Hypothetically.

You have a friend who just happens to be your housemate. She lives in your apartment and pays rent for her bedroom. I feel the sudden urge to further reinforce the fact that she lives in your apartment. When I say “your” apartment, it means your father bought it for you. It’s your private property.

Now I don’t want to sound like a crazy freak who has to be in control all the time. I promise, my power trips are limited nowadays. Addicting as they are, they only make people like you less, and that’s not my purpose in life. Other times, they are needed. Like when Joixa bought plants for the apartment. Good God. They’re not even plant-like, I swear. She called me up and was like “Oh Regner, I was at this festival and they were giving away these plants so I got three for the apartment.” And I was like “Well you can keep them in your room, because they’re not going to be up for exhibition in the living room, dinning room, nor kitchen.”

And no, they’re not visible to the public. They are currently trying to grow inside of her room. Thank you, kindly.

Company is another big deal because, hell, it is my apartment. I want to know who goes in my apartment, even if you’re paying rent. I’m responsible for my stuff, not my roommate. I am a good person though! I don’t mind her having company over. In fact, I like her classmates. Well… the two that I’ve met. They’re nice.

This is the problem with roommates nowadays. Living with someone is not easy, my friends. It’s all sorts of things into one. Two people with different lifestyles and different habits, and different diets have to be tolerant. Different alarm clocks. All sorts of things. Granted, I’m not the most perfect roommate, but I’m pretty easy to live with. My wonderful friend, Joixa, is my roommate and we have never had any problems. Which is grand. We’re just tolerant mofos. We are. And then there’s this:

“Bebo” says:
Hey Regnus, I cleaned your room up. Hahahaha.

[reggles]- The Boy Who Lost says:
whatever do you mean?

“Bebo” says:
I was at your appartment cause I visited Joixa, and I cleaned up some of the stuff you had thrown around.

“Bebo” says:
It wasn’t much. And I didn’t stay in your room for long. I also cleaned the cealing fan in the guest room.

[reggles]- The Boy Who Lost says:
there IS no guest room.

“Bebo” says:
You know, the living room. Where the sofa is.

[reggles]- The Boy Who Lost says:
that’s like not a bedroom

[reggles]- The Boy Who Lost says:
and also, what stuff in my room?

“Bebo” says:
By the way, nice sofa.

[reggles]- The Boy Who Lost says:
thanks. did you sleep there?

“Bebo” says:
Yes I did.

“Bebo” says:
And I just organised the pillows on your futon and I folded a towel I saw there. I also noticed your bed was a little wierd so I smoothed it out. And one or two tiny things. That’s about it though.

“Bebo” says:
By the way, have you spoken to her lately?

[reggles]- The Boy Who Lost says:
i’m speaking to her right now

“Bebo” says:
Oh ok… Damn.

[reggles]- The Boy Who Lost says:
yeah i’m not too happy right now

“Bebo” says:
Why?

[reggles]- The Boy Who Lost says:
Joixa didn’t tell me she was having company over for the night. And because her visitor finds that it’s ok to waltz in my bedroom… and then “clean” things up.

Ok what? So let’s review. You’re meaning to tell me that someone has just slept over in my apartment without my knowing it. And also that my roommate’s ex-boyfriend thinks that he’s my new MAID. Last I checked, I had no maid. Not to mention the fact that this visitor has more than likely slept on my sofa. My BEIGE sofa. My sofa that I adore and prefer that it never be used so that it’s never ever ruined. See, having people AROUND my sofa makes me nervous. One time, my roommate and her friend put their feet up on my sofa.

I freaked.

So yeah, when someone tells me that they slept in my living room it makes me rather uncomfortable for various reasons, one of them being my sofa. Moving on to a more pressing point. “…I cleaned your room up”. Yeah, what?

At this point, my mind is racing back to how I left my room. I’m desperately trying to remember under what conditions I left my bedroom last time I was there in June. Oh that’s right! I remember:

~Insert Heavenly Choir Note here~

Perfection.

That’s what my room achieved before I left. Except for that one pesky towel I left lying around. Dagnabit! That towel must have been one very disturbing mofo, for Bebo to just have the *urge* to pick it up and FOLD it! It turned him into maid-boy, that towel. Goodness. And now I begin to wonder… WHERE did he put the folded towel? Like seriously, where? If the towel was SO out of place, it would look out of place wether it be folded or NOT. So now I have to assume that he probably opened my closet door to put the towel there.

I keep my towels next to the underwear shelf. How grand. He probably rummaged through my closet. He probably saw my underwear. Good! Now my privacy has been completely invaded for the summer, yay.

Honestly. Closed doors have a meaning. I wouldn’t go inside other people’s room without permission (unless we were really close friends, and I knew they wouldn’t mind, obviously). But I wouldn’t go to my roommate’s exboyfriend’s room and “clean” things up! [Ok seriously, I might because I’m nosey like that and I like me an adventure, but no one would find out, duh. I’m not retarded]. AHEM, forget I said that. So yeah, for sure! Closed doors have a meaning! Please don’t tell me I’m going to have to resort to LOCKING my bedroom door. That’s just ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to worry about Joixa’s company waltzing in my ROOM. That’s just a given. A given.

Children, respect your roommates [and their privacy], for this is good.