This is Dedicated to the Man Downstairs

As I was sitting here staring at a blank slate wondering what I was going to write about, it suddenly popped into my head that I'd left my bra and jeans on my neighbor's living room floor.* This, in itself, wouldn't normally be a big deal, but his no-title-as-of-yet-but-it-might-as-well-be-girlfriend (or NTAOYBIMAWBG as I like to call her since it's so much easier to pronounce) was on her way over when I'd left his apartment.

Reading this, you are wondering why my jeans and bra were on his floor, and quite probably thinking that perhaps something is going on between us. I mean, we do spend a lot of time together and, well, my pants and an undergarment were left in his apartment. I would totally think we were getting it on. And that's exactly what I feared NTAOYBIMAWBG would think as well, so I immediately flew down the stairs to get a read on the situation.

I opened the front door and see that I'm too late. NTAOYBIMAWBG has already arrived. I stopped momentarily to try and devise a reason to knock on his door, and then I remembered that I'd left popcorn in his apartment from when we'd gone grocery shopping earlier. (Can you see why a significant other might be a little questioning whether they admit to being questioning or not?) So, the popcorn gives me a reason to knock.

As I'm knocking, I realize that I haven't thought of what to say if my jeans and bra are still on the floor without it sounding like I'm trying to cover something up. As my neighbor opens the door, I glance quickly at the floor and see, with relief, that they're gone. I look at NTAOYBIMAWBG to gauge her reaction toward me and it appears that all is well. I say hello to her, apologize for interrupting, and head to the kitchen where I've left the popcorn.

I pick up the box and casually ask my neighbor (who needs a nickname!) if I'd left my jeans down there in what I hoped was a hushed, but not obviously hushed tone. He replied, "Yes. They're in the garage," all while giving me an "I can't believe you left your jeans and bra ON MY FUCKING FLOOR when you knew NTAOYBIMAWBG was on her way over. Dude!" look.

I smiled at him and hoped that he could read the look I was giving him that said, "Holy shit! I'm such a dumbass! I'm so glad you noticed because I really don't want NTAOYBIMAWBG to get the wrong idea. I'm so, so sorry!"

Damn. I make my life so much more complicated than it should be. It's unintentional, but it's all me.

I've been meaning to write about my neighbor forever, but haven't because I haven't thought of a name for him. I hate to just call him "my neighbor." I also don't want to call him by his real name since it's fairly unique. (Search engines aren't allowed 'round these parts, but better safe than sorry is what my mama always told me.) It's time to bite the bullet and name him. My downstairs neighbor shall henceforth be called ... DN. I amaze myself with my creativity. (Note to self: Add a sidebar with a cast of characters. You know, with your mad html skillz.)

DN (it's not feeling right; something tells me that it will change) is awesome. Seriously, he's always there for me. When I wrote the post proving that all men aren't evil, he really should have been included. Those couches didn't move themselves. DN did the majority of the work because I'm a weakling. And this wasn't the first set of couches he's helped me move, it was the THIRD. (My BFF helped with this set as well as the last set, so she deserves props as well.) As well as a few beds and various other stuff over the past two years. Remember, he's my downstairs neighbor -- he's hauling this crap UP the stairs. He should be nominated for sainthood. (Especially since he's had to listen to my daughter practice her dancing skills over his head many a night.)

We watch a lot of movies together, spend many hours watching bad TV, we shop together, we laugh A LOT, and we lend each other an ear when the other needs it. He's become a really great friend. It's truly sad to think about what it will be like when we aren't neighbors any longer.

I don't tell him often enough how important he is to me and how grateful I am to have him in my life. So, DN, thank you so much for being my friend, my neighbor, my pseudo roommate. You're the best.

P.S. He also takes pictures of things that irritate me so that I can blog about them. From our trip to the store tonight, here is a picture of two Tide containers. See if you can see what it was that got me riled up.



*So how did my bra and jeans end up on his floor? We were finishing up Mallrats tonight from when we'd started it over the weekend. I went outside to, um, get some fresh air (aka increase my odds of lung cancer) and I wondered what the hell I was doing still in my jeans. You don't watch movies in jeans! You watch them in pajama pants. Everyone knows that. My garage is downstairs (as most garages tend to be) next to his apartment and I happened to know that my favorite pair of pajama pants were in the dryer waiting for me to put them on. I didn't want to change in the garage because it's a bit untidy, so I changed in his bedroom. Bras are about my least favorite (but most needed) piece of clothing, so off came the bra as well. Completely innocuous and it boils down to my being too lazy to walk up to my own apartment to change.