My Life

Sunday in the Park with Brian: Therapy Session #30 (The “Wham Bam, Thank You Jumbo” Version)


The lovely folks who carefully monitor my “Park” posts (all three of you) are most likely expecting a continuation of the last “Park”, wherein I shared bittersweet bits from my childhood. This is an honest expectation, as I ended that post with a “more to come!” teaser tag. In a decent world, this means that I should now regale you with further tales of a happy sad little gay boy trying to survive the wretched backwaters of suburban Tulsa, Oklahoma.

That’s not exactly what is going to happen with this post.

Let me present to the court that I did have good intentions. I awoke this morning, as I usually do, flush with the promise of attempting to validate my life in some way. Then I actually got out of bed, and certain impediments tripped me up on my way to the sacred coffee maker (all hail the caffeine bean!) and my supposed and eventual positioning in front of this laptop, wherein I wreak havoc on the English language and any degree of civility.

My partner got a group text on his phone. He gets texts all the time, naturally, no big, but this time I was involved in at least a peripheral way. His little friends (who are actually my little friends as well, but I often pretend to not care or I would go insane with the mind-numbing manner in which a group text turns into a massive orgy of pinging responses) wanted to know if we were still meeting them at Mario’s.

Oh, right. A few days ago, I had given my consent to such a meeting because it was a few days ago and I thought I had plenty of time to come up with an emergency-surgery excuse. Then I completely forgot about the proposition and did not adequately prepare my eventual rebuttal. (Fair disclosure: Said friends are actually a hoot and I do enjoy them, but as any of my fellow introverts will attest, it doesn’t matter how interesting other people may or may not be, the mere thought of interacting with them requires intensive therapy and a strong will to live.)

In any case, we were now expected to arrive at Mario’s at 4pm. So we did.

And things actually went quite swimmingly, initially. Everyone was super sweet and managed to give the impression that they were thrilled beyond words that I had broken my self-imposed seal and ventured out of my Fortress of Solitude. We hugged and we chatted and we caught up on the various conversational threads that permeate the atmosphere of group meetings where everyone isn’t always there, meaning that nobody has the full story on anybody and that’s the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it.

Still, I was a bit uncomfortable, because that’s in my DNA. So, when the waiter arrived to take my drink order, I nearly humped him on the spot out of sheer joy that he was doing such. Please intoxicate me now with a swirl margarita.

He was on it. “Would you like the small, the large, or the jumbo?”

Jumbo? I had never been more aroused in my entire life. “I’ll take the jumbo. With an extra J.”

Two seconds later, he professionally slid a vibrant concoction in front of me, instantly earning him a generous tip for his expediency.

Two seconds after that, I was completely lit.

I don’t know what the hell was in that drink, but it moved mountains and realigned the planets and my recalcitrance. I suddenly loved everybody, even that one guy at the other end of the table whose name I can never remember. I was so giddy with this unexpected fellowship that I ordered another Jumbo at some point. Two seconds later, I was singing Jim Croce songs and caressing my nipples. It was that kind of moment.

And somewhere in the midst of the caressing, I had the most fabulous blog post idea that I have ever had, bar none. The creativity was swamping my brain, along with the Jumbo, and I couldn’t wait to get back home and compose a thrilling piece that would have everyone acknowledging me as the best thing since Harper Lee.

Then the food arrived, with my personal platter composed of alcohol-absorbing sponges drenched in queso.

Then we drove home (well, Partner Terry did, because I didn’t need to be doing such), and we watched a creativity-absorbing documentary in which presumably-scholarly people explained that the “Trojan Horse” concept in Homer’s “Odyssey” was probably a bunch of crap. I briefly fell asleep during a critical moment in the narrative, caressing my nipples, so I don’t know if they proved their point or not.

And now it’s hours later. The beautiful blog epiphany I had betwixt the Jumbos has long-since faded and I am left with nothing but a mild headache and a dream of what once was. But I wanted you to know, dear readers, that I did think of you, however fleetingly, during a festive session with friends, and really, who wouldn’t want to be thought of when I’m singing a Jim Croce song?



