Monday, February 2, 2009

Welcome To The Internets, Doris [Non-Sports]

Everyone has had a crazy neighbor. We knew she was a little strange when we first spotted the yellowed newspapers she had stuffed in the top corner of one of her (broken) windows visible from our apartment. Occasionally she would blast classical music out of her AM/FM-Radio/Tape Deck combo right on the window sill, which you could hear even if both of our windows were closed.

When my buddy Sampson and I were looking for a place down here, we wanted outside space. Non-negotiable. It is an incredibly valuable commodity in Manhattan and it allows us to grill year round, which is obviously essential. We pay through the nose for it, but it's honestly worth it, especially during the summer.

When we first moved in, it was July and the terrace was a death trap of silver tar. On the hottest days, you could leave footprints just by walking on it, and the railings oozed black tar that ruined more than a few articles of clothing.

Neither of us had a "job" at that point, so we spent about three days and three trips to the Home Depot in Secaucus transforming a worthless space into the selling point of our apartment.

We didn't go in blind. My Dad used to wake me up at 7:00AM on weekends when I was 8 years old to help him with carpentry projects around our house. Sampson and I both worked for my cousin in Lake George over summer breaks in high school building custom lake houses in Cleverdale.

Sampson came up with the design, and I took care of most of the logistics. We carried every board, nail, bucket of stain, and FastenMaster Screw up six flights of stairs and I don't regret a second of it.

The fact that we had people over somewhat frequently didn't sit well with most of our neighbors. The people who lived here before us were apparently never around, which was a stark contrast to two 22 year olds with no jobs and a propensity for late nights and generous pours of Johnny Walker Red.

Doris' terrace borders on ours, not shown to the left in that picture.

The first run-in we had with her was when she called the fire department on us and had them confiscate our propane tank. Common sense would dictate that like a mother bear and her cub, you don't come between a man and his grill. We still don't know what exactly precipitated this most despicable act, but despite our initial outrage, we never said anything to her or retaliated in any way. We just bought a charcoal grill and used the extra 15 minutes it took to sear a couple of sirloins to drink another beer.

Doris used to just assume that everything that ended up on her terrace was a direct result of us, so she would sweep it up and throw it over on our side. It could have been a dead pigeon and she probably still would have tossed it over. Newsflash: There are numerous explanations for why something ends up on your terrace. We don't just throw shit over there for fun.

She also thought it would be a good idea to create a barrier between our spaces using an upside down ceramic planter, a wicker basket and some lattice, all strung together with twine. One day, I actually saw her during the daylight, and sarcastically complimented her on her work. She went "Oh, I just work with what I have, like Caldas, down in Brazil there". Riiiiiiight.

We actually have had some decent conversations with her, but her weird side inevitably came out. One night, Sampson passed out on the terrace and woke up to her throwing bird seed on him at 4:00AM.

We eventually built some spruce boxes where her odd "artwork" used to be, and planted some Aborvitaes for noise cancellation and privacy purposes. Doris was thrilled that we did it and we even planted some flowers on her side.

We had a truce for quite some time... until this weekend.

Earlier in the Fall, we nabbed a pumpkin on a golf trip to Jersey. It sat on our picnic table until it collapsed in on itself in late December. We threw it in one of the boxes to compost and it lay decaying peacefully there, ready to fertilize our Myrtle.

On Sunday, we went out to grill some chicken skewers for the Super Bowl and the rotting pumpkin was smashed on our AstroTurf. We had some ladies over at the time, so we laughed it off, and gave them the background on how crazy she was.

That lasted for about .10 of BAC. Around midnight we went back upstairs and took the remnants of the pumpkin and threw it all back on her side.

Why? Cause fuck her, that's why. There was no reason at all for her to take OUR pumpkin from OUR box and throw that shit on OUR terrace.

Well, today, I got home from work and decided to survey the terrace situation. She returned every chunk and every seed of the pumpkin back on our side. HA. Fuuuuuck that.

I had some leftover posterboard from the "Look At It, Dave" experiment, and decided it was a good time to use it. I made the following sign and Zip Tied it to one of the haphazardly arranged Time Warner cables on her side of the terrace, above the pile of pumpkin remains I threw back on her side.

[It reads:]


I think we already know the answer to that question... There is absolutely no reason for you to throw a composting pumpkin onto our terrace, which explains why we threw it back. You really shouldn't be touching the boxes we built or anything in them. We haven't bothered you for a long time, so...


The 115 guys


  1. Love it!! She is going to flip

  2. what happens if you jump up and down on the roof?

  3. The dome light on Sampson's ceiling fan falls on the floor and smashes into 40,000 pieces, remember? Kreeeeega!

    She's in the building next to us, so it doesnt affect her.

  4. I was waiting for a post that would generate enough angst for me to want to comment...I think we got it here...

    First off, Jay...well done.


    I am "unfortunately" in Florida and was not able to par take in Jay's efforts of getting through to this crazy bitch. So, I must vent...

    Dear Doris,

    I wish I was a 6'10 African American football player, with no self respect, because I would run train on you until there was nothing left but a pile of skin.

    You are no longer socially acceptable. Do you understand that? IT'S NOT NORMAL FOR YOU TO BE DOING WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN DOING. We don't even deserve it. I could understand if we constantly "bothered" you by throwing shit on your side...but we don’t. OMG, a cig butt may have entered your sweet terrace set up at one point.


    Who throws birdseed at a kid that is trying to catch a bit of the summer breezes? God forbid a guy wants to pass out on his lounge chair after a good night of enjoying. You knew what you were doing was odd...I mean you ran back inside when I sat up and shouted, "REALLY? Did you just throw birdseed at me?”

    I am sorry that your dad beat you and kept you locked in a closet for the first 18 years of your life. Doris, it’s not our fault. I am sorry but it isn’t and you truly need to get some help.

    But don’t fret; I think we could be of assistance to you. I may be going to the extreme on this one but we do have two Scotty Cameron putters, valued close to $600 that we could use to beat the living shit out of you. I mean you would be going out in style...they are nice putters.

    Or, seeing that you haven’t left your apartment since Kennedy was shot in 1963, I could intercept your Fresh Direct orders and just slowly poison you the old fashion way.

    I honestly don't care...balls in your court.

    Either way, just let us know. Or just throw yourself off your 5th floor apartment...whatever is easiest for you.

    In the meantime however, DONT FUCK WITH OUR SHIT.

    We are younger, smarter, and better looking than you. If you want, this can get ugly. I will quit my jobs and dedicate my time to making the rest of your pitiful life a living hell.

    Thank you for your time, you crazy crazy bitch.



  5. Brilliant. Is today "Anger Day" in UWS?

  6. I feel somewhat responsible since I was involved in the now infamous "pumkin theft" incident!

  7. @Stopera - Don't worry man, as long as you aren't talking about raping her in the comments, you're alright.

    P.S. That course was awesome! (If you like hitting tee shots in people's backyards and listening them lie about hitting a bear with a baseball bat...)