SelfAbsorbed.ME : ‘It’s Your Life, We Just Write it Funnier’

If spring represents budding romance and sexual awakening, summer is all about the scandalously hot love affair. As the air gets heavier, so does the petting. This theory materialized right before my eyes last weekend as I witnessed a particular mating session in Central Park.

This was my first journey to the park since the move to New York City a few weeks ago. My two friends and I sat on our blanket, settled comfortably on a grassy knoll bordered on one side by a wire fence. On our other side, wooden stakes and neon orange construction mesh blocked off our non-picturesque view of a huge gash in the earth. Why we chose the most aesthetically displeasing place to sit, I’m not sure. However, this location quickly became a front row seat to one of the most intense matches of tonsil hockey that I’ve ever seen.

The couple lounged just on the other side of the wire fence. We didn’t notice them at first because we were engaged in a heated debate over whether or not to go get ice cream. This ended abruptly as my friend exclaimed, “Oh my God. Look.” Following her pointed finger, we turned to see the young couple lying vertically, guy on top of girl, ferociously locked at the mouth.

This was not just your typical public display of affection. The lanky couple was intertwined in a clothed version of the missionary position. No, this was not PDA–this was PDE: Public Display of Erection.

“Why did he wear jeans?!” my friend asked. “He can’t be comfortable right now.”

According to my dictionary, definition no. 5 of the verb park reads: “to kiss and cuddle in a parked car in a quiet and secluded location (slang).” I would like to expand on this term of “parking” to say that it also might apply to outrageous displays of affection in a public garden with the misguided notion that being stationed near a tree removes you from the view of others.

Perhaps the atmosphere of grass and trees, a stark contrast to the usual endless concrete of the city, overwhelmed these young New Yorkers. In such a natural habitat, they had no choice but to give in to their carnal desires. We left just as the guy appeared to be sliding into second base. In a sort of hilarious coincidence, the small children about ten feet away from him were also playing baseball.

I’m not bitter. And I’m not uptight. I was amused by the couple, but if I knew my totally hot bf and I were someone else’s free afternoon entertainment, I’d be somewhat mortified. They’re lucky I’d forgotten my digital camera. I would have whipped it out and taken a made-for-YouTube classic without a second thought.

I say, “Get a room.” Any kind of room, even if it’s a dressing room–it’d be like a hot Levi’s commercial. Or if you want to be in the park, I don’t know, build a tent. Pitch a teepee instead of showing us the one in your pants.

If you’re in the midst of a hot summer romance, you won’t care about my advice. Parking holds too much appeal: the breeze softly rustling the trees, the bed of grass under the warm sun. I get it. But heed this: I plan on returning to the park in hopes of catching another matinée show, and this time, my footage is going online.