5 Signs That You Might Be A Stage 5 Clinger

If you follow me on twitter, you may know that Juliette, Allie and I kind of blasted everyone's feed for over an hour last night. Oops, sorry about that. Not really.

Our conversation started because of Allie's amazing 'online dating' posts where she shows some of the amazing/creepy/strange people that she finds in her online dating adventures. This is one of my favorite series of posts (EVER) and I felt the need to spam her with eleventy billion pictures that I've found while browsing Plenty of Fish. Poor Juliette got spammed too - but she secretly loved it, I promise.

During my searching process I came across a few VERY interesting profile write-ups. There were a few guys that I knew were Stage 5 Clingers RIGHT AWAY.

Guys, if you're reading this: Don't be THAT guy.

I don't want to read in your profile that you're "actively looking for the love of your life". No.
One guy said he needs to find his 'forevership'.
One guy was saying that he wants to find a girl to spend all of his time with...
No. Just, no.


Am I the only one who finds this off-putting?
It just seems like 'too much' for a profile..

Do guys (or girls) honestly think it's okay to put that out there for complete strangers to read? Does anyone actually respond to their messages? Are there other people out there who are actively looking for this relationship too? Will they meet the love of their life on POF?

These are the types of questions that run through my mind when I read these profiles. It just leaves me with a lot of confusion. But mainly, more than anything, it leaves me with one thought: You're a Stage 5 Clinger.


There is just TOO MUCH crazy happening in this picture. One week, that's all it took for her to be hooked.
Seriously though, you need to run for the hills bro.

I thought I should come up with a list, you know.. to be helpful. If you don't know whether or not you're a stage 5 clinger, I hope I can help you figure this out.

5 Signs That You Might Be A Stage 5 Clinger

1. If you tell someone on a first date that you could spend the rest of your life with them..

you're a Stage 5 Clinger.

2. If you only get 1 text reply for every 10-15 messages you send..

you're a Stage 5 Clinger.

3. If you start picking out wedding colors or kids names after dating for a month or less..

you're a Stage 5 Clinger.

4. If you know where the person you're 'dating' currently is because you follow them on Facebook/twitter/Instagram/foursquare and stalk them obsessively..

you're a Stage 5 Clinger.

5. If you're constantly calling this person and they're not answering, so you go to their house and wait for them on the front step until they come home..

you're a Stage 5 Clinger.

10 Reasons Why The Backstreet Boys Rock...

Guys, Guys, Guys...


After I wrote yesterday's blog post about 8 Things that I learned from O-Town, I received an e-mail from my dad. He didn't think that my O-Town list was good enough, and he was insulted that I didn't talk about BSB.
Geez, Dad, I'm so sorry that you're upset about my choice.
I had no idea that you had an opinion about which boy band from my childhood was better.

Guys, I have no other words... I'll just leave this to my dad:


I now know that this is the kind of thing that dad will say to my kids.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

10 Reasons Why the Backstreet Boys Rock … like nobody else

OK, since my daughter wrote her very disturbing blog about O-Town, I'd like respond by sharing my top-ten reasons why BSB (Backstreet Boys to those less ignorant) make O-Town look like a bunch of dweebs
(Dad, I don't think anyone says dweebs anymore):
FYI, Dad numbered these himself



1. 10. They are the original O-Town band … and were so a full 7 years before those wanna-bees called O-Town.

2. 9. They are the MOST successful boy-band in history … data to justify this? 130 million albums …. But really, they’re a vocal harmony band first, the boy-thing was just a passing stage while they actually just happened to be BOYS.

3. 8. A.J., aka, “Bone” … nuff said (Whaaat? Dad, who told you his nickname is Bone?)

4. 7. Collectively, they are the love child of Boyz-II-Men and New Kids on the Block …. You gottta love great lineage (hey, the horserace industry says that the 3 most important things are: pedigree – pegdigree – pedigree). Just saying

5. 6. The Unbreakable Tour …. Absolutely the best tour of any musician in human history (well, there was this one English minstrel in the 13th century, but let’s keep it current). (Good job on the random fact, dad. I like it.)

6. 5. NKOTBSB … the coolest acronym ever. (hahaha)

7. 4. They are secretly adored by Queen Elizabeth, Piers Morgan and Jim Belushi (I know because I’m part of a very exclusive fan club of famous people who love them). (Why am I just hearing about this now?)

