Fifty Shades of Embarrassment

The holiday season is upon us! With Thanksgiving just a few days away, I can almost feel the nervous anxiety - did I say anxiety? I meant excitement - you have trying to get the shopping done, the house cleaned, the cooking prepped and of course, preparing for the family to come. Some members you can't wait to see. Others, you've probably had to make an extra run to the liquor store just to make sure you'll get through the day.

Let's face it. We love our families, but sometimes these get-togethers can be trying. Your mom may criticize your cooking techniques because they differ from hers; your uncle may get drunk, and relay stories from your youth that you'd rather forget, or if your sister is anything like mine, she may ask you about the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy in front of your mother.

Oh yeah, she went there. Hang on... it gets worse.

To say my mother is a kind of a prude would be like saying the pope is kind of Catholic. She takes the word "prude" to a whole other level. If Mother Theresa was still alive and met my mother, I am certain she would spend five minutes with her and say, "Woman, you need to lighten up." To this day, I'm not convinced I wasn't left on the doorstep by a stork or the product of Immaculate Conception.

Growing up, we were taught sex was bad and dirty, and sure as hell wasn't something women should enjoy. My puritanical upbringing is part of why I include sex in my books, but that's another blog. So imagine my surprise when my older sister, also quite vanilla, brought up Fifty Shades of Grey.

Yep, I almost fell out of the damn chair.

Allow me to set the scene for you. I'm writing it in first person present to give you the full effect. We've just finished dessert. The men are parked in front of the television watching the game in a turkey coma (thank God!). My mom is sitting next to me still picking at her pumpkin pie, and my sister is across from me when she utters these fateful words, "Have you read the Fifty Shades of Grey books?"

My head snaps up and I glare at her having an intense nonverbal conversation. "Really? Mom's not invisible, right? You can see she is sitting right here." My sister appears completely oblivious to my silent chasting. I feel the weight of their eyes on me, waiting for my response. "No. I started it, but couldn't really get into it. Christian Grey was a bit too controlling and stalkerish for me."

"So you don't know anything about it?" my sister presses for some reason.

"I know some stuff. I mean, I've got the gist of what it's about."

"What's Fifty Shades?" my mom joins in beaming with curiosity. I stare at my coffee wishing I'd opted to add some Bailey's or Kahlua, or, given the situation, some 151.

"It's a book about sex," I say flatly, hoping it will be the end of it. My mom shifts in her chair as I rack my brain searching for another subject to bring up. Any subject. But I can't focus because my sister has that look on her face. The one that tells me she is going to say something without thinking.

"It's really popular," she says. "He has a special room he calls a "Red Room" and he wants her to sign a contract."

"A contract?" Mom asks. "For what? To work for him?"

"No... for sex stuff."

My mom squinches her face in disgust. "Sex stuff? Why would she have to sign a contract for that?"

And here we go...

"Because it's not standard stuff. It's..." My sister titters awkwardly beginning to realize the subject matter she's brought up. She looks to me for help, but I have nothing to offer since I haven't read the book yet and know nothing about this contract or what's on it. And, to be honest, I'm enjoying watching her dig herself deeper into this hole. "..it's... I can't even tell you because I didn't know what half of it was. I had to google it. Some of it I still don't understand. I have no idea what a frogger is."

"Flogger," I correct before I can think better of it.

"Fogger?" my mom repeats.

"FL-ogger." They both sit forward in their chairs waiting for me to elaborate since it's clear I know what it is. So I do the only thing I can. I explain what a flogger is and why someone would use one. They're both glaring at me like, well like I just told them what a flogger was.

Okay, technically this is a riding crop.

And that's when my sister says, "Do you know what fisting is?"

"Fisting? What's fisting?" my mom asks. Yes, my mother just asked me about fisting. I eye the knife on my plate debating whether I should stab myself or my sister with it. Everything in me tells me I should use it on my sister, but then I'll be left to clean up the bloody mess and when that's through, I'll still have to explain fisting to my mother, and presumably a jury of my peers. Just when I think this conversation can't get any worse, my mom turns to me and says, "Do you know what it is? Tell me."

While I plot my sister's painful death, I debate my options: 1) Explain fisting to my mother and sister; 2) Wait in horror, knowing my sister will pull it up on her phone and then we'll have to sit around her tiny screening watching an example of fisting like some perverted family you'd see on Jerry Springer.

I push out a breath. "Fisting is when a guy takes his entire hand and shoves it..." I explain it as clinically as possible. Like I'm giving a lecture or reading from a textbook.

My sister howls with embarrassed laughter. My mom crinkles her nose, pursing her lips. "That's disgusting. Why would anyone ever do something like that? And you know about this?"

I shrug. 

"I want to know how you know," my mom demands probably trying to figure out exactly how many Our Fathers and Hail Marys she's going to have to say to save my perverted soul.

"You know I grew up with and still have a lot of guy friends. They always treated me like one of the guys and didn't censor themselves."

"I can't believe you know about that kind of stuff." She shakes her head with disappointment. "And someone wrote about this in a book you read?"

"Not me. Her." I point to my sister eager to throw my mom's scrutiny elsewhere. My sister's eyes grow large enough to eclipse her entire face. 

