Diary of a New Yorker. Last week of Summer (part 1)
Rose of Tralee, J1, bathhouse, CMOM, blowout, US open, Zoo, Portal, Lego
At some point near the end of our summer holiday, my husband turned to me and said “Did you see the Rose of Tralee is on tonight?”
And there it was. The klaxon announcing the end of the summer. We were at the end of our holiday, the Rose of Tralee was on and we were going back to New York where a 20 year old cousin was staying with us on the way home from his J1 on the West Coast - few things more end of the summer than that.
We landed back on a Friday and had the weekend to unpack and re-acclimatise.
Our J1 lodger and us were like ships in the night; you won’t meet two species on earth on more different schedules than a 20 year old, single, student and a couple in their late 30s with young kids. He was coming in at night about an hour before we were getting up and he rose (presumably), at some point long after we were up and out for the day.
As is tradition with any Irish person crashing in the house of another, there was an early request for a friend to stay also. Fine by me. Once I’d heard “J1”, I realised, I’d subconsciously pictured a clatter of them and was surprised when only one showed up. Quickly, references to “my friend” turned into “the lads” and I’ve no idea how many lads were actually in the spare room in the end and I’d no way to keep track because they were all called Conor or Cillian.
Monday:
David had the inspired idea to take a further two days off work at the end of our holiday so I took two extra days off too (got a babysitter) and we headed out. The great thing about a babysitter post-holiday is that there is ZERO guilt. Sure, there shouldn't be guilt anyway but, here, it’s a genuine guilt-free zone because you've spent every, single, waking second with your kids for weeks and judging by how they ran into the babysitter’s arms, I’m guessing they were sick of the sight of us too.
The kids went to the Childrens Museum and we went to the Bathhouse. The Flatiron location this time and in for a couples massage.
What do we think of couples massages? It sounds sexy but it's not. It's two people getting their own massage by two separate people that just so happen to be in the same room. If anything, the presence of your other half is an annoying distraction from the serious business of relaxation. There isn’t even an economy of scale saving (if that’s the type of thing that would get you off). It’s the price of a massage, times two.
Right before the massage therapists returned to the room after leaving to let us get ready, I said to David quickly “There's no talking now. You have to be quiet”. I don’t know if he didn't hear me or simply didn't respect my wishes but Jesus Christ is he a Chatty Cathy. The man wouldn't recognise a comfortable silence if it walked up to him and slapped him in the face. I hoped he was picking up on the SHUT THE FUCK UP vibes I was sending out through the hole in the massage table. I think he must have because after a few minutes (a good few minutes) of trying to get the therapist’s life story, he did indeed shut the fuck up. I settled into the massage….except for the times when I remembered that my husband hates massages. I won't get into why he hates them but if you've ever seen Michael McIntyre talk about why he hates massages, it's the same reason.
Tuesday
I went for a blowdry because I had 5 days to use up a month's supply of Classpass points and I didn't want to exercise. A nice full circle moment for me, as I was back in the very first hair salon I visited in New York and the one that gave me my first true taste of New York pricing.
I used the same method for choosing a hair salon that I used to choose the kids’ pre-school: I joined multiple Facebook, neighbourhood and parenting groups in advance of emigrating and conducted extensive research on all options available. Quality of staff, pricing, first-hand experiences - that sort of thing. Just kidding! It was the same method used for picking the kids’ school alright in that when walking past it, I went in, asked if they had availability and they did. Job done.
To get an idea of New York pricing, I'd like you now to think of a number that is the dearest price you could imagine paying for a colour, cut and blow dry. Then take that number and double it. Add tax. Then add 20% tip. Then when you're handing over the tip, have someone say “Is that for the stylist or the assistant?”. Then you realise it's 20% x 2 so you dig deeper again.
My first New York haircut cost so much that a few nights later, while we were sitting and scrolling, my husband sat bolt upright and asked “What is a Salon Ziba? I think our account has been hacked”. Putting my hand on his arm, I said “Honey, no. Put the phone down. There's no need to call AIB. I….I have something to tell you. See this hair on my head that you didn't even notice was different this past three days? This is what a Salon Ziba is. And the figure you saw that you were certain was fraudulent activity on our bank cards? That's how much it cost”.
Back to 2024, I took my free (ish) blow dry out to Flushing Meadows to see Naomi Osaka beat Jelena Ostapenko in the US open, while the kids were in Central Park Zoo.
Wednesday
We started the day by video calling my mam over breakfast to wish her a happy birthday. I asked did she have anything nice planned and she said she was going for dinner in the Gresham and to see Dancing at Lughnasa in the Gate.
“The GRESHAM?” I said. “Pop round to the Portal and we'll call down to say hello!”
“Why would I do that when I can talk to you like this?” she asked, ruining the mood.
We all met at the Portal anyway. The whole entire family. My parents, brother and sister on the Dublin side and my other brother, me, David and the kids on the other. We waved and danced then called into Eataly for lunch and a pitstop into the Lego Store next door before home.
'friend' turning into 'the lads'. Spot on.😂