It was one thing that I was really tired last night - almost to the point of losing consciousness involuntarily. It's another to have made plans to go to dinner with some friends who are leaving for school. It was okay, the original place we tried was packed, so we ended up eating at Shari's and being forgotten by our waitress. Because I felt bad that my boyfriend had to work and was home by himself, I stopped by the local Dairy Queen to get a treat for him.

I got to my apartment, and lo and behold, there are people I have never seen before lounging on my furniture. Apparently our roommate was having a get together. I noted the lovely girl sitting on the couch and no longer felt bad for my boyfriend. I still gave him the milkshake though.

I was going to bed since I had to work the next morning bright and early (like I usually do on weekends). I heard the door open and close a few times after I was futilely trying to sleep, noting more people had shown up and a couple of them had gone on a booze run. I told my boyfriend (who stopped in my room periodically to check on me) that I was only a few steps away from telling them all to get the hell out. He offered to get me ear plugs. You may think this is thoughtful, and I suppose it does show at least some concern for me, but he apparently did not care enough to go out and tell them to be quiet (I think he was trying to make an impression on the lovely girl - I've been told it was a girlfriend of one of the guys there or something, but I digress)

As the hours progressed the guests grew louder and more obnoxious, playing Guitar Hero World Tour until 1:00am or 2:00am, and by that time I had put on my Sennheiser noise canceling headphones to try and tune them out. These are just the headphones, mind you, because the earplugs did nothing to drown out the clapping and screaming to "Any Way You Want It" by Journey.

I will admit that I did manage to sleep between 1:00am and 2:00am, because I awoke to my door open and shushed voices coming from the living room. I assumed everyone was just drunk off their asses and passing out or stupidly opened my door while looking for the bathroom.

The front door kept opening and closing, and I knew everyone had gone home for the morning at about 4:00am. I got up to get a drink of water and noticed that my couch slip cover had changed. I asked my boyfriend about it, and he said rather matter-of-factly "Ron threw up on the couch."

...

...FUCK.

Just for clarification sake, I own every piece of furniture in the living room. EVERY PIECE. I let my boyfriend and our mutual roommate use these things at their leisure, even allow perfect strangers that they bring home to use them. IT MAKES ME WANT TO GOUGE SOMEBODY'S EYES OUT AND USE THEM IN A DAIQUIRI RECIPE WHEN THEY RUIN MY THINGS. I bought that couch with my hard-earned money LATE LAST YEAR (i.e. it is NEW) and had to beg my dad to use the truck to haul it home.

It now smells like a mix between bleach, Febreeze, and vomit. I do not have the courage to relax on the couch in case the vomit-penetrated upholstery isn't fully clean and/or dry. It seems neither my boyfriend or our roommate wants to use the couch either. I don't even know where they've hidden the vomit-soaked slip cover.

The media center keyboard is also in the trash, and heaven only knows why. I don't even want to ask.

So yes, HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY TO ME.