8. 3. 20 years and going strong.

9. 2. I Want it that Way … seriously, can ANYBODY listen to this song and not feel driven to flick your bic and hold it high while you sway.

10. 1. Everybody …. Could be the national anthem for any music savvy nation. (I'm legitimately at a loss for words here.)



Since dad seems to have such a huge love for Everybody, that is what we are going to #backthatazzup with the fabulous Ms. Whitney today for some #backthatazzupFriday

Hump Day Random Ramblings

Happy Hump Day

Since it's hump day, I'm taking that as an excuse for a blog post of pure randomness today.

• I hate country music.

I've always hated it. I won't listen to more than 5 seconds before changing the radio/tv/youtube to something anything else. Until recently. I blame Ms. Yoga Pants for making me like love Wagon Wheel (Darius Rucker's version). Ever since I started liking hating country less, I've been finding more songs that I can tolerate. Also, I loved Blake and his team performing on The Voice last night. Weird. Who am I right now?




• I love omelets.

Probably a little too much. I will have 4-5 omelets a week, easily. Weird to most people, I know - but I could have much worse cravings and food habits. Because of my love for omelets, I have become somewhat of an omelet-making expert. It happens. But not always apparently.
Last night, I actually messed up big time - but so what? It was still delicious, and that's all that I care about, which brings me to my next point...


• It's okay to mess up an omelet sometimes.

Whoop, there it is...



Despite how sad and pathetic this little omelet looked, I think I turned it into a decent meal.



Just call me Dr. Princess Faith Alexandra-Martha-Stewart-Rachel-Ray.


• It's totally okay to face-swap a picture with your grandfather.

Oh papa. I love you dearly, but we shouldn't swap faces - especially when I'm a One-Year old child...
If papa was still alive, he would have loved this. He'd be amazed by the technology, and he would laugh at how stupid we look. I miss him dearly, but this makes me smile.


• Don't take your contacts out after you cut a jalapeno.

Just don't do it. Luckily, it wasn't as severe as it could have been (my friend Jennie did this once and it was brutal). I'm making a mental note for future jalapeno-cutting: I will take my contacts out first and wear glasses the rest of the day. No joke. I washed my hands probably four-five, maybe even six times before I took my contacts our - TWO HOURS LATER. But that's beside the point, and I'm not bitter about it. Just trust me on this one, fellow contact-wearers.


• Google Maps has the best images and directions.


Wagon Wheel lyrics directions. Yes.


Am I a bad person for laughing at this? Probably.
My mom is probably disappointed in my life choices now - sorry mom.


• It's totally okay to waste time looking at pictures online do some 'blog research'.

Seriously though. I'm going to leave you with a few gems that I came across on the interwebz last night and I just had to share them with all of you fine people. You're welcome.


This is cute AND funny at the same time. That makes it a winner in my books.


I giggled over this one for far too long, I'm sure.


Clearly he shouldn't be drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade. That's the problem. Obvs.

Last but definitely not last. This is the funniest tweet that I've read in a long time. Thank you, Robin Williams.


OMG. I'm dying.

Oh The Weather Outside Is Frightful..

Happy Tuesday, dear blog world.

As most if you know by now, from reading his guest blog posts, that my dad was a meteorologist for 30+ years. I say was, because he recently retired... that lucky duck.

Growing up in a household with a meteorologist I was brain washed told that any forecast that didn't come from Environment Canada was wrong. To me, 'The Weather Network' sucks - but I suppose I have my opinion is bias.

Because I'm such a weirdo, I will often compare various forecasts to Environment Canada's forecast just to see f they were 'close' or see if I can trust what their forecast says. They're usually 'pretty' close but just for piece of mind (and so that I'm not disowned by my dad) I will always reference EC's website.

At work we have this webpage that basically works like 'intranet' meaning its only for internal use in the company. It's called the Portal and it's where all of our documents/files are kept. On the Portal's homepage they have the top new articles, stock info, and (as I'm sure you've guessed) the weather...

This lovely little weather widget is run by a company called 'Accu-Weather'. Oh my goodness. Their forecasts, oh, their forecasts. They are horrible. But horribly funny - so it's fine.

