Last week I had another awesome few days in the city that never sleeps but makes me very tired. Of course I'm talking about New York baby! I am always jazzed to be there and am like a woman who has been raised by wolves when I first arrive. Entering the city by cab from JFK I stare open mouthed at the food carts. Dude, I'm not talking pretzels and hot dogs, I'm talking like whole authentic Indian meals now-from a freaking cart!! I point while making gutteral sounds at the amazing window displays, showing spectacular fashions that have yet to make it to the Bella Moda boutique in downtown St. Pete. The people, the hair, the clothes, the energy-I am so down with it.
The cab pulls up to my sister's apartment and I now know the drill. I have the money all ready and counted in my sweaty hand. I exit the cab on the side near the curb instead of walking into oncoming traffic, which nearly caused an international incident last time I did that, as if our relationship with Iran is not bad enough.
As I only have two days here, my time has to be spent wisely. First off there is the restaurant selection which only gets bigger and better each time I come. One thing about NYC, do NOT just wander off the street into a New York restaurant and expect to be served. You need a reservation and this must be done like, weeks in advance of your actual meal. Then, the restaurant actually calls you to remind you to be there! I didn't even get a reminder call for my colonoscopy appointment, much less a confirmation for my pizza time. BTW- God help you if you are a no show. You will never get served in this city again. Never.
So that taken care of, (Smith's the first night, Marea the second,) my sister and I decided to do a little shopping but first she just needs to stop in her hair salon and have a touch up color. She looks at me and says, "Um maybe I can see if Micah has an opening for you? Maybe a nice hair cut or something?"
"What? I just had my hair done, what's wrong with it?"
"It looks a little.....Kate Gosselinish"
I dont know if she meant after the make over or before, but either way, I don't really need to look like a mother of octoplets or whatever you call those kids.
As luck would have it Micah just had a cancellation and can see me at 3:30.
At 3:30 we enter the salon which is very chic in black and white with a touch of red. My sister is whisked away with a fresh iced tea in hand and I sit down to wait for Micah. Do I need to tell you what the clients in this place look like? Like Giselle Bundchen, Gwynth Paltrow or Kate Moss. That may even be Kate Moss, I mean this is New York, after all.
Micah makes his way over to me and after exchanging pleasantries, he starts messing with my hair. The more he messes with it the more my pulse begins to race. I am going to look like a real New Yorker when I leave here. Micah will see to that.
"Your cheek bones are amazing. You can SO rock short hair. Are you okay going short?"
He calls Mylissa the colorist over.
"OMG Look at these cheekbones! Those eyes! Don't you think she should go short?"
"Oh honey you HAVE to go short. Show that face!"
Well of course I have to go short. My cheekbones, my eyes. I am drinking the New York cool aid and I can SO rock short hair.
"Yes Micah! Do it! Make me fabulous!"
He begins to cut and says "This is so making my day. I NEVER get to do short cuts, all my clients wear their hair long."
30 minutes and $300.00 later we are back on the street.
"How do I look?" I asked my sister.
"Well that was so worth it," she answers. "You look like a fine young man now."
We make our way up the street, her hair blowing in the wind, my ears turning red from the cold.
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