127 Minutes

By Karen Joseph

Have you seen that movie 127 Hours? Yeah, me neither BUT I saw the trailer, so I got the gist. White man walks among the rocks. The rocks rebel against him and all he’s done to harm Mother Earth. White man cuts off arm as penance to Mother Earth.


Like I said. I got the ~*gist*~.


Don’t worry, I’m not here to give you three sentence versions of blockbuster movies. I’m here to talk about my own 127 Hours… and by 127 hours, I mean what felt like 127 hours but was probably closer to 127 minutes.


Fade in on me standing in line at Sugarfish with a guy from Tinder I’d only just met in person. Sugarfish is what you could call a “bougie light” sushi restaurant. Its website explains it serves traditional sushi of the highest quality and its prices reflect that promise. Nevertheless, you won’t have to pay an arm and a leg for it. They’ll be fine with one leg and a finger(tip). Okay lame jokes stop now.


Anywho! I’m looking him over. He’s… okay. This was only my second time going out with a guy I’d met on an app. The first guy was H. O. T. hot on paper. He was literally tall, dark and handsome. He played basketball in high school and could certainly pass for a young Denzel. My mom would have been so proud (she loves Denzel). Yet… get ready for this… he pronounced the “L” in salmon. I MEAN, REALLY? We had nothing to talk about, and I basically ran out of that restaurant after. I’d gone for brawn over brains, and I suffered for it.


Suffice it to say, I realized I needed to go a different route if I really intended to find love and/or free food. Gorp (names have been changed to protect me from an awkward “did you write about me on the internet” text) was nice. Gorp was smart. Gorp knew everything about movies and music. Our texting before the date had been nonstop. The interesting kind of nonstop, not the “wyd?” “nothing. u?” kind of nonstop.


So what’s the catch? Physically, Gorp was on the heavier side. He honestly wasn’t someone who would – as Missy would say – make you do a double take. But like I said before, I was trying to do something different. Take a walk on the wild side.


This was my first time at Sugarfish, so he encouraged me to get one of the bigger meals for variety. Sushi always fills me up quickly, so I struggled to scarf down the Trust Me Lite (three pieces of sushi, one piece of sashimi, a hand roll and edamame). Meanwhile, Gorp threw down on the Trust Me (twice the sushi, twice the handrolls), and made sure I knew that on a good day, he could destroy the Nozawa Trust Me (add three more pieces of sushi and a “daily special” to the Trust Me). The boy could eat.


When the meal was almost done, he looked over at me with puppy dog eyes and asked what I wanted to do now. He could drop me home… or I could go to his place and listen to that Logic album we were talking about. Gorp promised he had really nice speakers.


I don’t know if it was the raw fish or the smell of salt water wafting over from the Marina, but I said, “I could listen to some Logic, right now.”


I texted at least four friends on the way there to send them my location (shootout to Khalid). I was super new to LA at the time, so I had no idea where I was. On the way up, the elevator got stuck for a couple minutes. I don’t listen when God sends me clear messages, so I still followed him into his apartment.


We sat on the couch, and the album began. I stared straight in front of me like there was some visual component that went with it. Eventually, Gorp asked if he could kiss me. Consent is sexy but like… chemistry is even sexier. To make it plain – I wasn’t feeling it.


So I said, “yeah… after this next song” and prayed we had a Bohemian Rhapsody-esque ballad on our hands.


We did not.


The song faded out – as songs tend to do – and he went for it. I mean, he REALLY went for it. The only way I could describe it is that I was concerned he’d lost something in my mouth and the fate of the human race itself depended on his ability to find it with his tongue. You ever shove your hand into your bag to frantically look for your keys? Yeah. It was like that.


The kissing was bad, so of course when he asked if I wanted to move over to the bed to “watch some Netflix” I said no, because I’m a sane adult who’s skilled at articulating what she wants and doesn’t want…


Nope. You have me confused for someone else. I said yes. We relocated. His wifi was conveniently acting up, so we had no choice but to go at it again – horizontal this time.


He lay on top of me. Now, remember when I said Gorp was on the heavier side? I’m not exaggerating when I say I could barely breathe. I took short breaths and assessed the situation. I’d found myself between a rock and a hard place (his dick). I was like James Franco’s character in 127 Hours, and it was time for me to decide which body part had to go if I intended to survive. Seeing as he was on top of me, I considered a life without a torso. My face and head are cute enough, so I had no doubt this severed version of me could survive on her own.


I snapped out of this headless fantasy when Gorp started grabbing at my breasts. I almost felt bad for him. I was wearing a strapless bra, so he was getting more industrial strength padded fabric than boob. He kept lifting my shirt. I kept sliding it down. He kept guiding my hand toward his crotch. I kept sliding it up.


After what felt like 127 minutes (there’s it is) I mustered up all the strength I had left, lifted my metaphorical knife and cut the hookup short. I sat up and asked him to take me home. I was an adult about it and texted him the next day to say I didn’t think things were going to work out.




I responded less and less frequently to his texts until he got the message. (Lolz)


I never said I was a role model. I just said I had a funny story to tell. Wait… did I not say that either? Dang, my bad. I’ll start off more clearly next time.

Follow Karen on Instagram or Twitter for more hilarious ramblings.


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