Over the past couple of months, I've taken screen caps of a few forecasts that I've found slightly amusing. Oh, in case you're wondering, I'm not the only one at work who has noticed how outrageous these forecasts are.


'Breezy with rain' - so helpful.
'Cloudy with a little rain' - so should I just bring a little umbrella?
'Mostly cloudy, rain ending' - when is the rain ending? Will I need my umbrella at 4:00pm when I'm off work?
Yep, these are legit forecasts. Not so bad, but okay... we'll look at some more.


'Mostly cloudy, showers around' - What does this even mean?!
Also, note that they use the same icon for 'Clear and Chilly', 'Partly Cloudy', and 'Mainly Clear'.


'A Passing Shower or Two' - what does that even mean? How long does one shower last? Can I really expect there to be "two" showers?
'Most cloudy, showers around' - we've already covered how I felt about this one.
'Clouds breaking' - looks like it's still raining to me...


'Partly Cloudy with a Shower' - okay, just one shower? Umbrella? or just a jacket with a hood?
'Partly Cloudy' - Looks partly sunny to me.


'Partly Cloudy' - Uh, if it's just cloudy, why is it raining in the picture?
'A Stray Evening Shower' - Okay, so it's a "stray" shower? Does that mean it doesn't have a home?
'Cloudy With Rain Tapering Off' - Tapering off? Okay..


'Occasional rain and drizzle' - Okay, so this must call for an 'occasional' umbrella - right?


'A Shower Early; Partly Cloudy' - A shower early? Early in the morning? Early afternoon? Early evening?
'Becoming Cloudy' - Uh, okay... when? When is it Becoming Cloudy.
'Cloudy with a Little Rain' - How much is a little rain? How much cloud do I have before the rain starts?

Okay, so maybe I'm a little crazy for posting so many screenshots - but this is what I read at work every day, it makes me laugh. When I first showed these pictures to my roommate, she suggested that the forecast was being done by a 70-year old man sitting on his front porch, looking at the sky. Yep, Amanda, that sounds about right to me. Haha.

Also, in other news. For the month of May, I've decided to join this team in losing weight:

scared shhh-less

I've debated telling this story on my blog for a few weeks because I didn't want to upset the 'culprit' of this horrific incident.
However, I hung out with him on Friday night and got him nice and drunk, and he happily agreed to me writing this... so here we go.



Have you ever been this terrified?
I'm talking, full blown, 'almost' panic attack because you're so freaked out? No? Just me? Okay, moving on...

Well today I'm going to tell you about the time that I was scared shhh-less.

A slight back-story: When Amanda and I first moved to Vancouver we lived in a huge 'shared' house with 7 or 8 other people. There was never a time when there wasn't at least 'one' person home. It came in handy when you were feeling lonely and looking for someone to hang out with. Most Friday and Saturday nights we all hung out at the local bar a few blocks from our house.

This one particular night I wasn't feeling too great and I wasn't really up for hanging out at a bar. My agenda was more along the lines of: browse pinterest, play on the interwebz, and sleep. Sleep, sleep, eat, and sleep some more.



All of my roommates went out on this one particular night. I honestly think it was the only time the entire time I lived in that house that I was actually alone in the house. As I had already planned ahead of time, I hung out by myself and had a grande old time. I started to get sleepy and decided to turn on Netflix. Once the movie was over, around 1:30am, I crawled into bed. I shut off my lights and snuggled up under the blankets to fall asleep, as I would normally do.

At the exact moment that my eyes closed, I heard something in the living room, outside my door. I lifted my head slightly off my pillow to try and hear the sound better - nothing. No sound at all. 'Faith, you're losing it. You're just hearing sounds' I say to myself.

BAM!
My door flies open.



I lay completely still in my bed with my eyes glued on my door. All of the lights in the hallway & living room are off and all I can see is a silhouette of a person standing in my doorway staring at me. At this point I'm literally paralyzed with fear. I honestly couldn't have moved even if I wanted to. In my mind, I truly thought I was about to die - this was it for me.
Faith Bowyer, died at the young age of 23 from a murderer breaking into her house.
I'm assuming this is what would be on my gravestone, or something.

