Dear reader,
Thank you for your continued support in reading the Brian's Skank of the Day blog. We regret to inform you that the moment you all feared has finally arrived. Over the weekend, Mr. Downstairs moved out of the downstairs apartment.
It saddens me greatly to think that I will no longer have a constant stream of entertainment, seeing women of all ages, shapes, and nationalities traipsing in and out of Mr. Downstairs' apartment; however, I do find it oddly comforting to know that Brian has actual man-friends, since I never saw one in the entire year we shared an A/B version of the same address. Then again, he could have just paid some random dudes to act friendly whilst hauling his swanky furniture out to the truck.
I only hope that this recent absence in my life will not disrupt my sleeping pattern, as I am convinced that I have been rendered unable to sleep without an accompanying bed-bang or pleasure invective. Now that there will be no additional Brianews to report, I suppose I can focus on my other two blogs. Come visit me at www.bsynh.blogspot.com, and thanks for making it an enjoyable ride.
Sincerely,
Your faithful-but-not-in-that-way blogger GucciLittlePiggy
Dear Brian,
Thank you for providing me with a year of entertainment, letting me use your oven, and for spilling something foul smelling in the vestibule as you were moving your shit out. I regret to inform you that your services as a neighbor who gets more ass than a state fair port-a-potty and deprives me of sleep are no longer required.
I wish you the best of luck breaking in your new living space, just as I wish the maintenance man the best of luck sanitizing your previous living space. Should any of the women you've seduced in the past year come looking for you, I promise to devise some wild story that involves you assisting orphans in Somalia or choreographing opening numbers for transsexual beauty pageants. Good luck not getting the HIV.
Sincerely,
Miss Upstairs
Dear friend of Brian's who carried one end of his couch,
Thank you for uttering "Dude, your neighbor's hot" after I carried my laundry upstairs. Rumor has it the downstairs unit is available.
Just kidding... I'm taken.
Sincerely,
Brian's hot neighbor
20 July 2009
30 June 2009
What's the story, morning glory?
Again I apologize for the lack of action as of late, but as I pointed out last time, Brian has been exceedingly boring lately. Well, comparatively boring. As far as I can tell, he is, in fact, in a mostly-exclusive relationship with the Cavalier woman, and even they have been boring lately. The extent of my interactions with Brian have, regrettably, been coming and going, usually when I am soaked in sweat from trying to get into bikini shape in 100-plus heat index weather.
In fact, just this morning I was reflecting on how boring my neighbor's previously robust sex life has been, when I looked over to see this gem poised in the driver's side window of the pussymobile. Eager to have any kind of fodder for the neglected blog, I snapped it as best I could with my BlackBerry.
From memory and the photo, here is a rough translation:
Hey!
Either you weren't serious about that offer or I've got the wrong number in my phone!
So... if you're still willing my number is: (redacted)
Text me so I can remind you to ask.
Hope the test went well.
Your neighbor
Because the signature part of the note was buried, I have to use the process of elimination to determine the passive-aggressive note writer. Using the elimination method - I know the neighbor that left the note was not me, and I am pretty sure it was neither the husband nor wife that lives next door. As such, it would have to be the young single nursing student who lives in the little apartment behind our duplex (the one I think was the culprit from this post). Yes, I realize this note could be an entirely innocent interchange between one med student neighbor and one nursing student neighbor, but as you should expect by now, my mind does not work that way.
And I'm also sure that "the test" in question was a legitimately academic phenomenon, but again, my mind just leaps with other, funnier possibilities.
In fact, just this morning I was reflecting on how boring my neighbor's previously robust sex life has been, when I looked over to see this gem poised in the driver's side window of the pussymobile. Eager to have any kind of fodder for the neglected blog, I snapped it as best I could with my BlackBerry.
From memory and the photo, here is a rough translation:Hey!
Either you weren't serious about that offer or I've got the wrong number in my phone!
So... if you're still willing my number is: (redacted)
Text me so I can remind you to ask.
Hope the test went well.
