We're goin' to the country, baby do you wanna go?

Or something like that.

We are in the process of putting our house on the market (close-in SE, bungalow, highly desirable neighborhood, wanna buy it and help us pay our realtor?) and moving toward Forest Grove, which I'd heard was crackland, but is actually a quiet little university town with a great coffee shop called Maggie's Buns. Now, I've had one of the classic cinnamon rolls and Kurt had a maple bacon roll, and as far as I'm concerned, Maggie has some damned nice buns. We found a bungalow in the historic district and I've had Bungalow Bill stuck in my head since.

So my city-life comes to an end. Or that's the plan. Tomorrow, our house goes live, according to the agent, and streams of people will throw money at us to take over where we left off. Today, Stanley Steamer will try to make it seem like it isn't actually a house that belongs to two stinky dogs.

And it will sell, or not. Either option is fine with me. But being basically lazy, I'd hang out here.