Sunday, December 7, 2008

Keep your hands to yourself (and your nose too)

Okay TMW. You broke me. Plus, you're going to die when you find out what is happening all over our beloved Twin Cities area.

There’s an saying in Badgerland, “When you say Wisconsin, you’ve said it all.” I generally felt that it was overused, but it very much described the PDA situation on campus. Over the years, I feel like I have seen everything across the board - friends and strangers, sober and not-so-sober, cheek pecks and full on make-outs, love taps and ass grabs. Needless to say, I didn’t think I would ever encounter public displays of affection that rivaled a campus of 40,000 virile men and hormonal women in the middle of Dairyland. Then I moved home, and came across a phenomenon I was not fully prepared for. In the past few months, I have watched in horror as thirty and forty-somethings get it on in public.

It started out when I ran a quick errand to the grocery store and found a couple groping and making out in the middle of the bottled water aisle. Their toddler sat harmlessly in their cart, his mouth agape. I know sweetie, I wanted to tell him. It’s highly inappropriate that your parents live out their Aquafina fetish in front of you. On the other hand, I was kind of happy to see a couple that had a child and still enjoyed one another- most snot-nosed, anemic looking children in grocery stores are accompanied by two exhausted and angry looking parents fighting over the proper formula or organic purreed green bean brands. More power to your happy parents. May they choose to conceive your future sibling outside of the supermarket, was my final telepathic comment to Toddler. As I walked out the aisle with my six pack, he threw his pacifier on the ground and his parents were forced to come up for air.

At a Gopher basketball game, Em and I got stuck behind the world’s biggest D bag and his girlfriend, both age 40. Within five seconds of sitting down, I got a warning “Don’t ruin this fantastic sporting event by talking, young lady” look from the man, who I decided was named Hugh. He then proceeded to perform the arm-stretch-into-the-snuggle-up move, which I have not seen successfully executed since The Cosby Show. Impressive game, slick. Hugh’s elbow rested so low on the back of the seat that Em was practically forced into my lap lest her thigh get grazed for the entire first half. Hugh and Diana (god she looked like a Diana) did not clap or celebrate any of the shots, rebounds, or forced turnovers. They did spend the majority of the time giving A. Richards a run for her money in the eye gazing department- except they were dead sober, so it wasn't fun to watch. Rule of thumb: if you are so in love that you cannot even take your eyes off one another at an athletic event, keep your creepy staring shows at home.

I kind of feel like I’m writing a 5 paragraph essay. Like a true literature student, I saved the best evidence for last. This morning at church, J and I got stuck behind another forty year old couple (married, and not interesting enough to merit names that I despise). Again, the man had his arm around her which was fine. From there we went into nuzzling territory, and I think I saw an Eskimo kiss but it was too close to call. There were forehead kisses, thigh grabs, and the occasional “oh my gosh, I can’t believe the pastor just brought up our inside joke during mass” shared look (apparently, Joseph the carpenter, stepfather of Jesus, holds special meaning to them). If we had been in a Catholic church, I’m fairly certain that the Sign of Peace would have been pornographic. They were actually the most tolerable in terms of makeouts, but I’m sure they just tone it down in the presence of the Lord.

All this brings me back to junior year of high school, when a few overzealous ladies in my locker row made signs that declared our hallway a “PDA-Free Zone”. The signs were supposedly in jest, but they were definitely aimed at a few couples in general. Feelings were hurt and the drama blew up as it only can when you are seventeen. I remember being ambivalent on the subject, as I had never had a boyfriend to make out with in the hallway. I didn’t feel like I was at a point where I could judge. Guess what? I’ve had some makeout partners now, and I officially judge all you old bitches. That’s right- I’m a 23 year with four years of party school dating under my belt, I met my boyfriend while wearing a green sequined mini skirt in a bar on St. Patrick’s Day, and I find YOUR PDAs offensive- are you embarrassed enough to take your tongue out of your lady friend’s mouth yet? Didn't think so.


Teresa said...



PDA in church is the WORST. The Lord knows what you creepers are thinking, we don't need to know it too.

Molly said...

ahhh gina!

I forgot about your blog for a little bit there.

I need to add it to my links so I never forget again.