Our Move to the Sticks

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So we did it! We survived our first year in the sticks!

Exactly one year ago, my family and I moved up to the sticks of upstate New York from a suburb 40 miles north of New York City (which many Manhattanites would already classify as “the sticks” but trust me…that was not the sticks).

When we were initially looking for a house, my wife was worried about being too far from civilization. Translation: We needed to be within 10 miles of a Kohls and Bed Bath & Beyond. If you are a single male reading this and you only take one thing from my story please let it be this…enjoy making it rain at the bars and strip clubs on the weekends now because once you are married you will be making it rain with Kohls cash and those gigantic 20% Bed Bath & Beyond coupons instead.

Four months into our search we found the perfect house for us (yes, we were in close enough proximity to a Kohls and Bed Bath & Beyond for those concerned) and it was at the closing table that we realized we weren’t in the suburbs anymore. After signing our lives away there was one last document that our attorney slipped us called an “Agricultural Disclosure Form.” By signing this form we were acknowledging that given our close proximity to farms, we may occasionally get the odor of horse manure wafting across our property. What I failed to mention is that the greatest feature of the new house was the hot tub on the back patio, the very hot tub that was going to reignite my wife and I’s sex life. This was just great…if our 3 year old daughter wasn’t going to kill the mood the smell of horseshit in the air surely would.

Very shortly after moving in, my redneck neighbor came by raving about this store called Tractor Supply Company that he had just come from. I had never been to this establishment before but now that I was living in the sticks I figured it was a must. When in Rome right?

The very next night I took a ride to the nearest Tractor Supply Company (which happened to be closer than Kohls and Bed Bath & Beyond) and to my surprise enjoyed checking all that the store had to offer. I didn’t need horse treats or cattle feed but feeling compelled to buy something to commemorate our big move to the sticks, I picked out this great pair of cowboy boots…tan ones with little blue stars on the sides. Why cowboy boots you ask? Quite simple. My wife wasn’t there to stop me.

While I live in the sticks, I take the train to Manhattan for work every day (2 hours and 10 minutes each way without transit delays) and let me tell you there is no better places to observe people than on the train and in Penn Station. There’s this one escalator at Penn Station that always makes me feel like I’m on line at Space Mountain in Disney World. That is, until I reach the top to find four homeless schizophrenic dudes talking to themselves. You can imagine the disappointment.

Despite my long, grueling commute I’ve yet to change my occupation to farming in an effort to be closer to home, because, quite frankly, there isn’t a better place to mess with people than in the office restroom. The other day my boss walked into the stall right next to me (I know this because the gap between the stall doors are just wide enough to see out). As soon as I finished my business, I stood up against the divider in complete silence, with the front of my shoes literally in his stall. He flushed the toilet and kicked my shoes as he stormed out. I of course had to wait 5 minutes to vacate the restroom because I sure as hell wasn’t getting caught. But I did get caught…no one else in the office wears tan cowboy boots with little blue stars on the sides.


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