SEX ADDICT TUESDAY. For every pitcher, you get a round of screaming orgasms

Sex addiction. In movies, it's always some pretty hot people who have the bug that drives them furiously. Talk shows and specials on the matter present skanky, sweaty people who I wouldn't let sit on my couch for fear of the critters that may scatter from their bodies and infest my home. One episode of these "real people, and any urges that one might have are dipped in Winter waters and killed.

Instantly, one of the symptoms of sex addiction is that the addict is incredibly unattractive and seemingly unshowered. The stereotype is formed and the sheep are driven back onto the pasture, sanitized, balls chopped and baptized into the American way. It's no wonder we have so many freaks out there.

Repression is formed and a healthy sexual appetite becomes a cause for shame. Since it's a viewed "depraved act", why not take it further? And many do. They walk through doors from which there is no return and the underground grows deeper. The sex seeker is forced to go far down into the murky dungeons where the Puritans have placed the candy.

Some think that animal urges are to be quelled and left behind for higher spiritual footing, but I think there's something spiritual in the art of seduction, the act of sex, anonymous or otherwise. If every human was Uma Thurman in Henry and June, I'd be doomed. I'd trade in my wares for sex worker garb-oh wait, I dated that girl before and gave myself wholey, holy and then was promptly crushed, like a cockroach under the heel of a spiked boot, guts splattered, shell cracked into bits and lights out. It's been 8 years since the whole debacle and I still have barbs in my heart that occasionally throb. It's a mistake to worship a goddess, love a goddess but insert worship and you take away their humanity. They become keenly aware of their powers. They know they can crush you, and even if it's not her intention, the temptation is too great. I was crushed by the force of those long, beautiful legs. The very thought of them make me cringe yet desire. Trailing my eyes up those legs, to the very top of her crowned head, every inch of her is as gorgeous and tempting. It's this woman that has destroyed the minds of many, shredded the soul and created the saddest and most beautiful nmusic.

She had great depth, intelligence, creativity. She was off beat and could be childlike while still steaming and tantalizing. She was able to be terribly broken. I would drop everything to draw out every bit of pain and carry it for her so that she may run free. She had the charm and humor that gave her dimension and made her incredible. It made her a wanted woman. She could take me into her arms in the morning and by evening decide that she didn't want me anymore and disappear in a NYC cab to parts unknown then come home with new phone numbers and her full, wine colored lips had kissed and groped another without guilt. By morning I was hers again and ever grateful. I wasn't a fool, not really. I was simply cast under a spell-one that even the strongest person could fall prey to. Suddenly, my Manhattan lovers and pick-ups had lost their charm. I abandoned them all. I only wanted her in fantasy and otherwise. I never even glanced at another,  and it was the beginning of my death.

The worse thing about death is the dying. Rebirth allowed the rebuilding of myself, and with it, I remembered my vices. One vice really-my sexual drive. My role of an unassuming, charismatic conquistador been there all along, waiting patiently, and I loved to play the role.

A wise person once said that "in order to get over someone is to get under someone else." I moved to San Francisco and became a bartender. Same difference.

San Francisco has a strange ability to take over it's tenants and make the absurd, outrageous and extreme seem like normal fare. Everyone I know that has lived there then later moved away, has had similar realizations. Something happens when you live there and when you're open to it. Perhaps it's the fog or the ghosts that have created this surreal stage and provided grand costumes for us all. There are no rules. You are released-a kid in a candy/toy store and you can do whatever you want. It's dangerous, but man, it can be fun. Some stay forever and others, like myself, need a break because I couldn't help myself. I moved back to New York to get some peace and quiet. What does that tell you?

