Tag Archives: moving sucks

Buy this App and I get a free beer, if I get a free beer I’ll buy you a beer and … just check out this app

If the WordPress statistics page is any indication at all, most of you are here looking for information about sauna boners.

Who can blame you? I mean, if you get a boner in a sauna you’re going to be like totally embarrassed, unless its “that” kind of sauna, in which case, boner away.

However, if its not that kind of sauna, well you’re going to be freaked out. You could be so freaked out you might have to move. Like move-away freaked out. Which is really freaked out.

Sauna boners aside (and can you ever really put sauna boners aside – okay I’ll stop with the sauna boner references) I think a lot of the readers here are military or associated with the military and consequently move a lot. My last “professional-development counseling” with the boss (which had a lot of yelling about sauna boners, oddly) seemed to think so.


I’m pretty sure everyone needed a break from sauna boners so I stole this photo of a hot chick. (photo credit: I forget)

Anyway, as you remember I just accepted the help of a no-shit professional editor here and as you might recall she charges like $1 million internet dollars per update (the checks in the mail!)

So we have bills to pay.

Thusly, we’re going to pimp an app.

I didn’t write the app, obviously. If I had, it would randomly send you photos of my testicles during odd moments (birthdays, anniversaries, Disney visits, weddings) and I know I’d pay a lot of money for that to happen. Sadly, my computer skills are only matched by the cat when she walks across my keyboard.

Actually the cat’s are better. She could accidentally write some life-changing computer program that cures cancer.

I’m just going to keep writing this crap.

Anyway military people move a lot. And a good friend, I mean a GOOD friend, wrote an app that helps the MOVr. I’ll let him do the dirty work by explaining it.

Testimonial: I bought it and it no-fuck works. It helps you catalog your high-value items with a photo and a description and provides an “if those fuckers break this it will cost me this much to replace it” field. Really it’s pretty awesome.

But before I go I want to be clear about one thing, the author of this app is fucked up beyond belief about one thing. I don’t want to short-sell him, but really.   The best anything involving music does not include Guns_N’_Roses sir, no.  It involves everything about Jane’s Addiction’s, “Three Days.”

You’re welcome.

Make a fucking app about that.


It is simple art. There also appears to be no option to send friends a ball photo, sadly.

Now, the app

Apple just released an app of mine and **spoiler alert** it sucks. Full disclosure: I have no sales experience and haven’t thought out my pitch yet. But that’s kind of my point — to make an app, you have to be a developer for sure, but also a business person, graphics designer, marketer and salesperson all in one.

For example, one app released last week is called PCSr and makes it easy to catalog all your household stuff by pic, serial number and value.

While it applies to anyone who is moving or who wants to catalog their stuff, I geared it more toward the military. Whether I should have called it MOVr instead of PCSr to apply it to a larger audience, who knows, but that’s my best attempt at marketing it.

I was in the military and have a long trail of broken household goods scattered throughout Europe and Asia. I know something like this could benefit military members, so I went with what I know and clearly defined the app’s market.

Developing the iPhone/iPad app requires becoming familiar with Apple’s programming language Objective C. That’s kind of hard for sure, but Google “iPhone app tutorial” and you’re already on your way. It’s like learning guitar; learn a few riffs you want to play first like “Paradise City” by Guns N’ Roses (by the way, the last two minutes of that song are the best two minutes in all the world of music, starting from Axl screaming, “hooooooooommmmmmmeee.. “ and Steven pounding on the drums underneath… OK, sorry). It’s like learning guitar; learn a few riffs you want to play and then you go back and learn the basics because they start to make sense and it’s fun. After like a year or two of this, you’ll be on your way to playing the first four minutes of “Paradise City.” You’ll never be able play the last two. Don’t even try, I will be so mad.

You’re also going to need to design a logo for the app when displayed in the App Store and iTunes, you won’t be able to upload your app without this. Simple is best, don’t try to do too much. One design I’m proud of is my other app that Apple is supposed to release this week called distilr.

The last step is actually selling it. Apple mostly takes care of that, but since the App Store is so large and crowded, you’ll need all the advantages you can get. My way was setting up free Tumblr and WordPress blogs to advertise it and offer tech support.

You can totally find PCSr here: https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/pcsr/id590584453?mt=8

Also it contains real human blood.

Nailed it.


542057_10151620238379202_215416928_nHey, it’s me again the guy that runs this Blog … I’m happy to say that I’ve passed this app to the Had a Few Beers smart-phone application advisory board and they’ve agreed to test it out. Two friends bought the app and literally are using it right now (while they are moving) so we’re going to have a review unless they get too busy moving or something (the selfish bastards) and don’t write back.

The five mental stages of moving and why each of them suck …


We’re all moving, if only in the sense that the earth is spinning and that explains why most of the Facebook comments I read seem to come from someone who’s dizzy. It would also explain many of my own Facebook comments if beer had never been invented.

Thankfully beer was invented, so enough about that.

But I don’t mean that kind of moving.

I mean the kind of moving where you pack up all your filthy crap, put it in a truck and drive it to a new home.

Yeah, that kind of moving – the painful kind of moving.

I know there are many people out there who have moved more than I, but I’ve done my fair share of moving throughout the years and feel fully qualified to say, “moving sucks.”

