The Bumbler — Part Three: A Blurry Night

Part Three —

I jumped up out of bed and grabbed my belongings.


It must have looked like I was jolted awake by an unseen force.


“What’s up?” she asked with valid curiosity.


I explained the situation to the best of my ability and walked into her living room to grab anything I might have left.


It was daylight now, so I had a better opportunity to examine the apartment.


She had one of those leather couches that feels more like plastic than leather when you sit on it. But like a real leather couch, it looked like you would have to peel yourself off of it if you’d been sitting on it for too long.


The walls were yellow and white and there was nothing on them. Nothing except one wall that was one of the largest quote walls I have ever seen.


“Good God,” I thought.


It was filled with motivational sayings like, “seize the day” and “never say never” sprinkled in with sayings from public figures like Oprah.


Ugh. Roll my freakin eyes.


Not at Oprah.



I have never been a big fan of motivational material. It just seems so fake to me. Anyone can say something obscure and give it some kind of cryptic, motivational meaning.


Ex — “The winds of success only blow if you leave the window open..”


Someone somewhere will be inspired by this. But why? I guess only the winds of success know…


I would like to meet the men and women who make these sayings. I would not be surprised if they’re the same people who make fortune cookies.


I hopped into my shoes and landed in the kitchen. Her counter was filled with apples and oranges and the LARGEST stack of bananas I had ever seen.


It looked like she was stockpiling for a banana apocalypse.


“She must have a potassium deficiency,” I told myself in an attempt to legitimize the quantity of bananas.


I had to ask her.


“That sure is a lot of bananas,” I said.


“Yeah, I eat a lot of them as a vegan,” she said with a chuckle.


“But why so damn many?” I responded with legitimate interest.


She laughed and didn’t answer the question.


The quantity was off putting dammit.


I finally made it to the door.


I said my hurried goodbyes with an attempt to still sound smooth and relaxed. I’m sure it came off more similar to how a person who really has to use the bathroom attempts to sound relaxed.


Not relaxed.


I turned away after we said goodbye and started to walk away slowly. I turned back around. She smiled then closed the door.


The sound of the door shutting might as well have been a gunshot, because from there I was off to the races. I sprinted down the stairs.








I repeated this mantra out loud until I got to Jer’s Tahoe out front. Then I started a new one —








I walked around the back of the ‘03 Chevy chick magnet and looked for tickets. I didn’t see anything.


“Alright! Sticking it to the freaking man!” I thought with excitement.


I approached the driver’s side door with a walk of confidence.


As I was opening the door, I saw a small envelope and a piece of paper under the windshield wiper.




I knew the bad news such a small envelope could deliver.


I picked it up praying that maybe a Jehovah’s witness had slipped me an envelope encouraging me to mail my sins to god. I turned over the little piece of paper inside the envelope.




My excitement left along with my list of sins for Jehovah.


I got in the car and weighed my options.


Tell Jer and be unable to drive the car again orrr “forget” to tell Jer and continue to drive the car.


I buckled my seatbelt and instantly had the worst case of amnesia I have ever experienced.


I raced back to my sister’s townhome where all the men in the bridal party were getting ready. Nancy was there as well.


I busted through the door with meaning.


“I’m here,” I said panting.


“Where have you been? Do you know what day this is? I have been worried sick!” Nancy shouted in a welcoming tone.


“I went to dinner; yes, I know what day it is; and you don’t have to worry about me,” I replied with a “mom, not in front of my friends” tone.


Nance continued to blast me with theoretical what-ifs about missing the wedding when —


BING — new message from the bumbler.


“Hey, did you get home alright?” she asked.


“Yeah, nooo problems at all, just getting ready now,” I responded.


I decided to redact the parking ticket and Nance’s scolding from my account of the morning for the sake of harmony in the conversation.


We all got ready and some of the guys started to drink.


“This is my deadline,” I thought. “I don’t have to not drink anymore. This is the most in shape I will be before the wedding pictures.”


