Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
Poor Brandon
I have had my share of bad neighbors. Crack heads, manic depressives, filth-mongers, a wailing nympho* and a likely prostitute just to name a few. Thankfully, as of the writing of this post my existence is relatively nuisance free. Relatively.
You see, I have a neighbor who likes to talk on the phone. She also likes to smoke cigarettes or low grade weed while doing so. But she does not, however, like to smoke in her apartment (given how foul smelling that last spliff was, I can’t say I blame her), so she takes her telephone and smokes to the area behind her apartment.
I have listened, albeit unwillingly, to a number of her marathon telephone sessions. If the sheer amount of time she spends talking to people is any indication, she must be pretty popular. She sounds like a nice enough person— and that’s why I enjoy hearing the latest developments in her life. Mile stones like:
- Having a nose job.
- Getting a boyfriend.
- Bra shopping. For the record she likes under wire soft cup bras with no padding. Victoria’s Secret is her favorite place to buy under garments. Too bad I don’t know who her boyfriend is or I would tell him that. The holiday season is just around the corner, you know.
I mention the above anecdote because (after learning about it on Curbed yesterday) I have a confession to make: I am addicted to rottenneighbor.com. Last night I spent over an hour trolling bad neighbor horror stories and believe it or not Greenpoint has quite a few. By far my favorite (and easily the most disturbing) tale is the case of poor Brandon on Leonard Street. A disgruntled neighbor writes:
Brandon is a kid who live(s) with his grandmother and grandfather, (in their 40s), and grandma yells ALL DAY LONG, and when she is not yelling, Ralphie, their little yip dog, stands by the door and barks at no one. In addition to yelling at Brandon through the door intercom system, she yells at Brandon inside. Daily phrases include, “shut the F–K up, Brandon,” “get the F–K in bed, Brandon,” and “pick up your F—ING S–T, Brandon.” The all time favorite, however, was “you wanna’ go live wi’cha mom in the ghetto?” There is lots of dog feces on the sidewalk, and Brandon’s grandparents make life pretty unbearable at times.
Um, this sounds like something that should be reported to ACS. As for the dog feces on the sidewalk, well, I see smell a field trip coming!
Miss Heather
*This woman was like clockwork: 10:00, 12:00, and 4:00 (a.m. or p.m.) every Saturday. One night she was really on a roll. Her consort was clearly hitting all the sweet spots. Feeling impish, I opened up the window and mimicked every moan she made. Soon, my next door neighbor (a very nice woman who has since moved) joined in. For a full five minutes it was a non-stop chorus of moaning and “Oh Gods” occasionally puntuated with a “Yee Haw” and “Yippie Ki Yay”.
What can I say? I AM from Texas after all.
Comments
2 Comments on Poor Brandon
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Victoria on
Tue, 2nd Oct 2007 8:49 am
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thenextstopwillbe on
Thu, 4th Oct 2007 6:48 am
My Greenpoint Ave building is including on that site (saying nothing useful other than the semi-trucks are noisy). There are for more complaints about obnoxious Polish youth and far fewer about the poo smell than I would have expected. I guess 4 out 5 hipsters prefer to smell of poo to the sounds of unrelenting techno music.
how did i not know you’re from texas, i’ve been reading for months? and born in waco? i’m from pasa-f*cking-dena, texas and i moved to brooklyn from waco!
speaking of which, i moved from the ‘point to crown heights a couple of weeks ago and came to the realization that i’ve lived in two notorious places, waco(branch davidian debacle) and now crown heights(race riots). fortunately, i missed the unpleasantness in both locations. anyhoo, howdy from one texan to another.
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