Facials

Har fået et spørgsmål ang. om jeg kan anbefale et godt sted til facials, og faktisk har jeg ikke selv prøvet det mens jeg var i NY, men har fået anbefalet et par stykker, som måske kunne være interessante

Jeg vil selv kigge nærmere på dem til når jeg skal til NY senere på året.

(I’ve got a questions regarding whether I can recommend a good place for facials andI have not actually even tried it while I was in NY, but have been recommended a few places)

In Search of the Jersey Shore

You’d think that going to the Jersey shore would mean lots of women with high hairdos and trashy clothing, but when we visit Bradley Beach — about 15 minutes from where “The Jersey Shore” cast like to party, it’s like visiting another planet. A normal planet, with normal people who just like to get away for a calm, laid-back sun-filled weekend — unlike the hoity-toity Hamptons, where it’s all about who’s who, or the party-infested Fire Island.
Most of my weekends at the Jersey shore are actually kind of, well, boring. And I’m kind of sorry that the show is ruining it.
But maybe I haven’t been going to the right places. So a couple of weekends ago, my girlfriend Lisa and I decided, enough of this boring relaxing stuff. Let’s go to a club! So we drove about six minutes to Belmar and saw all the kids dancing. Indeed, they had high hair and fake tans and frosted lipstick and were drinking too much and standing too close to each other. Even though the doorman ID’d us (we were a decade older than everyone on the porch) when we got to the door to the inside (we’d been looking at the crowd spill over on the porch) the music was too loud, Lisa had to go to the bathroom, and the cover was $20 apiece. So we bailed. We don’t like dancing anyway.

Instead we went to dinner in Bradley (we usually eat at the place we are staying) Cerattos — http://www.cerratosatbradley.com/ — where the owner, Lew, came out in his slicked-back white hair, to personally welcome us to his restaurant: a low-lit romantic affair with a full-on Italian menu and a table of mafiosos adjacent to ours. The men kept eying us, but we only had eyes for the ravioli and a delectable smores dessert (graham crackers filled with marshmallows and chocolate with vanilla ice cream). When we left, the mafia guys’ blond lady friend — tight dress, diamond cross lost in cleavage — beckoned us over to ask if “yous like to share a glass of wine with these gentleman.” And we might of, but our bill was already paid, so what was the point? Also, they didn’t look like “The Situation.” Maybe his pudgy grandfather. I was deciding whether I should be insulted that someone that old hit on me, when Lisa said, “Amy, look at your hair!” I checked my reflection in the window when I left, and I saw her point: after a day at the beach, it was wild, curly, and ahem, rather high. My dress was kind of short too, and although I wasn’t wearing heels, my flip flops were sparkly. In short, I had become The Jersey Shore.

By Amy Klein