My sweetheart neighbor asked me to check on her cats a few times while she was away. She had a new housemate but the woman said she (housemate) would be visiting her girl friend over the weekend thus not be home. I proceeded to go over to feed and give medicine to the cats. The second time I went over the housemate was home, it startled me. I was expecting a empty house after all. What did she have to say to me but “You must be the girl who walks around in heels all the time” (I don’t walk around in heels all the time butt I do wear shoes) Yeah nice to meet you too, I thought to myself. Who was she to judge me, I had been living there much longer and am a very good neighbor.
I asked her if she was going to be home for the weekend since she was still there and she said no. I went over again and she was in her room sleeping with the TV blaring, not sure if she heard me come in or not, but it was really uncomfortable for me coming into someones house who was supposed to be gone meanwhile she kept being home. My neighbor told me after the crazy woman moved out that she was really passive aggressive (you think) and would email her from her bedroom instead of talking things out with her. We both agreed we were glad to have her gone. I’m happy to say the new house mate is a super sweet GUY!
I got a text early one morning from my roommate, asking me if I had a guest over. I was at my boyfriend’s house at the time, and immediately texted back that no, there shouldn’t be anyone else in the house. I didn’t hear back from him for 10 minutes and proceeded to freak out, frantically calling and texting to see if he was okay.
It turns out our across the street neighbor had somehow gotten into our apartment (guessing my roommate didn’t lock either of the two front doors), passed out on our couch, and then was woken up by my roommate flushing the toilet. His face was bloody and he didn’t know how it got that way or why he ended up in our house. I still have the pillow with blood stains on it.
Neighbor on 20th St sunbathes on his roof completely butt-ass naked. I’d say he’s about 50 years old and looks like he’s spent at least half of that time in the sun. We hang out on a roof deck just 2 houses away, but that doesn’t phase him at all. In fact it usually prompts him to start exercising with free weights and resistance bands… still naked.
When I moved in, it was clear that the house next door was abandoned. A broken and boarded window, grass as tall as me, and a bright green pond I named the West Nile breeding ground. We threw bars of soap in it.
On my way to work one day I saw an old man in old Lincoln parked in the driveway of the house. I smiled. He stepped out.
“Are you the new owners of this place?” he asked me.
“Yes. We just moved in, but we’ve been living in the Mission for years.”
“This home,” he gestured “was my mother’s. I like to check on it every day. I’ve lived in San Francisco my whole life.”
He tells me about the soccer field across the street – how the balls used to break his window and the players would urinate behind his stairway. He reminisces about having breakfast with his dear wife.
I wanted to invite him in. I wanted to have tea with him and listen to all his stories. The Great Depression, both world wars and another war in Viet Nam, the haven for beatniks, hippies, gays. He must have lived through many beautiful experiences in the midst such a center for social and political change. I wanted to soak in this city through him.
But he only speaks of his wife and soccer field. The pain of her loss has not diminished much in 10 years. He doesn’t care for the neighborhood because it is “too dirty”, and yet he spends every morning here. Sometimes he sits inside the house, gazing out the window and I wonder what memories he sees.
He may never tell me about drinking with Kerouac at Vesuvio, or campaigning for Harvey Milk, or hiking through the mountains with Ansel Adams. Nonetheless, I still love to hear him talk about holding his wife as she passed on, and how the soccer balls broke several of his windows.
yesterday, i was woken up by my landlord screaming bloody murder saying, “DO YOU GET IT? DO YOU FUCKING GET IT?” This was with crashing and what sounds like things getting knocked over and other screams. YIKES
My neighbor is a 60+ year old man that sells drugs out of his garage to every junky crackhead in the mission. His house is practically across the street from the police station. The irony – she is thick.
i met my neighbor soon after moving in as he slowly rounded the corner of our block. seriously, snails move faster than this man. he lives on the 3rd floor, and must be 90+ and has lived in the apartment for 30+ years.
what time does he come home to open the garage door under my bedroom? 1:30 AM! THIS OLD GUY GETS HOME LATER THAN ME!
oh, and my landlord is 94 and still drive folks…watch out for a blue ford focus wagon rollin’ through.
We had to move away from our former downstairs neighbor. Who is a complete nutball, super loud, plays horrible music, screams at her husband and son, smokes cigarettes (which would fill our house with smoke, and leaves the butts in the backyard) Her husband is so abused that he will do anything to stay on her good side..
We found out that she’s chased three or four sets of tenants out of our unit, and the landlord won’t do anything about it! She called the cops once on us when my mother was over, after everyone had gone to sleep. I suspect she’s smoked a lot of meth and hallucinates, because the landlord told us she was complaining about ‘stomping noises’ above her – two days after we moved out and when the apartment was completely vacant.
Between her and the guy upstairs who would come home drunk at 1 am every night of the week and drop his shoes on the hardwood floor – we’ll never live in a middle unit apartment again.
