Day One: I'm Already Lying To You

This is not actually Day One. Day One was Monday, but it was spent mostly driving, unpacking, and making the first of many trips to Walmart. Day Two was filled with another trip to Walmart and then a lot of sleeping, while Day Three included Internet installation and two coats of paint in the bedroom. Day Four involved another coat of paint (done entirely by my girlfriend, either because I suck at painting or she couldn't stand me swearing at myself for how much I suck at painting), as well as a little project of mine that required a lot of coaxial cable (the bundling). Day Four is also when we made our first trip to the Community Market, a small grocery store that sells overpriced canned and boxed goods as well as locally grown produce, which is the bomb (if you ever have a chance to eat corn grown in [on?] Poverty Acres, gobble gobble gobble it up as fast as your little hands can rotate the cob). In addition to the locally grown produce, the Community Market boasts two other features of note: really high shopping carts (which fascinated my girlfriend), and an extremely outgoing mentally retarded bag boy (which tickled me and terrified me at the same time). This guy talked to everyone in line, and even gave a few of the patrons a cheerful slap on the back. I dreaded the friendly facade I was going to have to put up as the bag boy slapped my back and yelled something incoherently at me. As we checked out, however, he slipped away, perhaps sensing my apprehension the same way a dog would. I didn't escape the Community Market completely unscathed, however, as the cheery fellow followed me out the door (literally on my heels), whispered "Be careful" as I stepped off the curb, and then broke into a dead sprint (again, literally) toward a stray cart at the end of the sidewalk. In hindsight, a slap on the back would not have been so bad.

Which brings us to today. For the first time since we've moved down here, I'm on my own for an extended period of time. My girlfriend had to go to a seminar-type to-do for her job, so I've been left to my own devices all day. After watching a man fix our garbage disposal while wearing only a towel (when you make these maintenance calls, they only give you a day and not a time, or I would have at least put on my cutoff shorts), I decided to get productive and head down to the employment center to look for a job. Unfortunately, all I could do today was fill out a form (with lies) and get a list of websites that list jobs (which I could have done at home), so it was pretty much a wasted trip. After messing around on the Xbox and the Internet for a bit, I decided to start typing, and you are now reading the result of said typing. I'm going to try to chronicle my experience as I try to transition from life in Streetsboro--a small town filled with white trash, pot heads, and guys who live with their parents that is no further than 40 minutes from somewhere you'd want to be--to Washington Court House, a small town seemingly filled with old people, retards, and meth-heads that is an hour from anywhere you would ever want to be. And although I haven't read anything official on it yet, I have a sneaking suspicion that dancing is outlawed here. All I know is if I end up playing chicken on a tractor, I have come out waaaaaayyyyyyyyy ahead.


Footloose-Scene (I Need A Hero) :) - Click here for the funniest movie of the week

DAY (WEEK?) ONE SUMMARY

• Washington Courthouse has an absurd amount of Marathon gas stations. There are at least four, and two of them are within 2 blocks of each other. I am pretty sure that if you were pumping gas at one, you could see the other one.
  
• When we first found out we were moving down here, I was afraid that the only music anyone would listen to would be country (and the radio didn't help soothe my fears as at least 70 percent of the FM stations are country western [with 20 more percent being "positive"]. Unfortunately, the music scene is much more dire. It seems that there is a large contingent of Juggalos here. I fear for my life.
  
• This is a truly small town. We had to return our U-Haul to a local auto mechanic, and while there he chatted us up about the town and such. After leaving the mechanic's, we stopped at Donato's for some edge-to-edge 'za, and guess who should walk in behind us, but the mechanic! So of course, I shot him (not really; he was quite nice).