Back to the story... I lay there, paralyzed with fear, staring my silhouetted murderer in the eye. It was really dark, and I couldn't exactly stare him in the eye, but I gave the best 'leave now' expression that I could manage (despite the fact that presumably he couldn't see my face either).
I digress...

So what have we got so far?
Alone. Spooky sound. Door swings open. Murderer/silhouette standing in my doorway.
Right.
So the silhouette stands in my doorway for a moment, stumbles 2-3 steps into my room, he looks around, then walks back out of my room... slamming the door behind him.
Cue my heart pounding/racing about 8,000x per minute. I count to ten in my head (it seemed like a good number), then I slowly and quietly climbed out of my bed, and tiptoed over to my door, locking the bolt. I then ran back to my bed, switched on my bedside lamp, crawled under my sheets and blanket - up to my eyeballs, and stared at the door with my cellphone in my hand.



I immediately text Amanda: 'Are you home?!?' No response. 'Amanda... seriously. Are you home? Did you bring someone home with you? Did either of you just come into me room?' Again, nothing. I then text Ambrose: 'Ambrose, are you home?' *Nothing* 'Did you just come into my room?' *Nothing*

I proceed to text two of my other roommates and nobody is answering. Of course not, because it's 1:30am and they're all out partying and having the time of their lives, while I'm at home with a murderer, about to be killed.
Don't worry guys, I didn't die.

I proceed to lay in my bed and go through various scenarios in my head.

• I could jump out of my ground floor window and run to the bar where my roommates are.
• I could call 911 and catch the murderer.
• I could lay in my warm bed, being terrified and doing nothing about it.
  

Obviously I opted for the last option.



Let me briefly explain my reasoning for doing nothing when I was about to die. I like 'scary' movies. I've watched a lot of them. The two people who always die first are: the fat ones (hey, that's me), and the dumb girls who walk around in the darkness saying 'hello?'. I had NO desire to die, so I stayed in my 'now-locked' room.

I think I probably fell asleep around 4:00am or so, and woke up around 7:00am. Having the worst night of my life, I needed some tea to start off my morning. I threw on my slippers, and headed upstairs to the kitchen. I was worried that I was going to find either: A. all of my roommates dead, or B. the entire house robbed because I neglected to defend it against the intruder. Luckily, neither of these scenarios took place. Instead, I found my lovely roommate, Jenya, in the kitchen cooking breakfast. As soon as I strolled into the kitchen, looking like someone who got no sleep, Jenya immediately started laughing... Our conversation went a little something like this:

J: *laughs* Did you have an interesting night?
Me: Ugh, an interestingly bad night. Why are you laughing?
J: *still laughing* I heard that Ambrose came in your room last night.
Me: WHAT?! That was Ambrose?
*Cue Ambrose sheepishly walking into the kitchen*
Me: Ambrose... did you come into my room last night?
A: I am so sorry, I think I did.
Me: What do you mean you THINK you did?
A: I came home from the bar, pissed (drunk), and blacked out. I remember going to bed in my room and that's it. Then, this morning, I wake up in the *empty* room next to yours... naked. I had no idea WTF happened. I came back to my room and saw a few missed texts from you asking if I was home and if I came into your room.

Friends, this is where I possibly slapped him one or ten times. After my night of anxiety, panic attacks, extreme fear, it turns out that it was my sweetest roommate who accidentally came into my room... naked.

For the record, to this day, I have NOT let him live this down... nor will I ever let him live this down. I have the pleasure of making numerous jokes about his lack of manhood since I 'saw' him naked. (sorry mom and dad)

Thanks for being a good sport and letting me tell this story, Ambrose. Despite the fact that I thought I was going to die, I'm glad that I have this hilarious story to share. Love you!

Happy Tuesday, friends.

Retirement Ramblings Part II

Happy Hump Day!

I know I told you all last week that dad was going to be posting for my once a month, or every few weeks... but I really felt like this story needed to be shared sooner rather than later. This is a situation that happened to my dad in the Spring of 2010. He sent this EXACT e-mail to everyone in my family and I remember laughing so hard and forwarding it to a few of my colleagues immediately. Enjoy!

Take it away Daddy!

*P.S. Sorry for the ridiculous gif's dad, I thought they added a little pizzazz*

I thought I'd share a workplace adventure that took place in April 2012. Here is a post-adventure email that I sent to the facilities manager at my workplace.