We had this wonderfully quiet couple upstairs who moved out of the city when they had a baby. They would apologize profusely about all the noise. We never heard a single footfall. They were replaced by a tiny little couple who stomp around like they are 350-400 a piece. They would have a party 4 nights a week which is fine if they thought once to invite us. There was a lot of screaming and crying one night and then the parties stopped. Guess what happened nine months later. Go on. Guess. With the addition of the downstairs neighbors we’re three for four on conceptions in the building since we moved in. It’s a very fertile Victorian.
Hasn’t made them any more quiet. In addition to the baby, they now have what can only be a pet Tauntaun which they let out of its cage every Saturday morning to knock over the various large vases of marbles that they must have in their living room. Which I am fine with since they have stopped moving the furniture out of the living room every other night at two in the morning to clear the way for a quick game of Bachi Ball.
our downstairs neighbors are a middle aged man, his son, and his nephew. the son and nephew are probably in their late 20′s. they are also dealers. like, speed and coke dealers. probably other drugs, but we can only be sure of the speed and coke; the speed we know because of all the tweakers that hang out on the front stoop, and the coke because of the 8 ball he gave to my housemate as a “welcome to the building” gift. (when did muffins get replaced by coke?).
you know the best thing about having coke/meth dealers for downstairs neighbors? i mean, other than the free coke? the door to the building is constantly unlocked, so that clients can make it to the dealers’ apartment at 4 in the morning… this also means that every homeless person in our little part of the mission knows that our shared hallway and stairs are accessible on rainy nights, or for pre-dawn shits.
seriously. woke up one sunday morning and headed downstairs to get some juice from the corner store and found a pile of human feces just inside the door to the building. i guess someone needed a little more privacy for their morning ablutions than could be provided by squatting between some parked cars. either that, or someone was REALLY pissed at the dealers.
There were these neighbors who would throw parties almost every single night, sometimes playing loud music, talking, drinking, and presumably ingesting a lot of illegal street drugs until 5 in the morning. One night they threw one of these parties and their dick head friends broke into the upstairs neighbor’s flat and tagged all over their hallway walls and doors. Actually we were the partiers and it was my roommate’s total dickhead friends. I’ve learned a lot from the multitude of eviction threats. This is an official apology from your partying neighbor kids whom you hate but sre too nice to beat up the following morning.
Allan Hough (7858)
Brittany Janis & Katie Cruz (104)
My sweetheart neighbor asked me to check on her cats a few times while she was away. She had a new housemate but the woman said she (housemate) would be visiting her girl friend over the weekend thus not be home. I proceeded to go over to feed and give medicine to the cats. The second time I went over the housemate was home, it startled me. I was expecting a empty house after all. What did she have to say to me but “You must be the girl who walks around in heels all the time” (I don’t walk around in heels all the time butt I do wear shoes) Yeah nice to meet you too, I thought to myself. Who was she to judge me, I had been living there much longer and am a very good neighbor.
I asked her if she was going to be home for the weekend since she was still there and she said no. I went over again and she was in her room sleeping with the TV blaring, not sure if she heard me come in or not, but it was really uncomfortable for me coming into someones house who was supposed to be gone meanwhile she kept being home. My neighbor told me after the crazy woman moved out that she was really passive aggressive (you think) and would email her from her bedroom instead of talking things out with her. We both agreed we were glad to have her gone. I’m happy to say the new house mate is a super sweet GUY!
I got a text early one morning from my roommate, asking me if I had a guest over. I was at my boyfriend’s house at the time, and immediately texted back that no, there shouldn’t be anyone else in the house. I didn’t hear back from him for 10 minutes and proceeded to freak out, frantically calling and texting to see if he was okay.
It turns out our across the street neighbor had somehow gotten into our apartment (guessing my roommate didn’t lock either of the two front doors), passed out on our couch, and then was woken up by my roommate flushing the toilet. His face was bloody and he didn’t know how it got that way or why he ended up in our house. I still have the pillow with blood stains on it.
we had this neighbor that would call the police anytime we flushed the toilet, but she’s gone now. she was awesome. i miss her already.
Neighbor on 20th St sunbathes on his roof completely butt-ass naked. I’d say he’s about 50 years old and looks like he’s spent at least half of that time in the sun. We hang out on a roof deck just 2 houses away, but that doesn’t phase him at all. In fact it usually prompts him to start exercising with free weights and resistance bands… still naked.
When I moved in, it was clear that the house next door was abandoned. A broken and boarded window, grass as tall as me, and a bright green pond I named the West Nile breeding ground. We threw bars of soap in it.
On my way to work one day I saw an old man in old Lincoln parked in the driveway of the house. I smiled. He stepped out.
“Are you the new owners of this place?” he asked me.
“Yes. We just moved in, but we’ve been living in the Mission for years.”
“This home,” he gestured “was my mother’s. I like to check on it every day. I’ve lived in San Francisco my whole life.”
