And Now for Something Completely Different

On Thursday night I had dinner among the young hipsters, and Friday I served beer and bottled mojitos to the cowboys and their dates. I was the bartender at one of the beer tents at The Ross Coleman Invitational, a Bullriding Event held at the rodeo grounds in Molalla, a benefit for the Make-A-Wish Foundation, featuring some of the top cowboys in the country. You can't have a rodeo without a beer tent.

It was fun to be the bartender. I slipped easily into the role, and strove to be cordial, professional and efficient, friendly but businesslike. I kept my table wiped down, my cups stocked and my cash drawer straight, and I wore a smile and my wedding ring. The crowd was polite and manageable; they were there to have a good time and made no trouble and I enjoyed the work. Somehow it comes naturally to me. I like the pace and energy. People are generally courteous and appreciative of their bartenders--it's much different than answering phones in the call center or even waiting tables. I made $105 in tips, and only had to cut off one person, a woman named Gina who got too wobbly and started the loud talk people get after too many beers. I enjoyed working with Sean the Budweiser rep and Mark the alcohol compliance officer, good guys who enjoy their jobs, and my beer stand had a good view of the arena and the goings on. My brother Roger stopped by and we caught up on Mitchie's baseball season and Duck football. He and Debbie seem to be doing better and he has a fishing trip scheduled for next week to Alaska. Two guys in red and blue jumpsuits did acrobatic tricks on offroad motorcycles, flips and handstands on their seats, jumping off a ramp. The cowboys wore their crisp rodeo shirts and broad hats, and there were lots of pretty girls.

I'll probably get in trouble with my estranged wife Marie, my daughter Stephanie, and my friend Gretchen for saying this, but the blog has never shied away from honesty: I miss sex. I miss the sensations and the release. I miss the closeness and belonging. I miss holding someone, being admired, being desired. I miss the gentle talk and pleasing voice that follows it. I miss the anticipation and the thrill. I miss being connected, the intertwining, the bonding, the hopeful, tender, exhilarating nowness of it, holding someone, being held, giving and taking and desiring and feeling the energy and oneness, the thrill of conquest, the delight of giving every ounce of your energy and being to another person. I miss having my senses overloaded and all my cares melted away, the comfort and the solace of being in one perfect place with the one person you want to be with more than anyone in the world. I could probably find sex if I wanted. Some women have a thing for bartenders. Decidedly these are not the women you want to have sex with. I miss intimacy. I'm too old for anything mindless, immoral or casual. I want to belong to someone. I want someone to belong with me.

Of course, actions have consequences, and we didn't arrive at this place in the transformation journey by accident. Marie and I had a wonderful, intense, passionate, exhilarating romance, but we didn't get along. We'd fight in the most troublesome dramatic half-crazy ways, and dangerous terrible words and out of control emotions spilled out into the streets and parking lots and poisoned our bedroom and our kitchen. Our home became a haunted place, as if it were inhabited by demons or dark forces, and in a way it was: it was haunted by our pasts, and the fragile, hurting people inside us. I left her because I couldn't stand the fighting anymore. It was sad and dangerous and scary.

I fully realize it wouldn't do any good to take up with someone new, or rush back into her arms, even if I could. I had a friend named Tim who was in AA, a good guy, decent and funny and honest, well-adjusted after coming to grips with his troubles, another friend lost to another heavyweight crouch of selfishness and irritability, and he used to like to quote a saying from AA, "Insanity is repeating the same behaviors and expecting things to change." You can't have a healthy relationship with an unhealthy soul. But I am no worse or no better than anyone else: we all have some work to do. I miss sex. It's okay to miss it, and it's okay to say so. It's what you do with that realization that matters.

I'm working again tonight at the Rodeo, and I intend to have a good time and enjoy the people and pocket another $100. (I'm working as a volunteer for my sister and the charity, so I don't feel bad about the money--I stay on my feet and hustle to earn it. On the way home last night I stopped at The Trails End Saloon and had a Fat Tire Ale and listened to a set of blues, a four-piece band called KJ Jackson with a pretty good player on the mouth harp. I sat quietly and watched the crowd and drank a beer of my own, just enjoyed the music for a while. Another too-drunk woman stumbled and caught my shoulder for balance on the way from the dance floor to the bar and she stuck out her tongue suggestively. I recoiled inwardly and probably visibly and sent her on her way. Not what I was looking for. Not the solution to my problem, or hers. I am looking for something completely different, a journey of faith, hope and possibility. There's another AA saying I like, although I'm not an alcoholic and not in AA, "one day at a time." I'm looking forward to this day: it will no doubt be a good one.