Party Pooper

Can not remember the last time I heard a voice in my head. Glad I refused to take the prescription meds. There is a non-descript voice, pops up often, irrelevant words, while my mind is busy doing whatever it is doing. Pork chops, van, bacon, Betty Boop (in combat boots), turkey, Mardi Gras, bowling, Quizno's, New Orleans, Cloris Leachman (Cloris Leachman?). Snagglepuss. Snagglepuss? Where did that one come from? See, all the words are part of a memory. They disrupt me, distraction. I do not need to try to figure out where the words come from ~ exception the Leachman and Snaggle...

I instantly know. Like, Sunday, July 19, 2009: Party Pooper. Forgot all about that one. "You're a party pooper," WB told me. Thank you for sharing? Did not however remember the context of the conversation when he said it. Until the next morning. The rest of the week old memories returned to mind.

"Why such an ugly scar?" (Instant image of my daughter's breast bone to navel scar, two knee scars, forehead scar, from accident almost killed her. Ugly scar? That tiny little thing I have had so long do not even know it is there.)

"You're not getting this for free." (Instant memory of Millie and the Halloween costumes. Not at all honorable to offer a gift than demand, extract, payment for it.)

"You don't get a second chance." (Well, yeah, I agree with that one, life can take stuff away in an instant. "Sorry, I never told you, now it's too late to tell you all the things I wanted to say..." ~ Mariah Carey, I think. Yet something about it bothered me. Gone from memory now.)
"You're living in hell!" he barked. (Actually, Long Beach was heaven on earth, my Place in the Sun, until I made the mistake of calling Albert's bluff.)

"I want what I want, when I want it, where I want it, how I want it. If I don't, I get revenge." (Contradiction there?) Hello insomnia, too much fight/flight adrenaline, loud booming voice come from outside my head, goodbye sanity.

What he wanted, as I describe it, was to add me to his private porno collection. "I won't show anyone," he assures me. Yeah, right. (Instant memory of Jill's suicide attempt after Jack showed photos of her, naked on the mink coat he gave her, 'round the bar. Linda got diamond chip earrings and a bottle of Amaretto she never opened.

Jack and Jill, real names, long time couple, came into the restaurant bar where I waitressed often. Then Linda started working there. Linda looked remarkably like the painting Jack had hanging over his bed, "Indian" Maiden, long, jet black hair. He left Jill for Linda. When he bought Jill the mink, she thought it was a "Sorry, let's kiss and make up gift." Humiliated. Guys told me Jack showed photos of Linda also. Linda told me, "I'm not that stupid." I declined to look at them when Jack called me over to see what they were all laughing about. Who told Jill? Dunno. I told Linda what I had been told.)

Um, WB asks if I want to see a video of one of his other ladies when I made the mistake of going to visit him one night. Irked me. Yeah, guess I am a party pooper. I just say no to drugs. Exceptions: cigarettes and coffee. Those were habits I picked up on my own, no peer pressure. When I first started smoking I hid it from my friends. They so admired my turning down cigarettes, thought I was just great, I did not want to disillusion them.