He tells me about the soccer field across the street – how the balls used to break his window and the players would urinate behind his stairway. He reminisces about having breakfast with his dear wife.
I wanted to invite him in. I wanted to have tea with him and listen to all his stories. The Great Depression, both world wars and another war in Viet Nam, the haven for beatniks, hippies, gays. He must have lived through many beautiful experiences in the midst such a center for social and political change. I wanted to soak in this city through him.
But he only speaks of his wife and soccer field. The pain of her loss has not diminished much in 10 years. He doesn’t care for the neighborhood because it is “too dirty”, and yet he spends every morning here. Sometimes he sits inside the house, gazing out the window and I wonder what memories he sees.
He may never tell me about drinking with Kerouac at Vesuvio, or campaigning for Harvey Milk, or hiking through the mountains with Ansel Adams. Nonetheless, I still love to hear him talk about holding his wife as she passed on, and how the soccer balls broke several of his windows.
thats so sad. i cried some
yesterday, i was woken up by my landlord screaming bloody murder saying, “DO YOU GET IT? DO YOU FUCKING GET IT?” This was with crashing and what sounds like things getting knocked over and other screams. YIKES
My neighbor is a 60+ year old man that sells drugs out of his garage to every junky crackhead in the mission. His house is practically across the street from the police station. The irony – she is thick.
i know that guy. the stolen bikes in there are sad too
and the bench and flower is dying across from the mortuary
i met my neighbor soon after moving in as he slowly rounded the corner of our block. seriously, snails move faster than this man. he lives on the 3rd floor, and must be 90+ and has lived in the apartment for 30+ years.
what time does he come home to open the garage door under my bedroom? 1:30 AM! THIS OLD GUY GETS HOME LATER THAN ME!
oh, and my landlord is 94 and still drive folks…watch out for a blue ford focus wagon rollin’ through.
We had to move away from our former downstairs neighbor. Who is a complete nutball, super loud, plays horrible music, screams at her husband and son, smokes cigarettes (which would fill our house with smoke, and leaves the butts in the backyard) Her husband is so abused that he will do anything to stay on her good side..
We found out that she’s chased three or four sets of tenants out of our unit, and the landlord won’t do anything about it! She called the cops once on us when my mother was over, after everyone had gone to sleep. I suspect she’s smoked a lot of meth and hallucinates, because the landlord told us she was complaining about ‘stomping noises’ above her – two days after we moved out and when the apartment was completely vacant.
Between her and the guy upstairs who would come home drunk at 1 am every night of the week and drop his shoes on the hardwood floor – we’ll never live in a middle unit apartment again.
We had this wonderfully quiet couple upstairs who moved out of the city when they had a baby. They would apologize profusely about all the noise. We never heard a single footfall. They were replaced by a tiny little couple who stomp around like they are 350-400 a piece. They would have a party 4 nights a week which is fine if they thought once to invite us. There was a lot of screaming and crying one night and then the parties stopped. Guess what happened nine months later. Go on. Guess. With the addition of the downstairs neighbors we’re three for four on conceptions in the building since we moved in. It’s a very fertile Victorian.
Hasn’t made them any more quiet. In addition to the baby, they now have what can only be a pet Tauntaun which they let out of its cage every Saturday morning to knock over the various large vases of marbles that they must have in their living room. Which I am fine with since they have stopped moving the furniture out of the living room every other night at two in the morning to clear the way for a quick game of Bachi Ball.
our downstairs neighbors are a middle aged man, his son, and his nephew. the son and nephew are probably in their late 20′s. they are also dealers. like, speed and coke dealers. probably other drugs, but we can only be sure of the speed and coke; the speed we know because of all the tweakers that hang out on the front stoop, and the coke because of the 8 ball he gave to my housemate as a “welcome to the building” gift. (when did muffins get replaced by coke?).
you know the best thing about having coke/meth dealers for downstairs neighbors? i mean, other than the free coke? the door to the building is constantly unlocked, so that clients can make it to the dealers’ apartment at 4 in the morning… this also means that every homeless person in our little part of the mission knows that our shared hallway and stairs are accessible on rainy nights, or for pre-dawn shits.
seriously. woke up one sunday morning and headed downstairs to get some juice from the corner store and found a pile of human feces just inside the door to the building. i guess someone needed a little more privacy for their morning ablutions than could be provided by squatting between some parked cars. either that, or someone was REALLY pissed at the dealers.
and they didn’t even use toilet paper.
There were these neighbors who would throw parties almost every single night, sometimes playing loud music, talking, drinking, and presumably ingesting a lot of illegal street drugs until 5 in the morning. One night they threw one of these parties and their dick head friends broke into the upstairs neighbor’s flat and tagged all over their hallway walls and doors. Actually we were the partiers and it was my roommate’s total dickhead friends. I’ve learned a lot from the multitude of eviction threats. This is an official apology from your partying neighbor kids whom you hate but sre too nice to beat up the following morning.