..............................
Date: April, 2012
From: Peter Bowyer
To: Everyone

Subject: Washroom Debacle

While I had noticed the modifications that have been made to the men's washroom, I had never taken particular care to observe the subtle details of the workings of those changes.

As in dozens (hundred?) of times before, I entered the washroom and observed that my entering triggered the interior lights to come on. The purpose of my visit required the use of a stall. While involved in a spell of brief contemplation I observed that the main lights went out, clearly as a result of a timer. No worries as the emergency lighting was still on. This did not afford much lighting in the stall, however, much lightning was not required.

While engaged in contemplation someone else came into the washroom, thereby, enabling the full washroom lighting once again. His (I assume it was a male) sojourn was brief and he left. Within a brief period the main lightning extinguished, leaving me in the once-again dim glow of the emergency lighting.

Apparently, my "contemplation" period exceeded the scheduled tolerance because while I was still in-stalled, the emergency lights also timed out (unfortunately, I wasn't looking at my watch to know what the end of the tolerance window was). As well, since I chose to not take my blackberry with me in order to enjoy a purer form of contemplation, I was in pitch blackness … no blackberry light was available to come to my rescue.

Having been somewhat observant in the weeks leading up to today's adventure, I had noticed a device in the upper corner of the washroom, and had wondered if it was either a motion or sound detector. I clapped my hands; it was not a sound detector. Blackness prevailed.

Unfortunately, I was a particularly undignified stage of my business rendering me incapable of standing in order to wave my arms to test if the device was a motion detector. Waving my feet out of the stall door was ineffective and my conclusion was that perhaps motion needed to happen at a higher level. So, in the dark, I extracted a toilet paper roll from the newly installed dispenser (one which I had never closely examined … so the extraction was a non-trivial process in the dark). Once extracted, I tossed it in the air in such a way that it would trip the potential motion-detector, and then fall straight back into my awaiting arms (in the dark). Here's where the adventure occurred … it was the only roll in the stall … and my stage of business demanded that I not lose hold of this particular roll.

The story had a happy ending because, sure enough, the device was a motion detector. The ascending roll turned on the lights in time for me to see the descending roll so that I could confidently catch it. Happily, everything came out all right (pun intended).

Lessons learned?

Take your BB with you to the washroom even if you seek pure contemplation … you never know when a little light will come in handy.

Study the toilet paper dispenser carefully in the light in the event that you need to make a roll-extraction in the dark.

Practice throwing toilet paper rolls so that they go straight up and come straight back down.

Observe multiple sequences of the twin-lightning timers in order to know confidently what the windows of tolerance (opportunity) actually are.

Train yourself to complete all business within those windows of opportunity.

Work is never a dull place if you're open to adventure! But I do wonder if our search for efficiency has gone just a tad too far?

why you should always bring back-ups...

Happy Friday, lovelies!

Sorry I wasn't around here yesterday - I wasn't feeling well and decided not to play on the interwebz.

Today I've decided to share another life story with you all, because... as you all know - I have no shame.

This week I had my annual review with my boss - I decided that I'd like to look nice for this meeting, and opted to wear a dress. {Side note about me, until this past year, I haven't owned nor have I worn a dress since my grade 12 prom, before that - grade 9 grad, grade 6 grad, etc.} Anyway... this past year I bought not only one dress, but two dresses... and a skirt. I don't know who I am these days - but I like feeling a bit 'girlier'. Okay, so I'm totally distracted... let's get back to the story:

So on Tuesday I had my review {at 12:30pm}. I wore a black dress, pink sweater, and black panty hose. I have three pairs of panty hose - one pair that I've worn about 7 or 8 times, and two brand new pairs. I debated wearing a new pair that morning, but ended up just wearing the ones that were already open. So I finish getting ready, leave the house, and head to work. Everything is going well - in fact it's dandy. I got some lovely compliments on my outfit, and everything seemed right in the world.

