As suspected, a couple of ‘I’m not coming’ (I can’t be bothered) messages filter through.

“Ohhhh!  Is that tomorrow??”

A masquerade of feigned surprise that this has crept up on them.

Em, yeah. It is.

“It’s not really my jam.” (This is a new approach.)

I see. Hanging out with your friends is not really your thing, got wasted last night? You’ve developed an acute case of social anxiety and possibly agoraphobia but I shouldn’t worry because it’s probably just a 24 hour thing?

From the others, radio silence.


But I’m not perturbed. A handful of reliables will come good. Of that I have no doubt.

Plenty of notice has been given. New Yorkers are not ones for doing things on whims, that is, unless they get what they perceive to be a better offer (which happens quite a fair bit to be honest).

“Making the most of the finest BBQ weather, The Scarlet Bob is hosting a party at her salubrious Bushwick abode for the lucky few. Saturday 15 July. Consider yourself invited. Come as yourself and prepare to have FUN.”

Watermelon. Marshmallows. Bananas. Lemons. Palm tree drink stirrers. Strip of faux grass (borrowed from and unbeknownst to the neighbors). BBQ grill. Pulling out all the stops for a Bushwick Rooftop Banana BBQ Bonanza.


SATURDAY. It’s a bit of a scorcher and makes me consider revisiting my outfit. Reconsideration lasts about four seconds. I’ve been waiting for months to turn heads in my purple gigantor-sequin disco jumper again without dying of heatstroke or wool-induced dehydration. Today, the risk is worth taking.  

Aritzia pleather pants and Steve Madden fashion bitch heels are cast as supporting roles. Purple deserves gold for this awarding winning ensemble. 

(Probably should have waited to get dressed til after setup was complete. Fashion bitch heels and ladders to rooftops are not the best pairing. Luckily Sherpa was on hand with both his hands to do the necessary.)

Set up successful. GOOSEBUMPS.

Can of Pacifico is cracked open and I take in the vista of glorious Bushwick. J train to my left, block of view-obscuring apartments to my right. “And everything is alright” (agrees Ice Cube keeping me company on Spotify).

“Call me when you get here and I’ll buzz you up!”

Again, radio silence.  

Tick. Tock. The clock strikes 3pm. Check phone in case of missed calls or texts. Not. A. Wan.

More Pacifico.  

Bananas are starting to char.  

Check phone again.  Hmmm.  Text out-of-town housemate to call me and confirm mobile phone network has not gone up in flames and there is in fact a queue of friends curling around the block.

Not the case. AT&T and Verizon are fully functional.  

Put it down to fashionable lateness. They probably think I’d be disappointed with anything else.

Bananas. Pacifico. Pacifico. Marshmallow. Watermelon. Pacifico.  

Fun in the sun. All by myself. Clock ticks away. Is this some kind of joke?

Several highly satisfying bitchy texts composed in my head. RESIST SEND.

This calls for...more Pacifico.

Time passes and I’m settling on the realization that nobody’s coming to my party.  

Even Sherpa says he wouldn’t be here if only for he’s taking the photos. Kick a girl when she’s down why don’t you?!

Don’t they know how much I HATE BANANAS??  I’m doing this for them.

Rage. Rage. Rage. Disappointment. Flakiness of New Yorkers strikes again.


What’s wrong with me?  Why didn’t they come? (Is it something I said? Is it my hair?)

I’m teetering on the edge of a self doubt spiral.  Feel myself falling...

And stop.  

Reassessment of situation required.

Once again, New York has given me lemons. And I’m throwing them right back. 

Hey New York! Have you seen my jumper???! Oh yeah ‘And my hair?’

Aside from the small (large) matter of nobody coming to my party, I’m looking good (which is always a bonus in the face of adversity).

I remind myself of my achievements. Surviving in this crazy city. Bananas on my BBQ. Sequins on my back. The means to buy Pacifico and marshmallows and flights back to Ireland (outside of peak season).

You know what? I’m doing okay. In fact, I’m doing just great.  

I don’t need flakes, I need friends. I’m gonna go out and make me some new ones.  

Dear Former Friends, I’m sorry you missed the Best Bushwick Rooftop Banana BBQ Bonanza of the year. 


I hit the streets of Bushwick. Admiring glances from passersby. I’ll take ‘em.  

“Hey girl! Heyyyyyy! Love your hair! Love your style!”

BOOM. I’m in. Girl Gang on tour feelin’ the sequins vibes. 

“Oh, why thank you!”

“You HAVE to come hang with us!  Where we’re headed you’re gonna be the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle!”

Law of Attraction. In action.

Cue disco-themed rooftop barbeque just down the street. And I’m the shiny disco ball. Dancing. Singing. Pulling my best Saturday Night Fever moves. Making new friends.

I thank the universe and my lucky stars for this afternoon’s intervention. Praise be to the sequins for keeping me right.

Passed out from new friend fun, I'm awoken to a persistent doorbell and loud hallway chatter. I open the door to the crowd whose numbers I’d just finished deleting…

Invite mistakenly sent out for 1am not pm…

Time to get those bananas on the grill again!

GLOSSARY OF TERMS (in order of appearance)

Melters - Irish English for people who are annoying. For various reasons. You decide.

Sherpa - Surely you know at this stage? But just in case... friend / helper of friends in need / explorer / therapist / human trip advisor / life coach / photographer / performer

Gigantor - Irish English for 'big' or 'rather large'. First heard and adopted from former Account Director & Mentor Jennifer King back in my glorious advertising days circa 2005. That's a whole other story that may or may not be discussed at some point in the future.

Jumper - Irish English for 'sweater'. I think we may have talked about this before? Nothing to do with actual jumping unless of course you decide to starting jumper while wearing a jumper, in which case, would be purely coincidental.

Not A Wan - Irish English for ‘not one’ or ‘nobody’. Pronounced ‘nah-a-wan’ in the country (bog) areas of Ireland. Such as Cavan, where I’m from.


Purple Gigantor Sequin Jumper: My own. Procured in Dublin in 2013 and definitely a wardrobe favorite / Sunglasses: Prada / Pleather Pants: Aritzia / Fashion Bitch Heels: Steve Madden / Gold $ Earrings: Discount Universe / Yellow Backpack: MOSCHINO