Who Moved My Goddamned Cheese (and Every Other Fucking Thing I Own)?

Remember that book, “Who Moved My Cheese?” About how we were supposed to not sweat the small stuff and just fucking relax already if, say, the bath towels were bunched up over the shower instead of hung up nicely on the designated bath towel rod for drying, because the rod allows for more surface area to be exposed to the air thereby speeding the drying process and reducing the chance of mildew. You know, we’d just chillax on that shit. Even though it’s SCIENCE.

Actually, the cheese is about the only thing I CAN find in the new house. I searched for Astrid’s sweatshirt on Monday until I was near tears, finally offering to buy a new one at K-Mart on the way to school. (Then I found it in her room later that afternoon. Surprise.).

I have no idea what is in any of the approximately 1,000 kitchen cabinets, which were apparently installed by – and I say this with nothing but affection for my husband’s people – drunken Irishmen. It’s a 50-50 shot which direction the cabinets open and I have not yet once opened a cabinet correctly on the first try. Doesn’t matter, since just random things are behind random doors anyway. It’s like “Let’s Make a Deal”, only if you pick the right door you “win” a plastic Yankees beer cup, or a spatula that was chewed up in the blender. I’m so glad we paid professionals to move those.

Basically, nothing is where it is supposed to be, and I am not a person who easily adjusts to a new normal. I keep chucking garbage from my desk to my left, where my wastebasket used to be in the old house but is no more, leaving a pile of trash in homage to my former office.

Astrid asked me if we could change the wall color from what she refers to as “Barf” and I said yes, we’d be painting, but first we want to move everything in and unpack a whole bunch of stuff so that when the painters come we’ll have to move everything again. It just makes more sense that way, I told her.

I was super-psyched about the gas fireplace since in our old home – let’s just call it our dream home, shall we? – we had a non-working fireplace. And the gas fireplace is certainly easy to flick on and off but weirdly it continues to heat and heat and heat, raising the temperature until the furniture spontaneously combusts and the silverware becomes molten. So we can only run it for five minute increments – just until the thermostat reads 86 or so and we are walking around in our underwear with the back door open. It’s cozy.

I’m trying to be upbeat about leaving behind the dream home with the 47 windows to live in a cave, and leaving behind the funky walkable-to-eccentric-West-Asheville neighborhood for a neighborhood that reminds me of this:

It’s not just me. I was showing the house to my friend Lisa and I said, “You know what this neighborhood reminds me of?” And before I could answer, she cuts me off and says, “Edward Scissorshands,” which was so NOT cool because I can say it but nobody else can. Unless they WANT ME TO CRY. Because I will. And have. I’m wondering if they prescribe Pez dispensers filled with Klonopin because that would be totally handy about now. Or candy necklaces only the “candy” would be Xanax. It would be like a morphine pump without all the tubes and IV connectors. Portable. Convenient. I’m onto something here.

The only good switch-up in the move is that I now have claimed the soft side of the mattress. We bought a mattress a few years back at one of those places where they can slam together two different mattresses into one so that each partner can have the firmness he or she desires. They have you lie on a “sensor” (cough, fake, cough) for like thirty seconds to determine your optimum softness. Matt accepted his result but of course I fought the man. No way, I said, do I want this marshmallowy soft bed you are pushing on me. I like a firm mattress, I told the man. So I dialed up to the red zone. Which turned out to be one step down from “plywood plank”, which I’ve slept on – without complaint (cough, lie, cough) – for years. And in the new house, the soft side appeared on “my side” of the bed and Matt couldn’t turn his neck for three days but now he thinks he’s working out the kinks on the hard side of the mattress. I offered to swap back, sort of half-heartedly, but he is being all martyr-y about it – like I never was when it was my side, I promise you that. Anyway, he appears to be sticking it out, so bonus.

I think I could get used to this place.

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Hooking up with the Yeah, Write blogging challenge!

About The Reedster

I avoid actual pants as much as possible.
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41 Responses to Who Moved My Goddamned Cheese (and Every Other Fucking Thing I Own)?