Your neighbor
Because the signature part of the note was buried, I have to use the process of elimination to determine the passive-aggressive note writer. Using the elimination method - I know the neighbor that left the note was not me, and I am pretty sure it was neither the husband nor wife that lives next door. As such, it would have to be the young single nursing student who lives in the little apartment behind our duplex (the one I think was the culprit from this post). Yes, I realize this note could be an entirely innocent interchange between one med student neighbor and one nursing student neighbor, but as you should expect by now, my mind does not work that way.
And I'm also sure that "the test" in question was a legitimately academic phenomenon, but again, my mind just leaps with other, funnier possibilities.
30 April 2009
Some very un-BSOTD behavior
The lack of postage as of late is primarily due to an extremely busy schedule full of fundraisers for my GREAT STRIDES team. However, as luck would have it, it is due to my organization of one such fundraiser that I was able to witness this spectacular spectacle of some very uncharacteristic behavior on Mr. Downstairs' part.
So I am organizing details for this donated dress sale that I put on. And one big part of that sale is doing the obligatory directional signs you would see for any kind of sale. The ones that are both a bitch to make and a bitch to post. The proved to be doubly a bitch because the only markers I had to make the signs were the old-school Marks-a-Lot ones, the ones that can make you high in seconds. And it was crazy windy when we went to post them, but that's not part of the story.
Because it was a nice day and because I was getting light-headed, I decided to take the amateur artwork outside to the porch where both I and the pooch can get some fresh air. Once outside, I noticed that the vehicle that belongs to Cavalier was parked in front. Being that she is a frequent flyer, though, I didn't think too much of it. I went back to exercising my mad design skills.
The dog saw them first - walking hand in hand up the street with a little terrier on a leash in front of them. The first thing that occurred to me was how very very un-Brianlike it was to be taking a late afternoon stroll with a girl and her little yip-yappy dog. That's boyfriend behavior, not Brian behavior. I rope my boyfriend into walking with me and the dog all the time. I wouldn't rope a guy like Brian into doing that.
The second thing was the appearance of Ms. Cavalier. I had never gotten such a good look at her in the past. She was about my height, small build, with black and pink hair, and total sleeve tattoos. Don't get me wrong, I dig sleeves. And no, Brian does not seem to be the guy who bothers himself with such trivial things as "types", but if I had to pick one type that I did NOT see with Brian, that would have been it.
It was very twilight zone (the old black-and-white show, not the tweenybopper emo drama). They walked to her car parked in front of the street, he gave her a hug and kiss goodbye, and she left. I half expected Brian, to make up for the very non-Brian behavior, to just do her on the hood of the Cavalier right then and there, but alas, it did not happen.
And as he walked into his apartment we had a very engrossing conversation about my cystic ficrosis fundraising efforts, his past CF patients, and his strong chiding me to keep up the good work. Who is this guy, and what has he done with Mr. Downstairs?
So I am organizing details for this donated dress sale that I put on. And one big part of that sale is doing the obligatory directional signs you would see for any kind of sale. The ones that are both a bitch to make and a bitch to post. The proved to be doubly a bitch because the only markers I had to make the signs were the old-school Marks-a-Lot ones, the ones that can make you high in seconds. And it was crazy windy when we went to post them, but that's not part of the story.
Because it was a nice day and because I was getting light-headed, I decided to take the amateur artwork outside to the porch where both I and the pooch can get some fresh air. Once outside, I noticed that the vehicle that belongs to Cavalier was parked in front. Being that she is a frequent flyer, though, I didn't think too much of it. I went back to exercising my mad design skills.
The dog saw them first - walking hand in hand up the street with a little terrier on a leash in front of them. The first thing that occurred to me was how very very un-Brianlike it was to be taking a late afternoon stroll with a girl and her little yip-yappy dog. That's boyfriend behavior, not Brian behavior. I rope my boyfriend into walking with me and the dog all the time. I wouldn't rope a guy like Brian into doing that.