It all started out innocent. I began bartending in Bernal Heights. I had two girlfriends-not at the same time, both painters,both insatiable. I made the mistake of leaving the better one for the crazier one, which quickly led me to becoming single, and got a job tending bar in the Sunset District. I met some beautiful people-amazing people-forever friends type of people. The bad part was that I had a boss who was a bloated, crazed version of Baby Jane. Yeah, I said crazed. As if Baby Jane wasn't bat shit nuts enough. On top of Wolfschmidt Vodka, she popped pills. She'd come in, close the bar flap and block me in. Then she'd put her half dead poodle on the bar and survey the place under eyelids that looked like they were painted on-bright blue eye shadow. She looked like a real peach. Sometimes she would call, drunk, during a shift and insist on a conversation even if the place was busy. The Spur will come up again in my blog-a lot went on there. It was a true "dive" bar. If it rained hard, the place would leak and plywood would have to be set down so you wouldn't be ankle deep in water. I would jump from board to board to give people their drinks or ingest drinks- a lot of drinks.

I developed an intimate relationship with Jim Jameson and drank it like it was water-a bucket glass (fits 3 solid shots) was considered a shot, and we had those frequently in a night. Roughly ten "shots" a night plus some. It's not bragging nor am I opening up an invitation for a pissing contest, it's just what we did.

I really have no problem hitting on people. Men are particularly easy. Add alcohol and I was twice as bold, and none of them were the gross "sex addicts" on television nor was I. I kept my integrity and didn't "go skank." If someone walked in and I liked what I saw, I took. There were a few that became my lovers/friends, and we had fun and knew how to keep it from getting awkward or serious. At least that's how I handled it. Two of the guys would disappear after an encounter with me, as if frequency would be their demise, and I was cool with that, too. I plain just didn't care, until I realized that a good "friend" of mine was further invested in me. I broke his heart. I wasn't okay with that. I'm not into casualties. The look on his face was an eye opener. It forced me to take a good look at myself. I'd gone too far-treated these men like play things when they weren't, well, most of them anyway.

It was time to slow my roll. Time to close the chapter and do something with my life. So I cleaned up a bit and stopped messing with people. I did not like that I hurt my friend at all. I can be wild and reckless, but I am not a jerk. I don't get off on the heartbreak business. That's just cold blooded, and when things like that began to happen, I knew it was time to stop.

It takes a lot of self control. I miss it sometimes. When you have a high sex drive with no way to completely satiate it, you're forced to keep yourself busy, keep your head down and imagine pictures of starving children and abused animals. You take off running or start singing out of the blue. You buy a bunch of make-up and start strategically playing make-up artist in the mirror. Puzzles, collages, pictures all end up on the table in projects. I clean a lot and have occasional bursts of anger out of frustration or I suddenly start to reminisce and wonder whatever happened to...then I have to start singing. I get an occasional text with an invitation and ignore it. I'm also not a cheater and have been in a relationship for over 4 years now.

I made good in NYC after San Francisco. I put myself back on track, and I still occasional watch segments of these sex addicts on these mindless shows, and I want to laugh. It reminds me of old marijuana propaganda films like Reefer Madness. The characters can be just as ridiculous. They go for the bottom of the barrel. Don't get me wrong, unlike pot, I know sex can kill you, disease you, destroy you. I'm aware.

I recently fell in love with the movie Shame, and I identified on a small scale. To anesthetize, forget, shut off my mind and get lost in carnal moments-to escape and feel like Alexander the Great seeking, destroying and feeling victorious, high, untouchable. Then I remember how Alexander died, or so I was told by a professor. He died in the middle of an orgy while thinking he was God, and it's like that, but it's, ultimately, a cheap thrill. I needed more. Something bigger. I don't know how or where or what that is, and now I'm searching. I have a feeling it won't be through physical means. Love has that element but I need that, plus mind blowing sensations, and I don't know what it is. Wish me luck on finding it. I'm just grateful that I have brakes that work so that I never turned into a drunken, drugged out gutter whore. It just doesn't suit me. I prefer to look clean and decent like you can take me home to meet your parents unless they're the Westboro hateful types. Those people want me dead no matter how angelic I may appear.

Sex addicts. They could be a bar room theme night  It would be great business for the bar. A sandwich board could be placed outside advertising the special of the night: "SEX ADDICT TUESDAY. For every pitcher bought in a group, you get a round of screaming orgasms!" I'd like to see that on 20/20.