My favorite part of that picture is the sippee cup in the bottom left corner. Leading me to believe I was taunting my toddler because I can drink wine and he can’t. MAN I love being an adult.
So I had this post about my homemade pizza experience all cued up for today and then I was like, you know what? It’s FRIDAY. It’s the weekend. Let’s do something FUN! So I went back to my old blog, the one I used to keep before Casey’s whole family started reading it and I could talk about sex and what not, and I pulled my favorite. So here you go. One of my favorite posts of all times, for your Friday reading pleasure.
(WARNING: There may or may not be a picture of something that rhymes with paint.)
Casey and I have been hard at work preparing our new home. And when I say Casey and I, I mean Casey. The bulk of the work has been painting, or power-tool related, neither of which are very preggo friendly. So Casey has been busting his backside to get the house ready, while I have been hard at work doing things such as getting pedicures, shopping, blogging, etc. God’s work, when you think about it.
But this Sunday, I decided to pitch in and help. And by help I mean sit there and chat with Casey while he worked. Very exhausting. The highlight of my day was running to Lowe’s to buy a mirror. And then, Casey either got inspired, or sick of watching me sit on my ass. He decided that I could vacuum all of the new carpeting we just had installed.
I don’t know if any of you have ever had to vacuum new carpeting, but it gives ‘exercise in futility’ a whole new meaning. It ‘sheds’. ‘Sheds’ being French for ‘never stops having new little pieces of loose carpeting appear. Good luck ever getting it all up. Ha ha. Sucker.’ But I give it my best try, and spent two hours bent over like a pretzel trying to get three rooms of carpeting looking pristine.
At one point Casey walked in and said, “You vacuum the shit out of a room,” and I realized I had overplayed my hand and now he would expect every room to be this well vacuumed. Dang. A few hours later, we were both scrunched up in pain from the day’s work.
Casey suggests we head up to a Dormont massage parlor, Xie LiHong’s Wellness Center. Which everyone knows is English for ‘Happy ending, 50 dollar’. This particular establishment is open 7 days a week, from 10 am to 10 pm, and yes, boy howdy, that includes Sundays.
Coupla things. It’s Sunday night, a little after 9. What kind of boyfriend suggests an Asian massage parlor to their pregnant girlfriend? Mine. I don’t care if you call it Xie LiHong’s Wellness Center, Xie LiHong’s Shoe Depot, or Xie LiHong’s House of Pancakes, anything Asian massage-related very obviously means there is a Happy Ending involved. Those urban legends don’t just make themselves up.
Casey insisted it wasn’t like that, he had been there previously, and there was zero hanky panky. His prize-winning argument was that the walls didn’t go all the way to the ceiling, so each massage room could hear what was going on in the next. AS IF this might actually be a deterrent to your average, Asian massage parlor attending perv. Whatever. I was tired, sore, and a massage sounded quite divine. And, I figured if nothing else, I was bound to get a good blog out of this.
Casey picks me up at 9:15, and we’re on our way. I’m nervous as all get out. And walking in did nothing to assuage my fears. The first thing I noticed was the sweaty man in glasses and a gray running suit getting his frequent massagers card punched at the front desk. Not kidding. Then my eyes flit to the 1987 magazines on the table. Then to the plastic flowers in the vase. Everything about this place screamed VICE SQUAD’S ON ITS WAY. HAPPY ENDING $50!
I was silently cursing Casey for talking me into this. I was positive that I was about to get molested by a tip-seeking illegal immigrant. I don’t care how much my back hurt, I didn’t want to do this. And then. Xie LiHong herself came out. She seemed so sweet, so normal, so incapable of sticking her finger up my butt, that I allowed myself to be lulled into thinking everything was ok.
Casey goes back with his lady, and Xie leads me back to my room. As we walk, I tell her, Hey, I’m pregnant. Baby on board. She smiles, pats my stomach, and says, “Ok! Face down massage!” But she said it such a way that I think she says that to everyone, no matter what they are saying. “I have a gun in my pants.” “Ok! Face down massage!” “Do you give happy ending?” “Ok! Face down massage!” “What’s the square root of Pi?” You get the point.
I go to the room next to Casey, Xie motions to some clothes hooks, lays a sheet down for me to cover up, and leaves the room. I strip down to my super sexy pregnant lady panties, and wait. And wait. And wait. I can hear Casey in the other room, and yes, it is apparent to me at this point that if there was a happy ending going on over there, I would know about.
This relaxes me. I lay down and start looking at the charts on the wall. One of which is a giant diagram of Chinese acupressure points. At this point, I start wondering, what kind of massage am I getting here? I am familiar with exactly one kind, and that would be the one white chicks give you at day spas. I am beginning to think that is not what I’m in for.
Just as Xie comes in, my eyes lock onto a portion of the diagram. They widen in recognition of what I am seeing. Before I have time to gasp or react, Xie pounces on me.
Holy hell, ya’ll. That’s a taint. So help me, if I hear so much as one taint slap coming from Casey’s room, I will go Charlie’s Angels on their asses. I would have gotten up to protest, but Xie had already begun what I now know is Tuina Qi Gong massage. Roughly translated – I Will Treat Your Butt Like The Muscle It Is.
Nothing in my life had prepared me for this. She was literally trying to kick my ass. I had kept my panties on in a bid for modesty. She was having none of it. She pulled them down below my cheeks and proceeded to pummel my back, shoulders, and rear like they had personally done something to her and her people.
She pulled them down, said “Sawwy!”, attacked my butt, and pulled them back up. She attacked my back and arms for a bit, apparently decided my butt had offended her, pulled them down again, Sawwy!, attacked, pulled them back up. This happened four or five times.
Then the compression started. Blamblamblamablamblam. I was about to tell her to stop, please, I can’t take it anymore, when the sweet, sweet strains of Lionel Ritchie stirred in the background.
There I was. Tears forming in my eyes, butt totally violated, silently singing, Hello, is it me you’re looking for?
I could hear Casey’s lady ask him if he wanted more time, and then he called over to me, “Baby? Do you want more time?” Hmm. Let me think. Umm. No. I’m good. Thanks! Xie finishes off on my feet, and leaves the room so I can dress.
I stumble out to the front lobby, and there stands Casey. Looking like a man that may or may not have had his butt violated. I’m not sure. They give us a frequent massagers cards, hopeful that we will return. Once I did some research and found out what Qi Gong is all about, I can see why Xie did what she did.
She wasn’t attacking me. She was realigning me, loosening up my soft tissue, and doing a damn fine job of it, I might add. For a tiny Asian lady, she had Chuck-Norris like hands. At various points it felt like she had four or five hands. Two days later, my shoulders have never felt better.
If you want a nice, soothing, relaxing massage, go see a white chick. If you want your sore and twisted muscles beaten into submission, go see Xie. And take your underwear off before you lay down. Or she will take them off for you. Sawwy!