The second thing was the appearance of Ms. Cavalier. I had never gotten such a good look at her in the past. She was about my height, small build, with black and pink hair, and total sleeve tattoos. Don't get me wrong, I dig sleeves. And no, Brian does not seem to be the guy who bothers himself with such trivial things as "types", but if I had to pick one type that I did NOT see with Brian, that would have been it.
It was very twilight zone (the old black-and-white show, not the tweenybopper emo drama). They walked to her car parked in front of the street, he gave her a hug and kiss goodbye, and she left. I half expected Brian, to make up for the very non-Brian behavior, to just do her on the hood of the Cavalier right then and there, but alas, it did not happen.
And as he walked into his apartment we had a very engrossing conversation about my cystic ficrosis fundraising efforts, his past CF patients, and his strong chiding me to keep up the good work. Who is this guy, and what has he done with Mr. Downstairs?
06 April 2009
You've come a long way, baby...
Last Wednesday, I had the great fortune of babysitting a four-year-old and a one-year-old for a few hours after work. Because the one-year-old has discovered the joy of biting, and because the four-year-0ld doesn't like it, I heard a lot of toddler wailing in the small span of a few hours. Needless to say, I was anxious to get home to my baby-free apartment where I was promised a special delivery Chick-Fil-A kids meal (which, in all seriousness, is completely my idea of romance).
During the babysitting stint, I would've had to fight to keep myself awake, were it not for the crying. So at 2:30 on what I suppose would be Thursday morning, I literally bolted out of bed when I heard what I first assumed was a baby crying. Color me disappointed when I quickly discovered that it was not a baby, but rather just a new companion of Mr. Downstairs who just happened to have an action voice similar to a wailing infant.
And people wonder why I don't have kids...
During the babysitting stint, I would've had to fight to keep myself awake, were it not for the crying. So at 2:30 on what I suppose would be Thursday morning, I literally bolted out of bed when I heard what I first assumed was a baby crying. Color me disappointed when I quickly discovered that it was not a baby, but rather just a new companion of Mr. Downstairs who just happened to have an action voice similar to a wailing infant.
And people wonder why I don't have kids...
17 March 2009
Be careful what you wish for
Yesterday we had yet another fleeting day of beautiful weather. Because perfect days are rare commodity here in the Midwest, I decided to take advantage of it and dust off my bike seat. I had a networking-type meeting about three miles from where I live, so I decided to bike it.
The aforementioned bike has been sitting in the vestibule shared between Mr. Downstairs and me for QUITE awhile, just gathering dust. Because I hauled in my compact car from my parents' place, it sat taken apart for most of that time, until about a week ago, when I must have had a phychic vision that told me to put my bike together - I was gonna need it. Regardless, at one time during this long dust-gathering period, I asked Brian if it bothered him that I stored my bike in this space, because to be fair, it is his space too. He said he only minded if it just sat there useless.
Well, last night I was both excited about riding my bike and proud of myself for biking 6 miles. I made it home at about 9:30 PM, and in my heart of hearts really hoped I would run into Brian, just so I could have the satisfaction of him knowing that the bike wasn't sitting there useless. Well not literally run into, since at this point I was incredibly sweaty and he might pass out from the stench, but you get the idea. As the 'plex comes into view, I see that every light in his apartment is on. I wheel my bike up the almost-90-degree slope next to the stairs and, chest heaving, dig my keys out.
At this point, I have some serious bike butt, since it's been about 2 years since I've even been on a bike, so I am not moving very quick. As I open the door, I see that Brian's apartment door is open. Not horror-movie-slightly-ajar open - I'm talking the drug-dealer-that-lives-across-the-street WIDE open. The TV is on at a ridiculous volume. Still, apart from the blogging about him on the internet thing, we have a very keep-to-ourselves, mind-our-own-business type of relationship.
