A Tickle Me Elmo

     Times Square: The Center of New York, busy, crowded, iconic, and full of prominent animated characters that looked like they were hit by a bus.  Each one is altered in just a way to avoid copyright infringement, and shuffle around like poor zombie cartoons asking for money.
   
      It can become very unsettling.

      It can be even more unsettling when you don't even see them coming.

      It began with meeting some friends outside one of the theaters for dinner before his next show.

      Coming up to Times Square from the subway station, I stopped at the corner to make sure I would be going in the right way.  Double checking the directions I had on my phone, I noticed something large and red in the corner of my eye.

     I didn't think much of it, until it began to grow closer, and even closer still.

     Finally glancing up, I saw a giant pair of off center eyes inches away from my face.

    "Woahmygod."

    The Elmo was pointing at my phone, and then to himself, wanting to take a picture.

   "Oh no. I'm sorry. It's ok."

    Then, in a very unexpected heavy and thick middle eastern accent, Elmo said: "Come. You take picture with Elmo."

   "Oh, Elmo, no. I'm so sorry. it's ok."

   "Picture. Elmo."

   "No, No Elmo. I don't even have a dollar for Elmo. I'm sorry."

   "Elmo."

    "Elmo, no. I'm sure many people want their pictures with you."

    "Is OK. You give Elmo Hug."

     "I'm ok."

     "Hug Elmoooo"

     ....and Elmo awkwardly swooped in.  I don't ever remember Elmo being that awkwardly aggressive.

   I think I used to like watching Sesame Street, but I think I'm good for now. It just wouldn't be the same.

   

Another Disaster

     Construction, especially subway construction, is never exactly defined as a pleasant or convenient experience.  That, along with barely having any idea what you're doing anyway, can change from an inconvenience to an absolute nightmare.

    Having figured out a decent and the most direct way to work after only a few experienced setbacks, I finally had the blissful feeling of confidence. "I'm a big kid now. Look, I have my big kids pants on, and I can get to work all by myself now! I deserve a cookie!"

    Either New York still hasn't warmed up to me yet, or it has a subtle way of saying "No. You don't need that cookie. I'm doing something to shatter everything possible that would even make you think you deserve one."

   It began as a normal day. For a few weeks now I was able to walk out the doors to the subway station, and take the subway to my bus connection which would take me to work. Maybe I had grown too secure in believing the subway would always be there for me, because today it had a nasty sign posted that it wouldn't. Neither train in either direction would be passing through.

   "J Train Closed. Take the shuttle bus, located at an address you have no idea where to even begin to head off to, and shuffle around awkwardly until you decide your next game-plan that will more than likely be spending a good amount of time asking the people who don't look completely shady, and that you'll probably annoy in the process. Good luck with your self esteem."

   Great.

   Stubborn, I tried to find the address for the substitution bus, only to end up annoying the people who didn't look completely shady for directions.

   For twenty minutes I waited at the shuttle stop, slightly annoyed, but comfortable in the fact I had left early enough that I'd still be fine.

   Finally, the bus pulled up, and everyone who had gathered at the stop filed on.  I settled back to get comfortable until the next transfer, and 45 seconds later, the driver stopped the bus. "All Out!"

   Somebody had obviously asked a question, because in response, a bus driver who had obviously dealt with this from several people who didn't have a clue all morning stated in a rather aggressive manner: "This ain't no damn shuttle bus. If you want the shuttle you have to wait at the shuttle stop."

    Ah.

   At least I wasn't alone.  

   Like sheep, several of us bailed on the shuttle idea altogether, and began to walk a mile to the next station we were originally meant to take the shuttle to.

   After getting there, I found out that we were to take the shuttle to another shuttle that would take us to the next available station for the J that I needed to take. Being sure to be very, very thorough, I boarded the shuttle.

   "This is the shuttle bus?"

    "Yes."

   "This is the shuttle bus to Broadway Junction?"

    "Yes."

    "This is the shuttle bus to Broadway Junction that I can then make a connection to the J?"

    "Yes."