"I... I didn't know what it was about when I started it," she stammers. "Someone told me to read it. I didn't know anything about floggers or fisting... or butt plugs."

My mom's face pinches, twisting toward the apparent sexual deviant in the room. "What's a butt plug?"

KILL. ME. NOW. 

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Happy Thanksgiving!🦃

Hurts So Good: What Happened When I Tried Cupping Therapy

So apparently I'm a closet masochist because over the weekend I decided to try cupping. What is cupping you ask? It's a type of therapy where cups are placed in strategic places on your body, in my case my back, shoulders, and neck, and suction is used to create negative energy. This is in contrast to the positive energy used in standard massage techniques.

While cupping has been around for years - it was used regularly in ancient Chinese medicine - it has seen a rise in interest, becoming more popular after Gwenyth Paltrow donned perfect red circles on her back during a red carpet event. It garnered more interest when Michael Phelps showed up to the Olympic meets with the nasty marks.

So what does it do? The cups create suction that allows blood to get into tight muscles by loosening them and encouraging blood flow. Some say it can sedate the nervous system to help with depression and anxiety. Others praise it for its ability to draw out toxins that may have been lying dormant in muscles for years. It is touted for helping everything from migraines to rheumatism.

Okay, brace yourself, because here come the pictures.

Yep, that's my skin drawn up into those glass cups!

See those marks? Just wait. That's nothing.

I know what you're thinking, "Holy crap! Shay why on earth would you try something like that?"

Well, my little reader friends, I did it for the same reason you entertain doing many crazy things in life - I was desperate. For over a month, I had some muscles and trigger points that would not break no matter what I did. They were giving me a nonstop migraine and I felt like my right eye was going to pop out of my head, ala Glenn from The Walking Dead. I was even forced to eat soft foods because the muscle in my jaw was so tight, anything aggravated it. I tried deep tissue and trigger point massage therapy, a different version of cupping massage where they drag the cups over your skin (this did absolutely nothing), and chiropractic treatment. Nothing helped.

Two different massage therapists recommended I try cupping to "break the muscles," so I figured what the hell? I did my research, talked to a friend that has cupping done regularly, and scheduled the appointment. I'll admit, I was a little nervous.

It started off like any other massage.  We chatted for a bit about what areas were bothering me, and then I got under the blanket half-naked and he warmed up the muscles with a regular massage. After a few minutes, he put the first cup on. He explained that depending on my pain tolerance, he could use 1-5 pumps. Obviously the more pumps, the more negative pressure on the muscle.

The first and second pump felt like nothing. The third I felt a little pressure. The fourth a lot of pressure. But I wasn't here to mess around. I knew I had some crap that needed to be broken up, so being the she-woman I am, I went for the full five pumps. That's right, I am woman... hear me roar! Or in this case, whimper because that son of a b*%ch hurt.

To be fair, the first cup and two others hurt way more than the rest. I went 5 pumps across the board and after all was said and done, had fifteen cups total done that day. He focused on my rights side first, leaving the cups on for approximately 7 minutes. The left side was next. He placed the cups in position then massaged the right side while the other cups did their job. It's my understanding that normally they don't do that, but he said my muscles and triggers were so tight he feared I wasn't going to experience the relief I should.

After the skin on my back was covered in a smattering of polka dots, we moved to the front where he focused on my neck and shoulders. By the end, I looked like I had stood in front of one of those auto-pitch machines and let myself get pummeled with baseballs, and it kind of felt like it too. Although, again, to be fair, part of that was my choice because I chose five pumps. Presumably, if I had elected for fewer pumps they wouldn't have been as bad.

I went home and didn't do anything other than some writing. You're not supposed to workout or do engage in strenuous activity. I'm not sure if that has to do with healing or the very real possibility that the gym members may run out screaming, fearing you have contracted some crazy polka dot flesh-eating virus that will eventually turn you into a zombie. Okay, maybe I've seen one too many sci-fi movies.

They say the degree of bruising varies from person to person. If your bruises are dark it could mean you had more toxins or lactic acid trapped in the muscles. Two days later, and most of mine were a sexy shade of black and purple (see below). One or two were still pretty sore, and according to the masseuse, I have a very high pain tolerance, so that's saying something. The rest felt almost like I had a minor sunburn. Nothing was too uncomfortable and didn't disrupt my sleep, although I did feel those two spots I mentioned when I moved certain ways.

Clearly, I thought, how can I make myself less dateable?

So did it work?

The jury is still out on that. I think so. My muscles definitely released more than they did with the regular massage. I also noticed tiny, I'm going to call them calcium deposits, rising up in some of the bruises, which I thought was weird, but kind of cool if it was broken up from the therapy. I feel today, four days later, I'm still experiencing the benefits.

Would I do it again?

Sure, although not in the summer when bathing suits and tank tops might be worn. I would be curious to see how I felt after a couple of sessions and if the bruises would be lighter after subsequent treatments, assuming there would be fewer toxins and lactic acid build up in the muscles. I still favor deep tissue massage over anything else, but this definitely served as a springboard to help break up those knots.

*** Please note: People with certain conditions should not have cupping done. Check with your doctor before having the procedure. ***

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