Doris Sighting!!!!!!!

Yup. That's her. Swear on my life. I obviously couldn't get a pic of her face because that would put me in her peripheral vision and that was a confrontation I was not at all interested in. That, and also I drew the line (for once). If I'm not going to put my face on this blog, I really shouldn't put hers, I don't think.

I really didn't know how this day could get any better. There are some things in the works that I don't want to mention for non-jinxing purposes, and the snow, and the shrimp fritters, and my new headphones...

I actually went back to Whole Foods to pick up some more those fritters, along with a sirloin for the grill tonight. I asked the guy at the meat counter for a steak that was about a pound and three quarters. He put it on the scale: 1.75lbs. Bang. I mean, who cares? But that was pretty cool.

That beer is the Dogfish Head Olde School Barleywine. It's 15% ABV.

I needed to stop by Pioneer on my way back to grab some more brews and walking in, I spotted the mythical beast known to you Fackers only as "Doris". I very nearly soiled myself.

I didn't observe her eating habits like Sampson did, but this is kind of similar as she was in hunter/gatherer mode. It's not everyday she leaves the apartment. Actually, this may have been the first time in 46 years.

We left Pioneer at about the same time, and I skittered back over the icy sidewalks, hid out in my entrance way and nabbed this shot.

Look familiar? It's blurry and everything, just like the original! There was a girl right there walking her dog who saw me do it and gave me this look. I shrugged my shoulders and went "It's a long story..." and scampered upstairs to write this post.

This was one of the best snow days ever.

Sean Daley from Atmosphere, would you do the honors?



-----

We should be back in sports mode tomorrow. Hopefully you enjoy the non-sports stuff too, because it's really fun to write. I don't really know where to even send these links, but if you read other blogs with similar content like Schiff's, feel free to point me in their direction or vice versa.

Yankees Fan Stabbed, Shot

After years of being forced to wear diapers and walked around on a leash, a sixteen year old Yankees fan named Travis was stabbed several times by his 70 year old female captor (shown below) with a butcher knife, before being shot by police in Stamford, Connecticut at about 3:30PM yesterday.

Travis, an actor who once appeared in an Old Navy commercial with Morgan Fairchild, loved filet mignon, sipping fine wine, flowers, and surfing the internet, but kept a special place in his heart for the New York Yankees.

Some sources say that the recent developments with Alex Rodriguez and his foggy admissions to using performance enhancing drugs pushed the longtime fan over the edge. According to a neighbor he was "visibly and audibly outraged" after Alex failed to apologize to his teammates after his 38 second faux-dramatic pause during yesterday's press conference.

However, according to a friend, yesterday, the day of his rampage, Travis was informed that his Yankees weekend package had been moved to a 12 game weekday package despite his constant calls to the Yankees Ticket Office.

Calls to the Yankee Ticket Office and Alex Rodriguez were not returned.

Here is the chain of events leading up to the tragedy:

[The crazy old woman pictured above] gave him Xanax in tea to quiet him, but [Travis] grabbed the keys to open the kitchen door, went outside and started banging on car doors to indicate he wanted to go for a ride.

Just as [a friend] Nash arrived at the house and exited her vehicle, [Travis] went up to her, jumped on her and began biting and mauling her.

[The crazy lady] retrieved a large butcher knife and stabbed [Travis] numerous times in an effort to save Nash, who was really being brutally attacked, and was forced to call the police.

(Here is the 911 call.)

Nash was so disfigured that a cop on the scene mistook her for a man, telling the dispatcher, "He's got no face."

The wounded Travis zeroed in on one cruiser, running to one side and trying to open a locked door. He quickly scooted to the other side, ripping off a side mirror while opening another door.

The trapped cop inside shot Travis several times in self-defense. The mortally wounded ape then staggered back into his house.

I'm angry about A-Rod too, Travis. Our Saturday package is probably going to get bumped and we won't even have anyone to put Xanax in our tea when it happens. It wasn't your time, man. It wasn't supposed to go down like this. Hopefully they've got a nice dry aged filet and a bottle of Mouton Rothschild waiting for you in The Big Jungle In The Sky.

R.I.P. Travis the Chimpanzee [1996-2008]

P.S. You probably shouldn't have bitten that woman's face off.