  1. Nichole says:

    Holy moley, it DOES look like the Edward Scissorhands neighborhood! (I’m not stating that. I’m just agreeing with you.)

    • The Reedster says:

      Yeah that isn’t allowed either, unfortunately. You have to “try to make me feel better.” No, Cindy, it doesn’t look anything like the Edward Scissorshands neighborhood,” you might say.

  2. Sean J says:

    This is one of those instances where I want to “Like” it, because it’s well written, funny, and I’m thankful for you sharing it but I don’t want to feel like I’m enabling or encouraging the wrongness of the situation. As if my action could somehow further the pain and suffering? I think? Butterfly effect? Keep opening those cabinets, eventually you’ll find All The Things, I know you will. I have faith in you!

  3. iasoupmama says:

    Oh, man… Moving sucks. Especially if Johnny Dell doesn’t show up wearing black leather and lavender make-up. Hang in there!

  4. Kerstin says:

    I especially love the ending of your post. After you gotten everything off your chest and I expected something like “I’m moving back to my old house” you nonchalantly just throw out there that the place is growing on you :)
    I do hope your neighborhood is not as creepy as the picture…

  5. mfkennedy says:

    Would you rather I just leave the clothes hanging on the shower curtain rod when I take a shower? I can do that? (and little else until my morning coffee) love you

  6. After a lifetime of skipping around the country, it’s comforting to know that I may never have to move again.

  7. Jen LC says:

    oh the cabinet doors. that’s just rude. i wish i lived closer, so i could come over and we could clean out ALL of them and put back just the good stuff and get it all sorted out.

    i’m sending you a long-distance hug instead.
    and a klonopin pez.

  8. I had that gas fireplace growing up. It melted the socks I put in front of it to warm up to the carpet.

  9. Oh my god, I need a Xanax necklace, stat. Since my move two weeks ago to our new house, I have been drowning in a never ending pool of anxiety. And boxes. And dust from an unfinished kitchen. I wish I could ask who moved my cheese, only I don’t have cheese because I don’t have a kitchen yet so I don’t have a refrigerator. I’m pretty sure that when it comes to moving there is no small stuff. There is only big stuff. And we should be able to sweat it all we want. So there.

  10. melisalunt says:

    See? I knew you could do it. And you brought the FUNNY, even if it might not seem that funny to you RIGHT NOW. Take heart in knowing your readers are amused. P.S. I was so intrigued by Asheville that I had to google more about it after reading this. Upside: you may be able to submit this post to the Asheville Visitor’s Bureau? No?

  11. Cathy says:

    From someone who has moved 50 something times as an adult I absolutely get this!! Keep the soft side!

  12. I don’t think I’ve moved enough in my life yet to really feel your pain, but I can definitely sense all the frustration with the changes! Our house is old (like 1800s old) and creepy and creaky. But I would miss it a lot if we ever did leave! Good luck with the adjustments. Speaking of which, get a chiropractor on speed dial for your hubby. ;) ;)

  13. Michelle says:

    It’s just a part of your journey, not the end. Maybe this place has something really important to give you (like financial security!) and when you eventually move on you’ll be grateful to it.

  14. Gina says:

    You had me with the first sentence and I laughed my way through the whole thing. Asheville is beautiful and you traded up for Scissorhand Land! That is exactly what that pic looks like! Score on the mattress. Things are making the turn (fingers crossed). And I read “Who Moved My Cheese”. I hate when people move my shit!

  15. This is the Reedster gold you promised, no question.

  16. Such an awesome post! Any move is SO hard in the beginning! I’m still missing a few item that are probably lost-in-some-box-somewhere from our cross-country move two years ago. Your awesome sense of humor will carry you through! Glad you got your side of the bed back.

  17. Love the humor here–sorry for the hard adjustment. Are you still IN Asheville? I have friends there so knew what you meant when you talked about the area your old house was in…I wasn’t sure if now Asheville is also home to the Edward Scissorhands community neighborhoods now as well…

  18. Vanessa says:

    I’ve never been able to figure out people who don’t get the towel thing. And I’m never moving. I would be a basket case and make everyone around me miserable if I couldn’t find what I needed.