So, moving slowly and quite loudly, I put the bike back in its storage area, and tromp up the stairs, hoping he'll hear something and close his door. When I bring the dog out a few minutes later, the door is still wide open. Still, no sign of Brian himself, as though he were dragged out his apartment by the hair on his head (if he had any). Well, I couldn't help but see inside his apartment, in which all doors, even the one to the infamous bedroom, were open.
His bed was indeed against a different wall than when he originally moved in. Now, however, he has this fancy white (and I mean WHITE) down comforter. Since I almost never see him doing laundry but very often hear him getting it on, I can only imagine he just abandons his heavily used bedding every now and then and gets some fancy new stuff. I bet that helps with the multi-lady suspicion too.
Hopefully I'll be too drunk tonight to notice. Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone!
The aforementioned bike has been sitting in the vestibule shared between Mr. Downstairs and me for QUITE awhile, just gathering dust. Because I hauled in my compact car from my parents' place, it sat taken apart for most of that time, until about a week ago, when I must have had a phychic vision that told me to put my bike together - I was gonna need it. Regardless, at one time during this long dust-gathering period, I asked Brian if it bothered him that I stored my bike in this space, because to be fair, it is his space too. He said he only minded if it just sat there useless.
Well, last night I was both excited about riding my bike and proud of myself for biking 6 miles. I made it home at about 9:30 PM, and in my heart of hearts really hoped I would run into Brian, just so I could have the satisfaction of him knowing that the bike wasn't sitting there useless. Well not literally run into, since at this point I was incredibly sweaty and he might pass out from the stench, but you get the idea. As the 'plex comes into view, I see that every light in his apartment is on. I wheel my bike up the almost-90-degree slope next to the stairs and, chest heaving, dig my keys out.
At this point, I have some serious bike butt, since it's been about 2 years since I've even been on a bike, so I am not moving very quick. As I open the door, I see that Brian's apartment door is open. Not horror-movie-slightly-ajar open - I'm talking the drug-dealer-that-lives-across-the-street WIDE open. The TV is on at a ridiculous volume. Still, apart from the blogging about him on the internet thing, we have a very keep-to-ourselves, mind-our-own-business type of relationship.
So, moving slowly and quite loudly, I put the bike back in its storage area, and tromp up the stairs, hoping he'll hear something and close his door. When I bring the dog out a few minutes later, the door is still wide open. Still, no sign of Brian himself, as though he were dragged out his apartment by the hair on his head (if he had any). Well, I couldn't help but see inside his apartment, in which all doors, even the one to the infamous bedroom, were open.
His bed was indeed against a different wall than when he originally moved in. Now, however, he has this fancy white (and I mean WHITE) down comforter. Since I almost never see him doing laundry but very often hear him getting it on, I can only imagine he just abandons his heavily used bedding every now and then and gets some fancy new stuff. I bet that helps with the multi-lady suspicion too.
Hopefully I'll be too drunk tonight to notice. Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone!
02 March 2009
The reverse date
I, for one, have never had a reverse date, although I am sure they happen to people other than Mr. Downstairs. What, you may ask, is a reverse date? Well, think about the typical progression of a normal date: dinner, movie, talk, sex - and then reverse it. This is the kind of date that Mr. Downstairs had last night which managed to deprive me of sleep almost the entire evening.
One catch-22 of having a breed of dog that is a natural protector is that every time someone walks in the front door, she barks to warn me. The downside of the catch-22 is that most of the time it is just Mr. Downstairs and I have to tell her to shut up about 20 times. Last night, around 10:30 was no exception, and was also the beginning of the reverse date (when one would surmise a normal date on a Sunday night might END).
Within a matter of minutes, from the couch, I hear the sounds of sex. However, Brian operates like that a lot with the sex-within-seconds-of-entry behavior, and it was early, so I just tuned it out. By the time I hit the sack, the intercourse was over, but in its place was a very loud chatty session that did not end for quite some time, much to my sleepy chagrin.
After managing to tune it out enough to go to sleep, I was awoken in what I would say was about an hour or two later by an inordinately loud TV or stereo. Loud enough that the floor beneath my bed was vibrating a little. Seriously dude? I took this opportunity to get up and pee, noticing on my way that her car was still there. Once again, I tried my best to tune it out and managed to get back to my much-beloved sleep.
