On the last episode of The Real World Hamaca, the city girls were left wondering if there were any attractive men on the island, whether the staff was involved in a prostitution/drug ring, and why there were beds out in the middle of the ocean. One thing you should know in advance about the Real World Hamaca was that the nightlife was...somewhat lackluster. There was 1 discoteca, and it was ironically named "Sport Bar". Yes, Sport, not Sports...Sport. Apparently in the DR they only play 1 Sport. So, our first night on the Island, we go to Sport Bar to find some party. When we arrive, there are, at most 9 people in there, and they were basically touching themselves whilst dancing alone. So, in true Mount Holyoke fashion, we immediately abandon ship, and find solace in the late night snack shack called "Mangos".
So, after another day of sun and Italian propositions...we make our way back to Sport (singular) Bar. But when we walk in this time, the scene is packed with hordes and hordes of awkward north american looking types. Apparently, the chartered flight from Edmonton, Canada had arrived. We immediately pick out a group of awkward Canadian guys. We didn't seem to take note that there were 4 of them, and 3 of us. Someone was going to lose out. But maybe that person was the lucky one....
So, we decide to reel in the Canadians in our own way. Some just pulled their dresses down, some put on some more lip gloss, some smiled a lot. But I, who was far on the route to "drunk mess", decide to challenge one of the 3 canadians to a beer chugging contest. For whatever reason, I thought this would be the way to a man's heart. Fast-Forward 1 minute, and I have most of my beer all over me, my hair was a mess, and the Canadians were gone. But fear not, all was not lost for your quirky protagonist.
At this point, my details become extremely sketchy. Abandoned by all my friends on the beach, I was armed with only my converse sneakers, and my superior spanish language skills -- a recipe for success, no? Somehow, I befriended some Dominican DJs, who lured me to the beachside bar. So, there I was, running at the mouth in espanol, whilst simultaneously singing. At this point, this extremely tall and lanky red haired canadian approached me. He, apparently, had taken a liking to me. To which I responded, "Hey, Canadian, have you ever seen American Pie? You look JUST like the Sherminator." For my 2 french readers who aren't familiar with American Pie, here is a picture of the Sherminator:
Things you should know about the Sherminator: 1) he responded every time I called him "Sherminator", as if it were his name, 2) He would never tell me his exact age, but insisted time after time that he was "legal", 3) He followed me to every place I went to on my 2 hr Drunken Journey, offering to hold my drinks, and stand their awkwardly. I figured, if he is here with his friends, and he is legal, and willing to hold my drink for me, there is no reason i shouldn't stop him from following me around the whole beach.
So, Sherminator and I found ourselves at an impromptu Canadian/Dominican DJ party at one of the beds in the ocean. At this point, I am in the Ocean wearing my Jeans, my shoes are god knows where, and the Sherminator is holding the 3 drinks I had acquired like a dutiful butler. We're talking (me, mostly in spanish), when all of the sudden i see a NEW canadian signal to me to come around to the other side of the impromptu bed party. So, I do. Seemed like this Canadian had a surprise for me. He had fully exposed himself, and he was standing there smiling. I gave him this extremely horrified, "i'm a classy southern lady", look, to which he responded, "you like?" Because the Canadian couldn't pick up on my southern disgust, I tried a new tactic. I responded, "Oh, I love it when a random underage Canadian flashes me in the Ocean of a quazi third world country..and the fact that you're packing that much heat just makes it all the better", and he was like "you know it eh?". Word to the wise, Canadians from Edmonton DON'T PICK UP ON SARCASM.
Enter into the Scene 2 of my frazzled looking friends: "LAYNE LAYNE LAYNE WE THINK OUR 4TH FRIEND IS DEAD, SHES DEAD. SHE'S NATALIE HOLLOWAY. DEAD, LAYNE WE CAN'T NAVIGATE THIS COUNTRY WITH OUR ENGLISH, WE NEED YOU, LAYNE". Being the uncommon woman I am, I quickly ditch the 1 Canadian with it all hanging out there, and the Sherminator holding my 3 drinks. We run towards the beach, when I realize that someone has STOLEN MY CONVERSE, or maybe they floated into the ocean -- but either way, they were gone. We run, like Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, towards our hotel room, where we find Friend 4 asleep like a baby in the hotel room.
The next morning, as I walked towards the beach, I had about 40-50 people come up to me and say, "HEY NEW ORLEANS! how you doing this morning". I clearly have no memory of meeting these people, so it is safe to say my account of the evening is probably short a few thousand details.
On the Next Episode of the Real World Hamaca, I find out the Sherminator isn't who he says he is, I try to teach the 3 Canadians who snubbed me from the previous night a thing or two about semantics, the most awkward beer pong party of life occurs in our hotel room, a recently married 28 year old from Maryland tries to set me up with some Greek Dentists living in London in the DR doing dental work on poor children, and I meet the 19yr old Canadian Opera Singing wunderkind named Spence, and fall a little bit in love with him.
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