28 replies »

  1. This was fun but still looking forward to more about the “happy sad little gay boy” and my drinking days are long gone. Guess I have to live vicariously through you. Understand about hiding at home. Only my writing buds and church choir gets me out of the house. It’s so much fun to live inside my head.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I so identify with that last sentence. I’ve lived inside of my head for so many years that I’ve long since forgotten that not everyone else lives there. And yes, more “happy sad little gay boy” is on the way, eventually…

      Liked by 1 person

  2. And here I was expecting something about sea crustaceans (or whatever they actually ARE)..biology was not on my itinerary in high school…physiology was … and so much for my foray into the sciences… Another blog, another time. SHRIMP was on my mind with the mention of “Jumbo”..(the only other thing that used to wear that name tag without shame was an elephant.. uh, I digressed again, didn’t I?) I’m so pleased you socialized (therapy speak for when they force us to get out there into the ‘real’ world and associate with people whose names we’d sooner forget and actually do, when we’re in our world, a much kinder and simpler place (I’m speaking of introverts’ worlds..) I’m punchy. It’s nearing 4 ish in the afternoon, it’s getting hotter than two mice doing the nasty in a wool sock, Claudette punched a hole in my euphoria by not knowing who Jim Croce WAS…. and well my sincerest apologies…I didn’t get to this amazing blog post til just now. Mea culpa. Can I buy you a jumbo…?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, you can certainly buy me a Jumbo, as I would never pass up an opportunity that both satiates and ingratiates. But there’s no need to feel guilty about a slightly-late perusal of one of my posts, as I err incessantly when it comes to poking a stick at your own trove. (How’s that for an image?) I don’t see how you have the time to masterfully compose so many posts on a given day; it’s simply mind-boggling. And I often find myself so far behind with your missives that I can barely read all of them, let alone compose a witty response.

      That aside, yes, I socialized. And I actually do that more often than I lead folks to believe, mainly because many of the experiences are not quite to my liking and therefore they are not annotated in the tawdry archives of Bonnywood. Still, THIS experience was grand, revitalizing my faith in the hope and promise that we can all get along just fine if we really try…


  3. Having never heard you sing, I should not make a comment one way or the other. I should not. But – I am old enough now to do what I should not, and – mostly- get away with it. In any case, I feel I am quite a safe distance from you, therefore – let me just say “being thought of” would indicate I was not present, therefore did not get to share the joy/pain/whatever it might have been of you singing Jim Croce. There are things in this life for which I am grateful.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Carol, I’m not sure where we should go with this, said the writer as he pondered exactly what the other writer might have meant. I trust that you have good intentions, and therefore the only way to resolve this situation is for me to serenade you in an appropriate setting. And I believe said setting should involve a lovely array of tapas and some exquisite sangria. Are you up for such an adventure? Ear plugs will be available, of course, as they should be…

      Liked by 1 person

  4. I am an introvert as well. I get it about groups. Not my cup of tea (or jumbo drink, either). Drinking in the p.m. like that just makes me want to nap, which will completely screw up a night’s sleep (please see comment on your “ancient and haggard” post). 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, there is a certain art to the imbibing timetable and unregulated variances can lead to anarchy. But in this particular case, my newfound sobriety later in the evening at least allowed me to cobble together this post, and therefore I consider my ruthless pursuit of afternoon tequila to merely be another form of artistic expression. It jacked with my sleep, but we all suffer for our delusional art… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Daytime drinking makes me feel horrid, but I love those times when a drink unleashes an alter ego that you didn’t know existed and you go from ‘hermit’ to ‘life and soul of the party’ quicker than you can take your knickers off. Favourite line; ‘that’s the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it.’
    I don’t knowingly know Jim Croce. But that’s what YouTube’s for.

    Liked by 2 people

    • This comment captures me perfectly. I am, by nature, a very reserved person around folks that I only know to a limited degree. But throw in some jaunty spirits and I will lead the conga line out of the restaurant and down the street, hoisting my phone in the air as it plays some good ole K.C. and the Sunshine Band… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

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