First Entry- CAN OF DR. PEPPER by Krisdake Vacourslo


Okay, so in case you geniuses didn’t notice, there’s no picture of a Dr. Pepper can for today.  My stupid camera can’t focus properly, and it’s going to take Amazon at least five days to send me a new one.  I wanted to sign up for Amazon Prime, but then they started asking for my personal preferences, and I said to hell with it.   Are they trying to trip me up later when I apply for a government job?  The interviewer is going to pull out my Amazon profile that says I hate Stephen Speilberg movies, even though I clearly bought the Indiana Jones box set for my last birthday... because my stupid ex-wife was too cheap to get me the one thing I asked for.

Then they’re going to bring her up, and I’m going to say something dumb like “well I hate my ex-wife,” or “do you guys know how to use battery acid to melt away candle wax?”

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, that’s what she got me for my last birthday together, candles.  And not even the expensive kind, just some crappy manilla looking ones that are supposed to burn on both ends, like it was her clever insight on how my life was some kind of wax sandglass, balancing between two opposites,  I remember her smiling when I opened them and asking me if I wanted to light a couple for fun.  What the hell was wrong with her? 

Here’s an idea, why don’t you light some candles on my birthday cake that you didn't buy,  and I'll  blow them out all over your stupid, non-cake buying, DVD hating face?  I asked her, “What am I supposed to do with these, and why the hell aren’t you finished getting dressed?  Aren’t we supposed to go out to dinner or something?  She wouldn’t even tell me where we were supposed to go to dinner, so I drove us to Outback, which is where I wanted to go anyway.   At the restaurant, she didn’t talk to me for like two hours, ON MY BIRTHDAY. 

What really pissed me off was that for two weeks before my birthday,  I kept asking her where we were going to go, and all she said was, “Don’t worry, you’re going to have a meal you’ll never forget.”  What the hell does that mean?  How about a meal that I want? 

But enough about her, she’s out of my life and the only thing I have is this stupid condo and my stupid dog.  Right now my stupid upstairs neighbor is vacuuming and it’s ten o’clock at night.  Jesus, what the hell needs to be vacuumed at ten o’clock at night?  I’ll tell you what, my stupid ex-wife’s hair out of my stupid carpet.  I should take her hair, her stupid candles, and build a voodoo doll and send it to her for her birthday.  See if that on makes it on her Amazon wish list.