"Let's Call It Even" [Creep Of The Week]

It was a close call between Doris and the asshat who decided to disallow bringing your own alcohol to the Preakness, but I think the biggest creep ultimately won.

Since it was 55 degrees out, John and I spent the day kicking it on the terrace drinking some Leffe, Southampton Abbot 12 and jamming out to Songlines.

As expected, when Doris threw our original sign back, she included the remnants of the pumpkin in the delivery.


Since we hadn't heard anything back since out last communication, and the pumpkin was still strewn across the terrace, we decided to reach across the aisle.

Well, sort of...

It reads:
[DORIS -

Let's call it even. You haven't offered an alternative explanation as to how our pumpkin was executed, so we must assume you did the deed. If you throw this bag out (or use it in one of your famous pumpkin, pigeon feather and dead cat pies) we'll forget this ever happened.
With love, 115 <3]

However, we also added some additional favors to our return package:

I wonder if it is still where we left it...


BTW: If you have an Aunt who is a former caterer who makes a mean corn relish, and a friend to isn't afraid to murder innocent animals, I highly recommend a venison sausage, corn relish and mustard sandwich.

And for good measure, here is a plug for North Coast Brewery which makes and Old Stock Ale (11.7% ABV), Blue Star (the best session beer possible) and a beautiful Belgian-stlye brew, Brother Thelonious:

Doris, Part III [Non-Sports]

[Here are parts I and II, in case you missed them]

Thanks to everyone who participated in the Delusional Doris Sign Sweepstakes earlier today! Mostly due to the length of the entries, there was no winner from the comment section. However, I did draw some inspiration from them and made two additions to our sign.

The top line now reads: "Did you write that letter w/your teeth?" (h/t: FY contributor Matt)

And the last two sentences read: "The difference is that when you did it, we laughed it off, and when we did, you called the cops. (and the new one) I bet they had a nice laugh when you hung up.
<3 115 xoxo"

I go to put it up, and to my horror, her door is open.


She wasn't outside, but just when you thought this woman couldn't be any creepier, she props her door open with a garbage can lid and a splintering 2x4. I don't know how that doorway connects to her apartment, but I can only assume the staircase is lined with with old newspapers, bird feathers she has collected from the roof, pre-1963 Playbills, and dead cats.

It's really awkward to ZipTie the signs on her side, from ours. I have to lean over the planter (which is right next to the railing) and around the chimney with both hands free to connect the tie. It makes it a whole lot more difficult when you have to keep an eye on that open door to make sure your crazy neighbor doesn't come flying out on her broomstick, causing you to lose your footing and fall 6 floors to your death.

If you look closely, you can see the two ties from the last sign, cinched much tighter than when I put them up. I can only assume that she had never seen a ZipTie before, and tried to remove them by yanking on the long end, only antagonizing her further.

This has been fun, but I really didn't think last night's post was going to be the 5th most popular post in the (somewhat brief) history of this blog. I'm not sure what that says about our sports commentary or more importantly, you sick puppies, but thanks for stopping by.

Whether she responds to this sign or not, rest assured there will be another Doris post at some point.

Doris Follow-Up [Non-Sports]

[Here is part I in case you missed it]

It was a beautiful snowy day here in the city, and when I got home, I immediately checked to see if there had been recent activity on the terrace. I didn't see anything at first, then just barely caught a glimpse of the corner of our sign sticking out from the edge of the deck, under about two inches of fresh powder. I walked out, picked it up and saw that it had been ripped in half. Fair enough. But, if the snow melts and the pumpkin is back on our side, we've got problems.

She also tied a plastic bag with a letter inside to the a hook on our chimney. Here it goes.

The Envelope:"To: The guys who are no longer with their parents - or - at the Frat house. But Hey, guess what - In The Real World - with - Surprise of Surprises - OTHER RE(down arrow)AL PEOPLE!!!"

This took me a good 10 minutes to decode. Her lower case "t" looks like an "e" with a line above it which I thought was an accent or a tilde or something. (See the word "at" on the fourth line down, first in from the left). I was thinking to myself, "What the fuck is a froe house"?

Just a tip, when you're literally writing out an attempt at making fun of someone, you don't want to awkwardly try to insert another word into your punchline. You either leave it as is or get a new envelope.

