”The Real World”: Sexual frustration in Fiji
When we last left the Philly Real Worlders, they had just been told of their surprise trip to Fiji, and they were going berserk in the giddy way you only see from patients after being told that their cancer is in remission. But perhaps this overblown response was due to all the adrenaline stocked up in their system from their intense work planning a playground. I know, because when I was a kid, I put together a Habitrail that seemed like a similarly difficult task, and man, was I juiced about it when it was all over. Granted, I was awarded no trip after it. And one of my hamsters eventually got caught in a Habitrail tube and slowly rotted there without my noticing since I had lost interest in the hamster the second it ate its own babies. But had I been older and given a trip, and wasn’t sitting in a bedroom tainted by the tenacious stink of decomposing hamster, yes, I could definitely see me going apes—.
But this week, the celebrating gave way to actual island vacationing. The possibilities were endless: As Landon said, ”What happens in Fiji, stays in Fiji!” This statement, paired with the fact that he posed for a picture by M.J. while giving the devil-horn salute, says everything you need to know about him. He likes to party, and he likes to party in the exact same way that 5 million other frat guys like to party. Granted, he’s probably the only one whose passion is building playgrounds, but frat guys are like snowflakes: no two are alike, but when you put them all together, you get a blinding-white horizon that makes you a little cold inside. Go Delts!
The Real Worlders’ first stop, Robinson Crusoe Island, was ”authentic” in that the lodging was rustic and their boat was greeted by singing natives and then rushed by men with spears. But have no fear, roomies! These are not angry natives! They are simply residents paid low wages to dress up and exploit their own cultural history for the amusement of rich white kids who will later throw up in their yards while looking for their bungalows, mumbling a ”Shorry, Mr. Fiji Man. Aloha, dude,” as they stumble away.
Come to think of it, maybe the natives are angry.
Sarah decided to enjoy her vacation the way she likes to enjoy everything from a bus ride to a trip to the dentist: by talking about gettin’ some. We get it, Sarah, you love sex. I think she loves talking about loving sex more than she does the act itself. Perhaps the only reason she ever has sex is to demonstrate that she loves it to someone who she’s not quite sure heard her.
As far as we’ve seen, she’s one of the unluckiest nymphomaniacs ever. She gets laid less than a eunuch with a bad haircut. Earlier in the season she tried to bed a gay man, and now this man-eater went after three guys at a beach resort and couldn’t get any of them to have sex with her. Is she this unsuccessful with all the vices she likes talking about? She’s bulimic, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she also has terrible hand-eye coordination and has never managed to successfully aim her finger down her own throat.
Sarah is all about battling the double standard that guys who hook up a lot are studs, while women who do the same are sluts. To which I say, ”Fine, guys are sluts, too. Now will you shut up about sex?” Besides, what could be less attractive than having a woman hit on you who has just made out with two of your friends within the last couple of hours? Sure, she’s a dream date if you’ve always felt that urinating would be much more interesting if paired with a burning sensation, but for everyone else, the temptation isn’t there.
These young Brit boys reported to Melanie that her roommate was a slut, which she promptly reported back to Sarah, building some tension between them, especially when Mel was later seen chatting happily with the trash-talking boys. What followed was that rare kind of quarrel where you can’t find a side to support. It was like watching an argument between the guy who ran over your dog and the dogcatcher who’s pissed that he didn’t get a chance to capture the pooch to put it to sleep.
Sarah was mad at Melanie for talking to guys who had blatantly insulted her by saying she had hit on all of them — which she had. And Melanie passive-aggressively explained that if she knew talking with people was going to upset Sarah so, she wouldn’t have done it, which translates to, ”If I knew you were going to be so crazy, I would have done whatever needed to be done to avoid listening to your craziness.” It’s a nonapology on par with ”I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.” Which, come to think of it, she also said.
Meanwhile, Landon was hoping that the island’s romantic vibe (dig that communal toilet of love!) would rub off on Shavonda. Or at least would allow him to rub up against Shavonda. He began making passes at her, in a slurred voice that suggested he was somewhere over his promised limit of five drinks but not yet at the stage where he starts waving around sharp rocks. He finally lured Shavonda back to his hut, where, in a very creatively edited scene using only a few shots of the back of her head, a blanket, and the soundtrack of an exercise video, it looked like what was happening in Fiji was going to stay in Fiji, or at least on Fiji’s sheets.
All this went on while M.J. slept in the neighboring bed, which would make the experience special for any woman. The next day M.J. claimed he heard slurping, while Landon maintained that only heavy petting went on before Shavonda fled. So many unanswered questions are left to be addressed next week: Will these two star-crossed lovers finally consummate their uninteresting love in Fiji? Will Melanie find a new way to insincerely apologize to people that actually causes visible bruising? And will Sarah rub up against a gecko to finally satisfy her island lust?
What do you think?