Shitty.
Firstly my boyfriend spends the past month telling me he only wants to spend his 18th birthday weekend with me [Easter weekend as well] and that he doesn't want to go out. That's cool. I cancel my shifts from work so that I'm down to one shift from my usual four/five [I really needed that money too], and tell my parents that this is the first year I will not spend Easter with them. I plan his presents, dinner for two, maybe even birthday sex, you know...the usual.
Week before his birthday he turns around and tells me he is actually going out with some of his mates from work and that I will be home alone for the night while he goes out drinking.
Fine. Argue for the next week about it. It's not the fact that he was going out that pissed me off...it's his 18th, I mean c'mon. I wouldn't have minded if he told me he wanted to go out. What I was PISSED about was the fact he spent so long telling me he WASN'T going to go out, but spend it all with me.
So we eventually come to some sort of compromise. He won't get off-his-face drunk, and will come back afterwards to spend the rest of the night with me.
He goes out. I go to bed.
Few hours later, my phone starts ringing. It's one of the manager's from our work [who went out with them all as well] telling me that my dearly beloved boyfriend is currently absolutely wasted and has just finished having a huge vomiting fest. They organize a cab for him and now my supposedly good night I was supposed to be spending with him is gone. He's passed out in my Grandma's bed upstairs and even though I was there for him tonight and looking after him, all hell is going to break out tomorrow.
I am not fucking happy.