Endings

Sandra hung up the phone. She didn't know why, but she needed to stand near the window with a blanket draped around her shoulders like a shawl. She just did. These past months her heart had beat so hard, her thyroid had been in a rush and now it was depleted, her hormones left on empty. She yearned to see her city - Portland - to gaze at it from above. Like a spy. From a place where you couldn't see tiny people below with all their pesky troubles. A distance.
To die tonight wouldn't be so bad, even this alone business wasn't exactly horrific. In fact, it was nice. Having the phone numbers helped. She must call Nicole. She needed to let her know that she loved her, that not once had she wanted a daughter - that girls were often so complicated, so nit-picky, so hard to please - but that if she did, she'd want one like her.

Endings make the story. That's my recent epiphany. Above is the ending of a (very) long story I wrote. And finally, FINALLY, I like the ending. And, though it's ridiculous to expect any reader to enjoy an ending without reading (hello?) rest of the story? I still felt like I wanted to share it today. And also, to say thank you to people who are enjoying my blog. It's encouraging to know there are readers out there. If/when I have more dates, of course I will share them with you, but until then I'll try to put other things of interest on here too.

I met with a few readers of the blog last night at a BBQ. It was incredible. First, D. (another East Coast transplant) and I stopped at Sheridan's Market. I've driven past it but for some dumb reason never went in. Amazing, homemade style sausages! We went with a chicken, cherry, white wine, spearmint concoction as well as an electric pink Buffalo hot wing flavor. Excellent company and gracious hostess, A. and host, B.

B. had written me an email asking for a date after A. forwarded my blog to him. While he is 26 and I am 35, we had a very nice time, though he got a friend vibe. In the past I may have been insulted...and okay for a moment I worried that I might be running out of estrogen. But now I'm going with it, and I'm liking it. I've decided a couple things too: 1)I am not always a good judge of character and 2) I am often an acquired taste.

I also got to meet A., who is excellent. As discussed last night, it's just nice to meet other singletons in Portland, who are fun, funny, kind, interesting people. From A.'s bldg in the Pearl we spied a former suitor at the restaurant next door and had a lovely Sunday BBQ. She introduced me to the beer-gina (rhymes with you know what) and involves the drink Orangina, and I got to share my views on how horrible a word vagina is - with the V and the G. It's just not good.

All in all, a splendid evening.

On a totally random note, I have now been singing a horrible song lately. I only do it when I'm alone and only, ONLY when in the car. It's that I Want to Be Billionaire song. Please don't judge. It's snappy and as my brother mentioned, I'm feeling more chipper these days. Not dating. And if I want to sing, in my car alone, to terrible, terrible music?

I'm going to do it.