Yes, we no longer live with our parents. Is that supposed to be an insult? Nice try, but neither of us ever lived in a frat house. "The Real World", huh? That's pretty rich coming from a fucking agoraphobic. Your "Real World" consists of 800 square feet. And of course, that last "sentence" contains four dashes and zero coherent thoughts.

And now the letter. You'd think by the envelope that it would be in pen in cursive or something. Not so much:

Front Side:

"TO: THE ANGRY GUY AT 115 w.74 - (NOT THE NICE SIDE-KICK)"

You love the dash, don't you Doris? I wonder who she thinks is the "side-kick"... Check out the comments on the last post, Doris, neither of us are nice. We are angry because you smashed our pumpkin on our terrace for no fucking reason.

"I DID NOT TOUCH YOUR BOXES"

Yes. Yes you did. You put some old grayed-out boards on there and moved our "Golf Carts" sign just this past week. You put a strange bamboo arch in there at some point over the summer and planted other odd looking plants without asking us.

There is no other explanation as to how that pumpkin ended up on our side. It did not commit suicide by jumping from the planter. The cat that stops by occasionally didn't roll it over the edge. Several pigeons did not combine forces and drop it there.

Perhaps there were some other hooligans on your roof who did it. But you blamed us for everything that happened on your terrace, period. Not sure if you've peered out through that giant pile of plastic bags you have in your apartment recently, but we aren't your only neighbors.

"WE AWOKE THE OTHER DAY AFTER SUPER BOWL SUNDAY..."

Being that today is Tuesday, I'm guessing you are referring to yesterday?

"...TO FIND A PUMPKIN SMASHED AGAINST OUR BUILDING W/SUCH FORCE IT WAS ALL OVER THE WALLS + ROOF!! WE THOUGHT YOU OR A DRUNKEN FRIEND DID IT SO WE RETURNED THE FAVOR + NOTIFIED THE POLICE + TOOK PIX -->"

/Shakes in shoes.

Not all that scary, considering you just confessed to "RETURN[ing] THE FAVOR" in the same fucking sentence.

We took pictures too, except we didn't show them to the police. We posted them on a semi-vulgarly named sports blog and told a bunch of people on the intertubes about how crazy you are.

Back Side:
"YOU HAVE HAD A PROBLEM STAYING WITHIN YOUR BOUNDS IN THE PAST. -"

Sweet, a stray dash!

What she is referring to here is that fact that our neighbors who have two dachshunds were over here literally two and a half years ago and despite our best efforts the pups occasionally ventured onto her side of the terrace, maybe three times.

"YOU ALSO - OR ONE OF YOU AT LEAST - HAS A REAL ANGER CONTROL/SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT PROBLEM"

Angry because we wrote a sign with the F-word or have you been reading the blog? Entitlement because we don't think people should smash a rotting member of the squash family on our terrace? You want to try that one again?

"YOU ALSO - OR ONE OF YOU AT LEAST - HAS A REAL DRINKING PROBLEM"

There you go.

"- YOU'RE NEVER TOO YOUNG TO BEGIN SHAPING UP AND BEHAVING LIKE A MAN!! (MEN)"

Stray dash, volume 2. Thanks for the advice, Grandma. "NEVER TOO YOUNG". Going all Benjamin Button on us, I see.

"YOUR NEIGHBOR -
@117
DORIS "THE MAD WOMAN"

You said it.

As you may or may not be able to see, there were two different markers and even a pen used in this masterpiece. It contains sixteen dashes.


I just wish it wasn't snowing so I could hang up the new sign...
(sorry for the partial joke recycling)

"Doris -
You never touched our boxes? Who put those old boards across them last week? Fairies? What about the bamboo arch? Pigeons? The pumpkin was sitting in the box on Saturday, and on Sunday, it was smashed on our terrace. Were we supposed to assume the black cat did it? You are the one who used to sweep up every single thing on your shitty tar-pit and fling it all on our side. The difference is that when you did it, we laughed it off, and when we did, you called the cops."

As you can see, there is still enough room for about two lines. In 12 words or less, what should I close with? Leave your best shot in the comments, and your zinger just might meet Doris' crazy eyes tomorrow night.

[Update 2/5: Part III of this saga has now been written]

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:]

HEY DORIS!
ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?

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...

STAY OUT OF OUR SHIT!

Cordially,
The 115 guys