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Sunday started out all idyllic ‘n’ shit. I woke up early and went to Trader Joe’s to get groceries so I could try out the waffle iron attachment on the new Foreman grill my mamma sent me for Channukah and surprise LCF with a fancy homemade breakfast. Behold! Above you see evidence of the very first waffle I ever made in my life. It was kind of a fancy one too - a lemon-cornmeal waffle with blueberry syrup that I also made myself on the stove while the waffle was waffling or whatevs. I made it from a recipe I found in my favorite cookbook - Vegan with a Vengeance.

After doing a victory lap with the plate and singing “We are the Champions” to the waffle and obnoxiously waking LCF up so I could stuff him with food, we both started the epic task of caulking every crevice in our apartment. In our perpetual battle against our falling down building’s aggressive roach population, we kept putting off caulking because it was so messy and icky and irritating. But the time had finally come. So it happened that I was on my hands and knees on the floor in the narrow hall by the door caulking the place where the wall was supposed to meet the floor but so did not that I heard it:

Chhhhhhhhggggggggttttttt.

Someone was hocking the biggest loogie evs, and it sounded like they were only a few feet away. Then I heard boots. Then I heard nothing. I put down the caulk gun, opened the door, and sure enough, the front door to my apartment was covered in phlegm. I calld LCF over. I knocked on Heavy Metal Neighbors’ door. We all met in the hall and stared at the door. I was all like:

“Umm, someone loogied our door. SOMEONE LOOGIED OUR DOOR!!!!!!!!!”

Everyone seemed to agree that it was probably the crazy lady who lives upstairs. She hates us because she keeps getting plumbers sent to her apartment by the landlord because she’s always doing crazy shit involving millions of gallons of water and in two years has successfully managed to create ceiling leaks in ever room of our place. I wasn’t so sure though, and now it’s been almost a week and I’m still obsessed with who would possibly cover our door with phlegm and run away. Here, so far, are my top suspects:

1. The aforementioned crazy lady

2. The most recent plumber. He stopped by our place first. Said he’d come back to fix our ceiling, spent the rest of the day with crazy lady and never came back. Maybe she told him we’re lizards who remove our human skin at night and that’s why she’s trying to kill us slowly in our sleep with chinese water torture.

3. A disgruntled delivery guy. Delivery guys are always trying to guilt trip me into giving them more than my customary three dollar tip with emotional blackmail, exasperated sighs, and exagerated eye rolls. Perhaps one was actually mad for real, not for fake.

4. Punk ass kids. Nuff said.

5. The flasher who used to live downstairs until LCF testified against him and he got arrested. Could he be out of Rikers already????

6. The neighbors in the building across the way who I spied on while they were having sex last week. Could they actually figure out which apartment is mine from the back?

7. The drunk lady I heard screaming racial slurs outside in the alley a few minutes before the offending loogie was hocked. I don’t know - just cuz.

I obviously have deep emotional problems for obsessing over this for so long. But seriously! You guuuuuuyyyyyysss!!!! Who spit on my door????????

In completely unrelated news, a former member of Smashing Pumpkins showed up at my office’s Karaoke Holiday Party a scant three days later and sang Bowie’s Changes. Can you spot him in this picture? Do you think he could tell just by looking at me that someone spit on my door? I need help.