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Last night, I moved out of our apartment in the Ortigas extension. I will, again, drive to and from work every freakin’ day. And so you can put it into context, I’m from Sta. Rosa, Laguna. I’m from the dirrty South, ‘yo. What’s so dirrty about the South, anyway? And what’s with the typo?
Moving out wasn’t as smooth as I hoped it would be. First, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep the whole week, thanks to the whole Convergys fiasco. I was so fuckin’ sleepy since around lunch time yesterday, so packing up my stuff was such a hassle. And speaking of hassles, my rommate’s ladyfriend accidentally locked our room so I wasn’t able to get my stuff in there initially. Good thing I’m a master at picking locks. Well, not actually picking locks, I’m just very good at opening locked doors. Just give me a sturdy calling card or a cellphone load card, and I’m your regular break-in king. King! And if the cards don’t work, my trusty “Baddie Superkick” will do the job, followed by me screaming “freeze!” and pretending my hand is a gun. Try it sometime.
It wasn’t all that bad, though. I managed to get my ex to help me out in packing and moving my stuff. She’s an angel. A hot angel. Ex, remind me why we’re not a couple again?