Here is said outfit:

At about 10:00am I needed to pee {sorry for sharing, but it's part of the story}. I head to the washroom, do my business, and that's that. As I'm pulling up my panty hose, my nail snagged on the front/inside of my left thigh. I curse under my breath and make a mental note to be careful not to snag it any further so I don't get a nasty run. As I'm heading out of the washroom, my clumsy self dropped the washroom key on the ground. I bent down to pick up the key and felt the little snag quickly become a hole. You see, I'm really not graceful... so I didn't bend down in a ladylike way {I clearly forgot I was wearing a dress}. I stand up, key in hand, and head back over to the mirror to check out the damage I had just done - I pulled up my dress {only just a little bit - don't get so excited} and saw that I did in fact have a hole.
Great. Aint nobody got time for that - right, Sweet Brown?



I head back to my desk and 'discreetly' sit down gently so that I don't make the hole worse. I glance at the clock and see that it's 10:05 - I still have 2.5 hours to go until my review and I need to make sure that this hole doesn't turn into a bad situation. After about 30 minutes of sitting at my desk in an awkward position so I wouldn't destroy the panty hose {yep, I'm weird, I know}, I completely forget that I have a hole and I cross my leg under me {side note: this is how I typically sit at my desk}. As soon as I do this, my heart stops, and I remember the little hole... which as you can now guess - is a massive gaping hole. I quickly get up, run to the washroom to examine the new damage. Friends, it was bad, like really bad. Like, I shouldn't even be admitting this, kind of bad. I don't know what to do at this point. I don't have any time to go shopping and buy a new pair of panty hose before my review, and to be honest - I didn't shave that morning {hey, I was wearing knee-high boots, and panty hose, so I pulled the lazy girl move and skipped the extra 5 minutes in the shower} so having bare legs wasn't an option.

At this point, I consult with my friend/colleague, Jennie. I explain the situation... she laughs... a lot, and then examines the damage. She assures me that nobody can see the run below my skirt line unless they are looking for it. I breathe a sigh of relief and remain seated for the next hour or so until my review.

As I'm getting up from my desk to head to my manager's office at review time, I smash my knee on the corner of my desk...I think you know where this is going. The hole got bigger yet again. I quickly pulled the hem of my dress down and headed into the meeting. I sat as still as a I could, and managed to not stretch the hole any further.

By this point, I didn't really care about replacing my panty hose since my meeting was over and I only had to get through a few more hours. I won't go into any more detail about the rest of my afternoon... but I will tell you that by the time I got home, the size of the hole was outrageous. I had to laugh. I don't know how I managed it, friends. Honestly, I got a lot of strange looks on the bus - and I know people were judging me... but I just didn't care. No embarrassment for this girl.

This is the end of my story and, friends, I learned a great lesson - always bring a back-up pair of panty hose when you have an important event.

* One last side note - I tried to google 'panty hose tear gif' - oh my word, I truly am naive to think that this would be an innocent gif... I got a lot of porn on my monitor that I didn't bargain for. Do yourself a favor and don't google it. *

Have a fantastic weekend!

Retirement Ramblings Part I

Happy Hump Day lovelies!

My dad sent me an e-mail last week - now that he is newly retired, he has a little bit more time on his hands to do the things he never used to be able to do. He told me that he read all of my blog posts and loved everything that I had written so far (aww, thanks daddy) - he then asked if he could write a guest blog post. Of course I immediately said yes - and then we decided that he would do a guest blog post at least once a month. He's got a ton of funny stories to share from his 30+ years working for Environment Canada.

Without further adieu, here is dad's first ever blog post:

Spreadsheets Tell You the Ugly Truth

I love spreadsheets.

Seriously, I’m a spreadsheet guy. Call it what you will: quirkiness; misguided interest; signs of a misspent youth; character flaw; or just plain lame. I love spreadsheets. While others engage in hobbies like sports, gambling, knitting, reading, driving, and movie-going, I play with spreadsheets.
More on this later.

So at the beginning of each year the municipal tax office sends me my property tax assessment. This includes a statement of what they believe to be the retail value of my house as well as the assessed value for tax purposes. They swear (and have done for the 3 decades we have owned houses) that there is no link between property tax and house assessment. They seriously must think we’re idiots. OF COURSE there is a link. Duh!

Anyway, we just got our assessment and I was, well, shocked … in an ecstatic kind of way. I know what we paid for the house … and with some mental arithmetic (not math … just arithmetic) I determined that, if they were right, then our assets had increased by $145,300 in just 8½ years. Wahoo! That’s an impressive average gain of just over $17,000 per year. I imagined myself trying to build up a savings account at that rate. I imagined having a savings account at all.

