Day Two: A Little Sexual Frustration

It’s another beautiful night to stay in a hotel, but of course any night would be. There’s nothing more comforting to me than the retro seventies décor of a cheap hotel room. I guess it would be somewhat understandable if this were intentional; if there were some reasoning behind the lime green comforter and the burnt-orange, shag carpet, but rarely do hotels with a number in their name have any sort of aversion to faupas such as these. You would think with such an influential and world-changing job, I would be staying in a deluxe suite in some high rise luxury hotel. Oh no, not me. I prefer the grassroots, simple life version of a Saturday stay-over.

So I’m all alone in my hotel room, the smell of dust and bathroom cleaner linger in the air and my face involuntarily scrunches in disgust. I have come to the place of decision. To go out or stay in, that is the question. I settle on the latter, to go out would require more meaningless conversation and I am not up to the task. Here is where the real problem is revealed; alone in a hotel room - just me, 46 channels and a Gideon Bible. How does the saying go? Boredom is the root of all evil, or something like that. I decide to do what any single, thirty-something male in a hotel room would do. No, not that. I turn on the television and look for a good, light-hearted, chick flick. You know, the kind of movie you always want to watch, but are too embarrassed to admit to it. Sleepless in Seattle is playing on TBS. Meg Ryan, what a dream. I don’t think I’ll ever comprehend why the producers of the movie chose Tom Hanks over me.

There’s just something about Meg Ryan. She reminds me of my third grade teacher, Miss Parker, which makes the fact that I think Meg Ryan is incredibly sexy somewhat disturbing. Granted, Miss Parker had brown hair as opposed to Meg’s golden blonde hair, but other than that they are really quite similar. Of course now that I’m thinking about Meg, my mind wanders to the greatest novel of all time, Little Women. I think I could read Little Women a million times and never loose the emotion of Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. Every time Beth dies, I can’t help but cry, even though I know its coming.

Ok, so by now I’m sure you are thinking, “What’s wrong with this guy? He watches chick flicks and reads books like Little Women.” But before you get judgmental, consider this. Since when does it make a man less of a man if he is sensitive and can appreciate love and beauty? I’ve never understood why our society has allowed men to become so plastic, so emotionless and disconnected from their own selves. We value a man’s ability to be wild and rugged and play contact sports more than his ability to love or be loved. There are thousands of very talented young men working behind their computers in their cubicle who have very attractive outsides, but in reality, they are rotting away. I am one of these. I am in the ranks of a generation of pretty boys who are so dazed and confused by the messages of society that we are so desperate to sell out to something, anything.

The lights in my room are dark; the only light still present is that radiating off of Meg Ryan’s pretty little face. I turn off the television and close my eyes with only one thought in my head. What’s so special about Tom Hanks?