  19. Susan Tomlinson says:

    Two words: label maker

  20. Birdman says:

    When I saw the title of this, I knew it was my favourite. You know I love the cursing.

  21. KeAnne says:

    Moving is a bitch! And I think your neighborhood is quaint. You can call it vintage, right? See? Totally in style. You’re practically a hipster. And the idea of the candy necklace made out of xanax? GENIUS!

  22. Nice work on the mattress side switch. When we finally get a place after trying to sell our house on and off for four years, I’ll open boxes and the contents will literally be a surprise because I will have forgotten I owned them. I’m seriously banking on, like, hundreds of blog posts about it.

  23. outlawmama says:

    Oh so good. The Klonipen pez dispenser and the sweatshirt. I may die in this house I don’t have to deal with what you are describing. Frankly, I am too weak hearted for it.

  24. One of the things I love about your writing is you do not ever come off as complainy, always funny. I hope it gets easier. I think moving, particularly when children are involved (and you have a job or really any thing else to do at the same time as moving) is one of the most awful things. You brought back memories of my last move, only two years ago. Hang in there!

    • The Reedster says:

      Wow, I thought this was really shallow and ranty. Glad for you, at least, it didn’t come across this way. Maybe I’ll do a “bright side” post soon. Or not.

      • Michelle Longo says:

        Not shallow at all. If it’s hard on you, then that’s it. You are allowed to feel disappointed or stressed or whatever, even if other people have it worse. Change is difficult, even if its good change. And when it’s less than good change, you should not feel like you can’t say so. (I have a bug up my ass on this one, sorry for the book-comment.)

  25. Erica M says:

    This kind of reminds me of when I first lost my corporate job and could no longer afford the fancy 8-seater (!) car I’d bought on that salary. I am still mourning the loss of the rear entertainment system, the wide exterior that could handle four bikes on a rack and the room to fit more than 2 Pygmys inside. But we do what we have to do and just because I can never ever find my stupid new Kia Optima in the parking lot on the first try (every other white compact car in the world looks just like it), I do understand how fortunate I am. Did I mention I no longer have my after-market nav system with iPod integration and Bluetooth? The Kia does have a radio, so there’s that.

  26. And you’re even funny after one of the biggest life stresses. I’d say that means you deserve the soft side of the mattress.

  27. We are moving soon too. Actually, that’s overstating our case. We’ve sold, but we can’t seem to iron out the details of our purchase, so we will be homeless soon. If you find any spare blankets in any of your 1000 cabinets, please send them. Everybody hates change; it’s not just you. Everything about moving is horrible.

  28. soynailcider says:

    I made the mistake of changing sides of the bed with my hubby 3 years ago, Now he will not change back. haha.
    Sorry..that was the first thing I thought of too when I saw that picture. ;)

  29. Is it bad that I got the giggles at the homage to your old office, then couldn’t stop chuckling ’til the end? I mean… moving is a big fat pain in the arse. But your writing style tickled my funnybone nonetheless.

    Hope you find your groove soon! (Or move to a less freakishly cookie cutter neighborhood. Without a fire-breathing dragon fireplace.) ;)

  30. I laughed, I cried, it was better than cats. Or my cats anyway. We’re talking of moving in the spring. I’m considering just burning it down and starting over (take the cats out first). I fear for your trashcan throwing ways though. 15 or so years ago we lived in a different apartment and I stuck a little clock to the wall to the right of the bathroom mirror. The next apartment, the next apartment, and the one we’re in now, I keep finding myself squinting and peering to the right side of the mirror to find out what time it is in the mornings. You can move the cheese but you can’t break the habits.

  31. funny funny funny stuff. I live in an Edward Scissorhands neighborhood too. Sigh

  32. Marney says:

    I have thoroughly enjoyed reading your blog. This post had me crying with laughter. You are so on point with both the cabinets and fireplace. Still miss my old home and hood, but mainly the great people that surrounded me. Glad you got rid of the polka dotted “barf” colored paint! It really did need to go. Hope you do enjoy that backyard view, it is breathtaking this time of year. #oldhomeowner

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