In Patty's case..that was many. That girl has some high standards for men..and you can bet that Marines who haven't talked to a girl in months aren't going to do a good job of meeting those requirements. Poor things. It was like a bug zapper. Some confident young thing would come sauntering over (whoo, that's a good word!) and offer to buy Patty a drink...she'd let him, mostly because we'd yell at her if she turned down a free drink from a hot boy. But then the poor sucker would hang himself with his own rope. He's touch her. That's all it took...our Patty is fiercely protective of her own self, and she was not having this overly familiar touching.
She's level a look at him and say (very calmly) "Why are you touching me?" You can guess that this had the effect of a bucket of ice water on the confidence of the poor boy..and he'd slink off to lick his wounds. Don't get me wrong, she isn't a meanie..she just expects a higher level of courtesy and respect than most girls our age...and it throws the poor boys for a loop.
Anyway...our usual schedule on a weekend was to have dinner in our room Friday night. We all took showers, powdered, lotioned and poofed our hair. This takes Patty a lot longer than the rest of us. We'd head down to the Banyan Tree, which was the enlisted club on base. We called it the Bangin' Tree...and we still think that's super funny. We'd dance all night, usually with the group of Texas boys we met, and sometimes head to all night bowling after. We'd pour ourselves in bed around sunrise, only to crawl back out around noon the next day.
Saturday was 'Gate 2' night. The street just outside the base gate 2 was notorious...for all the reasons you can expect in a tropical island full of young men. We got gorgeous and wandered our way from bar to bar..having a great time, and again pouring ourselves into bed at sunrise. Sunday, around noon, my bedside phone would ring and Patty would say "Champagne brunch." We'd make ourselves barely presentable and head to the officers club, where nothing fun ever happened except champagne brunch. We'd drink, eat too much, and wander home around 2.
This is where the story is going folks. To Sunday afternoon. We'd pick someones room and lay across the beds, chatting, watching Top Gun for the 57th time, and whining about how the weekend was over. It was on one of these occasions that I said..."You guys...Sundays are just shorter days."
Even as I said it, I knew it was the gospel truth. No matter how great your job is, or how well spent the weekend...you'll always hit Sunday night with a touch of regret. Think of the items yet uncrossed off the to-do list. Think of the parties you went to..and the ones you skipped. So now...I expect it. I'm ready for the Sunday lull. I turn and face it with a fly swatter in one hand and a margarita in the other. Bring it on Sunday...I'm already planning the next weekend!