“Should I have a few drinks before the wedding?” I asked myself.


I grabbed a beer and thought about the last wedding I drank before —


It was my cousin’s wedding and it was my first time being a groomsman. Naturally, I took a few fireballs with the other groomsmen to ease the tension.


It was a few too many. But dammit I was confident.


I made it down the aisle with my respective bridesmaid and waited for the service to start.


When my cousin and his wife began walking down the aisle, the fiery confidence that fireball’s smooth elixir gave me turned to… something else.


He and his wife may have taken two or three steps before I started balling like a lil baby.


I was just so damn happy for him. But I never cry, so maybe it was just the wedding? Couldn’t be the fireball.


It was the fireball.



I put the beer back down and decided to wait until after the service, just in case another flood of fireball emotions came erupting out of me.


I was co-walking my sister down the aisle with Jer-bear, so I had to be on point.


It came time to leave, I was sober and ready to deliver my sister to her new hubby.


Just before the service started, I took one last picture of my sister and I as siblings with the same last name and posted it to alll the social medias and sent it to the bumbler.


“Do you think you’ll cry?” she asked.


I told her a revised version of my previous wedding sobs, but informed her it was a real possibility.


Then it was wedding time.


The service was beautiful. I delivered my sister without tripping over her dress or passing out in front of the wedding guests. Andddd I didn’t cry.


Now I knew for sure I was not a wedding cryer unless fireball was there to amplify my emotions.


The service was over. And my sister was a married woman.


BING — new message from the bumbler.


“Did you cry?” she asked.


“Oh I sobbed like a newborn baby,” I replied with the intent of sarcasm.


“Really??” she responded.


“Hah no, I kept it together pretty well.” I said.


“Oh,” she stated.


Hmmmm did she want me to cry? Should I have said yes to appear more like a man who is in touch with his emotions? This was the first of many cryptic responses in our relationship, but we will get to that.


The wedding coordinator and others were passing out champagne.


“Nowww I can take a few sips,” I said to myself knowing that the potential for public outbursts of emotion had lessened.


I grabbed a glass and drank the bubbly goodness.


This was the start of a very interesting night.


Since this story is about the bumbler and not the blur that is my sister’s wedding day I will skip ahead a few hours and about six bottles of wine to near the end of the wedding reception.


I was wasty face. I know for sure, because I was dancing like no one was watching. And I have been told I was picking people up to dance with them.


Why Trevor? Just why? What is life?


There are pictures. I looked at them once. Once was enough.


The bumbler and I were texting back and forth the whole reception. I must have disguised the level of my intoxicity, because she didn’t suspect anything and I asked her to come pick me up from the hotel where wedding guests had retreated and where I would be staying for the night. She agreed and said she would pick me up around 12:30 a.m.


I informed my dear mother and Jer that I was making moves to see a friend. They were NOT having it.


“You can’t go out like this! What if you get hurt!” Nancy exclaimed with a motherish tone.


“Nance, I’m 2 freakin 5, I can take care of myself.” I responded.


“No, you listen to your mother. You’re too drunk.” Jer added.


“Oh lord, I am backing myself into a corner,” I thought. I knew that if I continued to argue, Nancy and Jer’s resistance to my post-wedding plans would grow stronger. The only way I was going to be able to see the bumbler is if I acted casual and made quick moves to her car when she arrived.


I didn’t execute that plan.


I continued to argue with Jer and Nance and the resistance grew.


BING — new message from the bumbler


“I’m here!” she said.


“It’s gametime. Just act casual and run out the door.” I told myself.


“Alright, I’ll be down in a minute!” I responded to the bumbler.


I was not going to be down in a minute because I had to lose the freakin fun killing police before I made it to the lobby.


I slowly started moving toward the door in an attempt to be nonchalant. I am certain that it was the opposite of that because Jer and Nance drew quiet.


It must have looked like a slow, drunken tip toe.


Time to make moves.


“Alright, gotta go!” I yelled.