    "This is the shuttle--"

    "Please move to the back of the bus maam."

    "Ok.''

     There was a huge mistake made, however, in believing that the hard part was over. Never, NEVER believe that the hard part is over. You're setting yourself up for failure.

   I rode the shuttle bus that would take me to Broadway Junction to make a connection to my J.  Exiting the bus, I saw above ground tracks high in the air. I could see the tracks, I could see the trains, and I could see the people.  The one thing I had failed to see were the stairs.

    Feeling this would be an easy solution, I went around the block, keeping the tracks in site.

    No. No stairs.

    Alright then.  

    I went around the next block.

    No.

    Fine.

    "Excuse me....Hi. Where is the entrance to the train?"

     "Eh?"

     Uh oh. No English.

     "Up...there? Up, tracks? Yes? I'd like to get up there."

    "Eh?"

     Well crap.

     It's all good. Crowded street, so many people. No big deal.  So many more people to ask.

    "Oh hello there. Excuse me, can you--"

    "Eh?"

     Alright then. No good. One more.

     "Hel--"

     "Eh?"

     Are you FREAKING SERIOUS? 

     Everyone that I came across didn't speak any English. If they did, it was broken and hard to understand.

     Tactics changed, and let me tell you-- It is VERY hard to mime stairs while pointing obviously up to the tracks above. I was walking my fingers up my arm - signing little stick figure men - and pointing. Always pointing.  

      Every time I did feel like I was getting through to someone, they would point me in the opposite direction of the person before me. Each time I would wander off where the pointed me, failing to find any stairs, and would find someone else to point some more.

      Uh-oh.

      All of a sudden I felt the tightening feeling in my chest.

      Don't....don't do it. Don't----

      "Excuse me, do you know----waaaaaaaaaaaah!"

      I had changed my approach. Now I was bawling as I pointed.  In my head, I knew how it looked. I was a soggy white girl who had made the same rounds around the block 8 times now.

        A week prior, a thought began to form clearly in my head. "I'm getting older. I'm actually starting to feel like an adult now. A grown woman. A grown woman in New York."

        Between sniffles and more points, I felt like I just backtracked on one of the most important discoveries I had come to.  I was beyond pathetic.

       Finally running into a police officer, I only pointed and cried.

        "I need to find the J......The Jaaaaaaaaaay!"

         The officer looked at me. "Take the stairs."

         "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

         "Maam, you need to calm down. Just take the stairs, it's not that hard."

        "You don't understaaaaaaaand!!!!"

         Finally...FINALLY I found them.  Coming across them was like finding the entrance to Narnia - they were hidden in an entryway buried by trees and gates. It was absolutely beautiful. These stairs....these beautiful, beautiful stairs.

      The rest of the route to work was familiar to me, except that even leaving an hour early, I would be ending up a half an hour late.

    After my bus connection and getting off at the proper stop, I found myself immersed in a giant political protest. A huge amount of people lined the streets with pickets, screaming at cars.  I awkwardly stood at the crosswalk waiting for the light to change while cars honked and people yelled through megaphones and waved signs that I didn't completely understand.

     I couldn't imagine the commute ending any other way.

    

A Maze of Transportation

     Ever since before the move, I've had so many people tell me "New York? You don't need a car there."  "New York is known for some of the best public transportation." And true, New York is a crazy maze filled with hundreds of rushed people try to get from one point to another, but you can always find a way to get to where you're wanting to be.

      After only a few months away from paying off and owning my little Chevy, I sold it after driving it only three times through the city. Driving here consisted of varying degrees of unending standstill traffic, pedestrians who are completely immortal and will literally dive headfirst in front of your moving vehicle to get across the street two seconds faster, along with instant heart attacks from drivers who should never be behind a wheel ever again.

       To say that the mass compilation of Subways, Buses, and Railroad were overwhelming would be a drastic understatement. 

       Boarding the wrong train that is going the opposite way of of the direction of where you intended more times you can count is the city's cruel way of learning your lesson the hard way.  After a month, however, my experience with this happens more than it should.  There's always that beautiful moment of bursting into the subway car right as the door closes, only to take a second look on the lights flashing the next stop. 