Now I’m an optimist. Not a goofy Pollyanna kind of optimist, but a results-based optimist. The difference between the two is that a results-based optimist is one who believes that things can and will get better, but he believes that while accepting the stark reality of the world in which he lives. I don’t look at the world through rose-coloured glasses. My career as a science guy has bred into me a healthy respect for data … and data are neither positive nor negative … they are just data. And where there are data, there is a grand use for spreadsheets.

I decided to put my spreadsheet hobby to use and create an elegantly simple construction of a cells and formulae that would calculate for me the reality (the truth) of my newfound assets, after weighing in the not-so-hidden liabilities inevitable when choosing a house over an apartment. We begin with my mortgage payments, averaging about $1200/month since we bought our house … a price that is comparable to the rent of a decent 2/3-bedroom apartment with underground parking. With the monthly mortgage payments swapping out for the rent, I pondered what other costs there have been that were unique to owning my house … costs that would have never arisen had we been renting an apartment. Turns out there were a few, all of which I fired into the spreadsheet.

The first one that came to mind was the water heater which chose to burst on December 22 … yes 3 days before Christmas … which set us back $740 to replace. If we had been in an apartment we would have never seen that cost. Next I thought about the $4,169 that we spent 18 months earlier to replace the furnace when it had given out. And of course that quickly reminded me of the $8,263 and $9,335 that we spent only a year before that to replace the roof and windows, respectively. Now I was on a roll: there was the $5,647 for new appliances since moving in and $1,800 for replacing a couple of those already (they just don’t make stuff like they used to); there was the $12,000 to turn an unfinished basement into fully finished; and of course the $10,000 in other renovations and home improvements along the way (paint, flooring and counter-tops aren’t cheap).



Phew … my profits were vanishing before my eyes. That’s when I started thinking about the routine stuff that an apartment dweller would never see, such as the $4,800 on lawn care that I’ve coughed up in the 8.5 years, not to mention the $33,600 in property taxes that my municipal government dogmatically declares is unconnected to my property value. Then my wife Debbie said, “and don’t forget the extra costs for power, oil and water that we pay compared to those lucky apartment people!” Crap! Even if I guestimated a monthly utility for apartment dwellers to be $150, my total costs for just those 3 “amenities” EXCEEDS theirs by another $25,249. I was quickly becoming a lapsed optimist. That’s when the dark side got hold of me and I started nickel-and-diming my “good fortune” to the point where I estimated that I’ve likely spent $800 in additional gas because of the idling in my driveway each year while I clear the ice and snow from my car windshield … something that underground parking would negate.

The final bit of reality hit when it occurred to me that in order to realize any of these “assets” I would need to sell my house in order to liberate said-equity. MLS listing fees are 6% (sure, you can do better, but experience says that the quickest and best sales come with the benefits of those fees). I intentionally withheld my assessed “retail value” until now: $400,100. The 6% fees on a full-price sale would be $24,006.

If you have taken the trouble to use even an abacus (you don’t need a fancy spreadsheet for this) you already know that my net profit on the house sits not at $145,300 … but rather, at an incredibly depressing $4,931!

Are you kidding me? That’s what I get for the 510 hours of renovations that I have personally put into the house … and the 300 hours of lawn care (35 hrs/year) … and the 120 hours of snow shoveling (15 hrs/year) … and the 52 hrs of windshield snow/ice clearing (30 min/week during the winter months) … and the 442 hrs of additional cleaning that a 4000+ sq.ft. house required over an apartment?

My wicked spreadsheet taunted me with the ridiculous reality that we put 1424 of extra house-only hours into a house that has netted us $4,931, for an effective wage of $3.46/hour. My final salary before retirement was 15x that … and my consulting fees are already coming in at more than 40x that.

I told Deb that my daughter is a genius because she lives in an apartment and that we need to do the same. ASAP!!!!!! (superfluous exclamation marks for effect) She said, “you’ve been playing on your spreadsheets again, haven’t you? Why don’t you take a break from that for a while because the snow’s really coming down and you need to go out and start shoveling?”

Before putting on my boots and gloves I went and deleted Excel from my computer and punched the monitor.



I hate spreadsheets.