I sprinted toward the exit.


Jer and Nance were in hot pursuit behind me.


“You can’t go out like this!” Nancy screamed as the chase ensued.


I approached the exit of the hotel where homegirl was waiting for me. I had to slow my pace down, so I wouldn’t give her the appearance that I was running away from my parents.


I busted out the door and saw her waiting for me.


She looked up, saw me and smiled.


“We have to go!” I mouthed with a “let’s get tf out of here expression” on my face.


Her eyes went from me to the police chase that was Jer and Nance behind me. Her smile went away.


I approached her passenger-side door and tried to open it. I hastily knocked on the window and told her to open the door.


Nancy approached the driver’s side door and got down on eye-level with the bumbler.


“You can’t take him! He’s too drunk!” she yelled.


“Oh my god. What tf is happening right now. Nance is going full momma bear protecting her cubs mode on her.” I thought.


— If you could think of a time in your life that you felt the coolest, you would be thinking about a time that was the complete opposite of what I was experiencing. It was not a chill moment. —


I continued to knock on the passenger’s side door.


“It’s fine! Just open up the door.” I implored.


The bumbler’s face now held a very concerned “what tf is going on; who are these crazy people” expression.


“YOU CANNOT TAKE HIM!” Nancy continued to blast at homegirl in a full momma bear roar.


I was beginning to sober up from the situation and I was starting to feel a very “MOM, GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” sentiment.




The bumbler slammed her car in drive and screeched away.


Well shit.


I don’t blame her.


If I went to a hotel to pick someone up I met on bumble after only seeing them two times and their mom was going crazy psycho on me and them, I would have left when I saw the parental police chase approaching my vehicle.


I turned to Nance and gave her a “not cool Nance, not cool” look. I was pissed.


I knew that after the Jerry Springer Show came and greeted the bumbler at her car, the chances of me seeing her again were slim.


“Why would you do that! You looked crazy af!” I said to Nance.


“You are too drunk! You could have gotten hurt!” Nancy replied.


I understand her worry, but the degree to which she responded was unfounded. I was 25 for Christ’s sake, not a prepubescent teen trying to steal booze from the family pantry.


BING — new message from the bumbler


“That was weird,” she said.


Hmmm how do I rationalize Nancy’s overprotective outburst and recover from this situation?


“Yeah, Nance is cray. I don’t know why she was like that,” I responded.


In hindsight, I definitely was too drunk to go to her place. And I most likely would have done something embarrassing and beyond repair if I went over there.


So really if Nancy had just let me get in the bumbler’s car and burn that bridge right then and there, it would have saved me months of mind games, lots of money, and the weirdest relationship I have ever had.


BING — new message from the bumbler.


“That was not cool.” She texted. “I haven’t been in a situation like that since high school.”


“Me neither!” I said.


— I really hadn’t been in a situation like that since high school. The last time Nance had yelled at me with that momma bearish tone, I was a freshman in high school.


There were pictures of me posted to the bookface with an alcoholic beverage. I swore to Nance it was a refreshing soda pop. Nance didn’t buy it. —


“I think Nance is just emotional because of the wedding since I am her only unmarried child now.” I said hoping to validate Nancy’s actions.


The bumbler did not text back.


“Welp it was fun while it lasted.” I thought.  “I never planned to see her after that weekend anyway, so I guess it was good to end with a dramatic soap opera finish?”


I was trying to justify what tf had just happened.


The adrenaline from the parental suckfest wore off, and I began to drift back to a state of total blindness.


I stomped upstairs to my room like a pouting child. A large drunk af pouting child.


Before going to sleep I remember stopping in front of the room in which I thought Nance was staying. There was some leftover room service outside the door. I lightly pushed one of the plates off the serving tray with my foot. Subtle revenge. Muwahaha




I stomped the rest of the way to my room.


When I got there, I opened up the door, took off my pants, and swan dove onto my bed.


I think.


“At least I can sleep with my pants off,” I thought as I drifted to sleep.