To be very honest, I’ve have it easy. All the moves of my adult life, with the exception of one, were paid for via your hard-earned taxes. Thank you, America, you rock. Each and every move, either as a service member or as a government worker, has had professional movers associated with it. Strong men, sweating a lot, schlepping boxes of crap Dagmar hasn’t used since ever, into moving vans and then unloading them at the destination.

So to be very honest, some of you who move frequently and do it yourself have it much worse than I do.

But I’m still going to bitch and moan anyway because I can.

Genehmigung: Motiv: Umzugslift für den Möbeltr...

It’ll be like this, only with more sweaty eastern European men. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I think there are mental stages of moving. Honestly there are. At least for me there are. Maybe you just wake up one morning and yell out, “HOLY CRAP! HOW’D I GET INTO THIS NEW HOUSE?”

If you’re that person, I look up to you.

For me it’s all this:

  1. Denial: We’re not really moving, I know it SAYS we’re moving, but that’s like in the way distant future. Sure in a month stuff will be chaotic, but right now things are normal. Relax.
  2. Anger: To hell with this crap. I hate it. HATE IT. I used capital letters HATE IT!
  3. Painful acceptance: Fine, fuck it, we’re moving.
  4. The event: Move out day/Move in day
  5. Agony: Months and months of sheer pain and suffering that will follow.

So that’s a fun list isn’t it? Let’s dive right in and swim about in my pool filled with pain.


The month before the move, even though I know it’s going to happen, I completely and totally deny it. Part of my brain rebels against the reality of the move. Things are comfortable here at home. The curtains are hung on the windows the way Dagmar likes them, the pictures on the wall have been there so long they likely need to be dusted. And I know exactly where the confectionary sugar is stored in the kitchen.

That last bit is monumental because in just a few month’s time Dagmar will say the following again and again, “You don’t know where anything is do you? Jesus, do you even live here?” This will be uttered while I desperately check every drawer for the fourth time in a row for a spoon.

So yeah. I get why part of my brain rebels and say’s to me, “Relax. Things are okay for now.”


“GOD I’M TIRED OF THIS SHIT! Didn’t we just move into a new house like an hour ago? Why do we have to do it again so soon?” I think the anger part is really just a transition to the next painful acceptance phase, but it always cracks me up anyway.

“Damn it, I’m going to have to wash out the grill, take down all the pictures, patch up the holes, hide my extensive collection of 1980’s Madonna porn and figure out what to do with all these fucking plants! And who the hell brought these damned plants anyway? Aren’t most of them poisonous to cats? New fucking rule, no more plants ever!”

It’s a bunch of crap I tell you.

As if I’m shocked it occurs you know? I live and work in a field where moving is expected every three to five years. It’s so commonplace that everyone in my field accepts it. We all bitch about it, but only in roundabout ways. We’ve all become jaded too it.

Painful acceptance:

This phase occurs on a Saturday morning. It occurs usually after a few cups of coffee, typically at about 10 a.m. Its when I drag my, otherwise-happy ass off the couch and start the oh-so-painful process of doing things I don’t want to do.

Again, it’s all about taking things off the walls, rolling up the rugs, unhooking the stereo, deciding where we will hide the cat while the movers are in the house, hiding dead hookers, ensuring the toolbox is in the car and not on the moving van and a lot of other crap you don’t care about.

This phase brutally drills into my head the following fact: Weekends are about to suck. Gone, for at least four months are, weekends that are all about relaxing and chilling out. In their place is a tireless ordeal of moving, sizing, shopping and hanging …

The event:

This is the eye of the moving storm. The strange part that should be painful but really isn’t. When the movers are boxing up the cat and loading the kitchen’s full trashcan into the truck there isn’t much to do other than watch them. That’s really it. OK, I feed them, I usually tip them, but that’s pretty easy and otherwise it’s really pretty much a non-event.

While doing a door-to-door move it’s always the same crew so move in day is no different. Give them something to eat, take care of the boss and then start living in a cardboard forest.

When I poop in the morning, there will be boxes in the bathroom.

My life for the next several weeks, while not at work, will focus on dealing with boxes. Opening boxes, breaking down boxes, stacking boxes, unpacking and yes repacking boxes, moving boxes from room to room, from floor to floor.

I will dream of boxes simply because they cannot be avoided during waking hours.



Two or three months after we move into the new house the following will occur: I will be convinced that this weekend, FINALLY THIS WEEKEND, Dagmar and I can just chill out all day and all night both days.

I will be painfully incorrect in this assumption because one of the following events will take place.

Moving boxes Shortly after this photo was taken her husband stabbed her to death. Reason, inability to decide where the fucking towels go. (Photo credit: Meathead Movers)

  1. Everything in the living room is ‘wrong’ and needs to be moved to the third floor of the house. Once there a “decision” will be made by Dagmar that the things in the living room were actually correct in the living room after all and everything will have to be moved back down three flights of stairs.
  2. Ikea
  3. Every photo, painting, wall ornament – if it’s stuck to the wall its game – will have to be moved. Which means even though I just put away the cordless drill, the drill bits, the step ladder, the container with all the items needed to properly mount anything, I’m about to have to drag them back ….

So moving, it sucks. None of this says a damned thing about lack of Internet (which if you don’t hear from me for a while, that’s why) power, television and …

Man, I hate moving.