And yet, the duo managed to wake me up yet one more time that evening, when I detected the smell of seriously delicious-smelling cuisine wafting up through the floorboards. By this time, it had to have been at least 3:00 AM, which is WAY too late for me to be up on a school night. And given that the female of the duo was gone when I left the house at 7 this morning, I am guessing it was probably the same for her.
One catch-22 of having a breed of dog that is a natural protector is that every time someone walks in the front door, she barks to warn me. The downside of the catch-22 is that most of the time it is just Mr. Downstairs and I have to tell her to shut up about 20 times. Last night, around 10:30 was no exception, and was also the beginning of the reverse date (when one would surmise a normal date on a Sunday night might END).
Within a matter of minutes, from the couch, I hear the sounds of sex. However, Brian operates like that a lot with the sex-within-seconds-of-entry behavior, and it was early, so I just tuned it out. By the time I hit the sack, the intercourse was over, but in its place was a very loud chatty session that did not end for quite some time, much to my sleepy chagrin.
After managing to tune it out enough to go to sleep, I was awoken in what I would say was about an hour or two later by an inordinately loud TV or stereo. Loud enough that the floor beneath my bed was vibrating a little. Seriously dude? I took this opportunity to get up and pee, noticing on my way that her car was still there. Once again, I tried my best to tune it out and managed to get back to my much-beloved sleep.
And yet, the duo managed to wake me up yet one more time that evening, when I detected the smell of seriously delicious-smelling cuisine wafting up through the floorboards. By this time, it had to have been at least 3:00 AM, which is WAY too late for me to be up on a school night. And given that the female of the duo was gone when I left the house at 7 this morning, I am guessing it was probably the same for her.
25 February 2009
Laissez les bon temps rouler!
For those who celebrate all things Catholic, Happy Ash Wednesday. For those who only partake of the good parts, Happy day-after Mardi Gras. I enjoy Mardi Gras, even though it's not what I would call "one of my holidays". What can I say? I don't get much enjoyment out of looking at boobs. But I live above someone who does...
To celebrate Mardi Gras, I went to see one of my all-time favorite bands perform at a concert in midtown, which is a good 30-minute walk from my shared living space. Because of this, I didn't arrive at home until about midnight, which is slightly past my bedtime for a school night. When I got home, I couldn't help but notice that Brian was home, alone, watching TV. Believe it or not, I actually felt sorry for the dude. Alone, at home, on Mardi Gras. I have no life and I even had something to do on Mardi Gras. After a destinkify and short read, I went to sleep.
Fast forward to what I assume was a couple of hours - and I am woken up by telltale sex noises. Really? That's possible? I cannot believe that this guy would go on a post-midnight scavenger hunt for a vagina he could stick it to, although if I were a soulless sexaholic I suppose I'd do the same. But since I am not and have really not known Brian to be either, I just have to be flabberghasted and, with my nose held high, acknowledge that is a new low, even for Mr. Downstairs.
To celebrate Mardi Gras, I went to see one of my all-time favorite bands perform at a concert in midtown, which is a good 30-minute walk from my shared living space. Because of this, I didn't arrive at home until about midnight, which is slightly past my bedtime for a school night. When I got home, I couldn't help but notice that Brian was home, alone, watching TV. Believe it or not, I actually felt sorry for the dude. Alone, at home, on Mardi Gras. I have no life and I even had something to do on Mardi Gras. After a destinkify and short read, I went to sleep.
Fast forward to what I assume was a couple of hours - and I am woken up by telltale sex noises. Really? That's possible? I cannot believe that this guy would go on a post-midnight scavenger hunt for a vagina he could stick it to, although if I were a soulless sexaholic I suppose I'd do the same. But since I am not and have really not known Brian to be either, I just have to be flabberghasted and, with my nose held high, acknowledge that is a new low, even for Mr. Downstairs.
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