Stay away from Buster's.

Good news! We found a place to live! It's an extremely cute house in the NE side of town, right by the MAX line. We will be temporarily renting a room there starting next friday through the end of August. AND, there is a possibility we will be able to take over rent for the whole house starting in September. Hopefully we will have jobs by then and will have a better idea about where we need to be. The two girls who live there seem super cool and I am excited to get to know them better. Like Doug says, the house and it's inhabitants have "lots of potential"--potential for new friends, great living space, and possibly even a long-term rental. Very exciting! Also, the woman who owns the house we are staying in right now has agreed to allow us to stay an extra week, so we should be covered! No camping/hostels/knocking door to door looking for shelter. It is settled.

On a slightly unsettling note, Doug and I went out to eat last night, our first "night on the town," and where do you think we ended up? Yes, a BBQ place recommended by the local auto mechanic. Here we are, 3,000 miles away from home, and we continue to fixate upon the lip-lickin' splendor of some goooood Q. Call it an obsession if you will, I call it having good taste. So here we are, attempting our first gander at Northwestern BBQ and, to no one's surprise, it was AWEFUL. Terrible. I hated it. In fact, I hated everything about the place, from the country-western music playing in the background to the cowboy hats and longhorns plastered against the wall. As I forced down the dry, overly-seasoned bites of "pulled pork," I felt the all-empowering, all-encompassing emotion common to southerners everywhere: guilt. I felt like I was betraying my roots, my country, my GOD, by simply being there. The place was a mockery; it single-handedly managed to suck the soul out of the most soulful food there is: fire-roasted pig accompanied by some mighty-fine sauces. It's as simple as that.

Doug assures me that there is still hope for Oregonian BBQ; "don't give up hope now, not yet," he says with a penetrating stare.
I take a deep breath. I know, honey. I know. It's just so damn hard when you've left behind something so damn good.