"%&*$#@%" 

     Starting to get comfortable act like you know what you're doing, however, is when New York says "Don't pretend, you Utah Outsider. If you think you know it so well, try THIS." More often than not, New York will then punch you in the face.

     My first anxiety attack came the day after selling the car, and I was fully dependent on public transportation.  After clearly and triple checking the route I was supposed to take, I started to feel like I had a handle on things after 2 out of 3 bus transfers. While making the 3rd connection which would take me the rest of the way to work, I began to feel uneasy. I had a half hour until I was scheduled, and I began to stress for time even though I had thought I left plenty early. Passing a stop, I immediately had a sinking feeling. "Excuse me, this is the N24, right?"

     "Naw, this is the N22. You kin make the N24 bus in abou' 45 minutes."

      "Are you...are you seri- Ohmygaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" I freaked out. I had based my connection off of clock time the bus was supposed to arrive at the stop, and not the actual bus itself that ended pulling up.

     Never behaving rationally under pressure, I lunged to pull on the cord signalling the bus to stop.

     "What ju doin'? This ain't no 24 connection here. You hafta wait!"
     "Ohmygaaaha, I'm going to be so late. I'll walk, I'll take a taxi....I'll take anything."  

     I fled the bus, and stood squinting in an area I knew nothing about, and started to melt in the hot sun.  Apparently, in those few seconds of practically leaping out of a moving bus, I must have expected a sea of taxi cabs would be waiting eagerly to take me the right way. That, or a magical flying unicorn that sprayed rainbows across the sky as we flew. I have no idea why I did what I did. I was standing on the street of a suburb in ridiculous humidity.  

    A taxi shuttle van drove by,and I practically ran after him with my arms wide open.

    "Please...hey. Heeeeeey! I need you! Come baaaaaack!"  He looked at me like I was an idiot (no idea why,) and pointed to the side of the vehicle to a number where I could call for one. 

    Running out of time, I called and reached an operator asking my location. 

    Oops.

    "Where am I?" It might as well have been: "Who do you think you are...asking me such a thing? I'm offended and appalled!

     Frantically, I searched for any street signs I could find.   

    "I'm by....hold on. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" (There was much of this as I jogged down the street, and I made various different filler noises to let her know I was figuring it out.) "I'm by...hold on. Uhhhhhh....eeeeeeee.....waaaaaaaaaaah..... 23rd street? Can you please send a taxi to 23 street?"

    "Where are you at? What city?"

     Oops.

    I had no idea what suburb my job transfer was actually in - let alone the areas on the way which I had gotten off at prematurely. 

     "Hold on. Uhhhhhhhhhhhh.......Excuse me....excuse me, sir?" I was flagging down anyone I could find.
     "Excuse me....what city is this?!"  I got various blank looks from multiple people.

     "Excuse me....what day is this? What YEAR IS THIS? DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!" 

     I was practically chasing little old ladies down in parking lots just to find out where on God's green earth I was at that moment in time.

     An extremely annoyed operator put up with me for a good 10 minutes.

      "I'm by a store? I'm by a streetlight? A stop sign? I'm by other vague locations that could be absolutely anywhere in the entire state and I expect you to magically find me?"

     Somehow, some way we found a common ground where she was sending the cab. As soon as he pulled up, we established that he didn't take credit cards.

       I was a wreck.

       A mad dash to an ATM, a 10 minute ride and $30 later, I made it to work with seconds to spare.

       The best part of the story? A few weeks later I found that if I would have stayed on the bus, it would have taken me right outside my work. Both N22 and N24 end at the same place taking only slightly different routes along the way.

      And now I know... I know far too well now.

       

A First Week in New York

     I don't know if it's that I have a vision in my head of how things will turn out to be, or if I have no expectations at all and just take things as they come...but my first week in New York was not necessarily "living the dream" material.

