If dating is a rollercoaster (and it is), I've just hurtled through a corkscrew, screamed my way down a thrilling drop, and hit bottom with my stomach left somewhere behind in Portland. Would someone please let me off, please? But the bored roller-coaster guy has gone home to bed and I seem to be alone into this metal box with no rest in sight, until perhaps it decides to become unhinged and goes flying off into the ether with a groan of metal and a firestorm of sparks, at which point -- who knows? -- maybe I'll go join Willie Wonka and Charlie in that great glass elevator in the sky.