 

     My first move to Minnesota was simply using gps to find an address that I knew nothing about that would then be my new home.  The move to New York was planned out by having my friend Trent scope out the apartment for approval before we signed a lease. ...I then used gps to find an address that I knew nothing about that would then be my new home.

   We pulled up in our tiny, spilled rotten milkshake smelling car on a tiny narrow crowded street pulling a Uhaul, two restless dogs, 2 bamboo plans, a mini palm, a full palm tree, a betta in a juice bottle, and almost impossibly wedged ourselves in. The stairs up to the apartment were four floors up and incredibly narrow.  We unlocked the door to what would be our home for the next year, and as the door swung open my first immediate thought was "Where is the rest of it?"  It was smaller than I had even imagined. As soon as I walked in the door, I was practically in half of the apartment.

    After hours upon  hours of unloading the truck up four flights of stairs that would result in a burning and achy body that would be felt for days afterwards - we returned the trailer and came "home."  I dug out my queen air mattress, and began to inflate it in my room. While it slowly began to expand, I realized that any available space in my room was slowly disappearing. The only thought I could have was, "Oh no, I live in a closet!"

     Realizing it was 11 at night, and the idea of venturing out in the dark in a brand new place was the last thing we wanted to do, we ended up ordering a pizza from Dominos. (This isn't Utah anymore....everything doesn't shut down at 9.)  When the ridiculously priced $30 SINGLE TOPPING pizza arrived looking like an old shoe,it could only mean a perfect end to the night.

    The next morning, all I wanted was a shower.  In my mind, I could only feel like this would be a pleasant experience.  I wasn't expecting the ice cold water stabbing daggers into my heart. There was no hot water at ALL.  We had called earlier during the drive to have the gas turned on before our move, only to realize that they wouldn't have it on without the paperwork.

   Without internet or a printer, we spent our first day hunting down a shady little internet cafe where we spent twenty dollars to fax our info to the utilities companies for electric and gas.  We made the call after our papers were in only to find out they would make an appointment to turn our gas in roughly 14 days. I wanted to die. Luckily, after almost a week of jumping in for seconds at a time under a freezing jet of water for a "shower" they came to turn on our meter. There was much rejoicing. 

   Of course, with any move, there's the "Ohmygaaah, I made the biggest mistake of my life..." moment. It happened the first night in Minneapolis, and I could only anticipate the New York one to whop me straight in the face.  I was doing relatively well until a friend of my roomate's stopped by to take her out one night.  Before he left, he stayed for a while where the conversation headed from pleasantries into how there were numerous ways of getting robbed and/or dying here. This was less than comforting.

   After they had left, I sulked into my closet room to go to bed, with both dogs following behind. While barking and freaking out at every possible noise was annoying at first, it began to become a comfort to let everyone on the outside of the door know that if they were to force themselves in they may get bit, or at the very least peed on.

     Each time I began to drift off and finally sleep, Remington or Scottie would hear something, leap off the bed and spaz out at the door. My already elevated air mattress was on a slated bed frame, so it was quite a leap for them to each get back up.  After probably about the fourth or fifth freak out session, only Remington made it back onto the bed.  There was a momentary pause, and in the darkness I felt Scottie botch his attempt of jumping back up, and crash to the ground.

     As if in slow motion, I heard Scottie's paws leave the floor. There was then a soft thud as he hit the side of the mattress and bounce off  in an awkward puppy somersault. It was more humorous than sad in that moment until there was a soft hiss that took only a second to register.  As the hissing continued,  I began to sink down while the inflatable mattress folded in around me. Scottie had popped the air mattress.

     It's hard to tell if deep down I knew this would be funny later, or if I would just live in denial of how ridiculous all these events were stacking up.  The irrational part of me became unproductively impulsive, and I tore through boxes to find something that would repair the situation. I found a leather repair kit I had saved, tore open the package, and slabbed black goo across the puncture. "Give me anything! Peanut butter, Scotch tape...ANYTHING to fill this hole and keep the precious air inside!!!'

 

 ....I made a mess.  In all honesty, no idea what I was thinking. It was more the heat of the moment really.

I spent one of my first few nights on the hardwood floor. Welcome to New York.

  

A New York Move

It all began with this....

     During my first big move from Utah to Minnesota, I packed only what could fit in my small two door car with a bamboo plant riding in the front seat and hitting my sister and I in the face for a three day drive.

     While the hostility resulting from my choice of giving my plant life priority seating over my sister's comfort was not one I wanted to repeat with a new roomate, her dog and my own Scottie, my tiny car took on the brave task of being loaded with a trailer to aide with space.

      The drive was long. And slow. It was a good start an hour and a half into the trip when Scottie began hiccuping, then coughing, then hacking. In slow motion, he began to heave. "Scottie, hold on....hold on there buddy....FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE DON'T PUKE IN THIS CAR!!!!" He then began to spew vomit across the center console. Then, to make sure he covered enough area, he moved to floor for a second round. As if to make it completely worth it, he then dribbled what was left leaking from his mouth onto the seat. After he was through, he looked up with wide, innocent eyes like nothing had happened; his "I'm done, we can play again" eyes.

     Requiring a small detour to the next available stop, I made multiple trips into the "No Dogs Allowed Inside" rest area, alternating between coming out with handfuls of dry and wet paper towels to the the point where I felt like the tourist desk attendant almost banned me from coming in again.

    "I'm sorry. My dog...he just puked in the car. Everywhere. Absolutely everywhere! Puke! Everywhere! My car is going to smell like vomit for DAYS!"

     PS, explaining awkward situations doesn't make it better. Since I can remember, I've always felt like I owe people an explanation in uncomfortable situations. I don't know what I expect as a response, but to this day it has never worked in my favor.

     I drove from Minnesota to Wisconsin to pick up my roomate Jenessa, loaded the trailer with her half of what could fit in the Uhual, and continued the trip at a thrilling 55 mile per hour max due to the weight we were pulling.

     We made the drive in four days, and three nights.  At each hotel, I insisted on bringing my box of 2 bamboo plants, a mini palm tree, and my large full size palm up each night so they wouldn't die in the trailer. I will forever defend my irrational plant decisions even though deep down I know there's nothing to back them up. I will stand behind them out of pure stubbornness and plant devotion.  With two restless dogs, a traveling beta fish, and a complete landscape to accompany and add to each hotel decor, this was shaping up to be a roadtrip to remember.

     

        Of course, every roadtrip has its highlights.  This one especially had more than one could possibly count, including:

• One of the dogs getting loose outside and the chaos of trying to shove him back in the car while stopping for gas.
• Driving 20 miles per hour up the Appalachian Mountains with the air conditioner off in fear of literally exploding the engine while two dogs wrestled and fought in the backseat for at least A 6 HOUR PERIOD.
• Scottie freaking out and barking continuously in a small confined space, and being a little diva when he couldn't squash himself up in the front.
• Spending twenty minutes looking online if it was possible to give Scottie something to relax.
• Drugging the poor dog so that he wouldn't kill us all.
• The stop for ice cream, the mistake of leaving it in the car for two minutes, having the dogs get into it and smear it across the entire front seat, and the remainder of the drive spent in trying not to inhale the literally rotten milk smell of cheap soft serve vanilla.

     

     And who could forget experiencing New York for the first time ever by DRIVING A UHUAL THROUGH A CROWDED TIMES SQUARE?!

....Good times. Good times.

     The initial moment of excitement was immediately cut short by honking from every direction and every angle.

     In my short, not even an hour of New York experience, I learned quickly that as SOON as a stoplight turns green, you better hope that you can slam on your gas pedal faster than the person behind you can slam their horn. I'm talking split seconds.  Traffic lanes are more guidelines than actually followed, more of a suggestion if you will, and tourists will always be in your way. Sometimes you have to gently nudge them out of it - gently inching your car through a sea of people. 

  

     

      They say if you can make it in New York, you can make it anywhere. I barely made it TO New York alive, but getting there is half the battle....