If it seems sketch, you probably shouldn't go in

I just got home from an . . . interesting night. Sarah, my buddy out here, some new friends and I all went to the Met (that's the Metropolitan Museum of Art, for all you who were as confused as I was). We wandered around tons of exhibits. That place is huge. You could spend a week there and still not see everything. It's also very easy to get lost. I may have spent more time talking than looking, but hey. I had fun.

We decided to go get some dessert when the museum closed. One of the girls found a restaurant on her phone, but it turned out to be a swanky, upper class type of place (welcome to the Upper East Side). We figured we weren't dressed well enough to even get a table, so we wandered down the street looking for somewhere else. The wind was freezing and it was dark, so when we walked past an old diner we thought we'd give it a try. After all, we really didn't want to be looking much longer. Besides, diners are generally family restaurants, right? There were florescent lights, leather booths, and barstools. How American can it get? We walked in. I immediately regretted that decision. First off, there were only men in the diner. Old men at the counter, young men in the booths. We wondered for a moment if we had come to a gay bar. That theory was quickly discarded when we realized that every one of them had stopped talking and stared at us. I don't mean casually looking. I mean full-on, turn and watch the girls go choose a booth and sit down. Openly look at their bodies. Very creepy.


By the time we realized something was wrong, it was already too late to turn back. I don't mean that we couldn't leave, I just mean that we didn't. We had already ordered, and the situation wasn't exactly unsafe. It was just . . . strange. And a little scary. Good tip - never show you're scared. Ever. Act like everything will be okay and it generally turns out fine. We were talking in low voices about our experience so far, and realized that we each thought the same thing. I thought I was overreacting since I'm new to the city, but the other girls agreed that something was going on. However, it's unlikely something would happen to us there. There were four of us, and a big window looking out onto the street. We were okay. Just nervous.

You know, we probably should have left. After all, there was no reason to stay. The food was overpriced and not very good. The waiter reminded us at least twice that the restaurant would be closing soon. The guy two booths away kept interjecting into our conversation. We ignored him, but he literally watched us the entire time except when he was yelling at the management for overcharging him. As we were paying, the guy at the register told us the kid needed help and was schizophrenic. And the whole time, the men kept staring at us. Barely even talking to each other. Listening to our conversation. Obviously, we ate fast.


As we left, I checked behind us several times. Not like I thought they would follow us, but still. The whole situation was a little strange. We talked about it afterwords, and one of the girls said that there was this weird vibe as soon as we went in. I have no idea why, and I really don't care. But I can tell you this: I will never go into that restaurant again. NEVER.

And I say to myself, what an insanely big world

Anyone who knows me knows that I love politics. Not domestic politics so much, but the international stuff is so interesting! I love knowing what's going on in the world. So you can imagine just how excited when I visited the UN yesterday. As in the United Nations. As in the place where important people meet everyday to try to change the world. Whether or not it's completely effective is debatable, but still. The UN is an amazing place to be! First we (being me and Sarah, the other intern) went to get our grounds passes. That isn't exactly an easy process. You have to have a letter of recommendation, a form, an organization, and a dang good reason to be there. But we checked out and were given passes which expire in December. Then we walked across the street to the UN. It's HUGE. There are areas visitors can go, but people with passes get to go to more exciting areas. Like the United Nations Security Council room.

Okay, so maybe that doesn't look terribly exciting. But go google image "United Nations New York." There's like two pictures of the room I was in! Yes, I know just how impressive that is. You have a friend/family member who was in that room! What, you're not impressed? Well, I was excited. No worries, Sarah teased me so you don't have to. We got there right after the delegates left. Lucky and unlucky, I suppose. I wouldn't have been able to go in the middle if they had been there, but I might have seen someone cool! As in someone famous. Politically famous. So maybe "cool" isn't the right term. But hey, a celebrity is a celebrity.

Then we went to the General Assembly Hall. None of you care, but I thought it was interesting that it was the largest room in the UN. Sarah said it reminded her of the meeting room of the Republic in Star Wars. You know, I can kind of see it.

After that we went to a building that was insanely restricted and insanely boring. Apparently it's where all the other important meetings happen, but there was nothing going on so I didn't waste time taking pictures. Sorry y'all, but you'll have to live.

I also met my first Ambassador! Earlier that day, we went to the Botswanian Mission (they call them missions here, not embassies). His official title is Ambassador Charles T. Ntwaagae, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the Republic of Botswana. Try saying that ten times fast! If you can pronounce his last name, that is. He himself ushered us into his office (definitely not the normal treatment - we were honored!). He is very knowledgeable about the history of the UN and of American history, and probably knows more than most Americans. I found out that the moment I stepped into the Botswanian Mission I was technically on Botswanian soil. Now I can say I've been to Botswana! Speaking of which, the UN is international territory, not American. So while I was there, I was really . . . somewhere. Everywhere? Nowhere? Anyway, the Ambassador was very gracious, enjoyed talking, and was willing to take pictures with us!

Afterward, we took pictures outside with the sign. Perhaps we're a little picture happy, but when else do you get to take pictures with fake zebras? (Lee Ferrin, that is for you.)

That night we went to a screening of several short films for the Athena Global Shorts Event, by invitation only. There was a guard with a gun at the front, and we had to give our names to the receptionist and show our ID. Then we went through what could be compared to airport security. We had to take off our coats and any metal we had, then go through a metal detector. We got to keep our shoes, though. It would probably be a little awkward to know the diplomats you're meeting with have smelly feet. The movies were interesting, loosely based on the oppression of women across the world. I didn't take any pictures of that event (it just didn't seem appropriate). When we got up to leave, a woman came up to me and thought I was a member of the Women's Organization because I was dressed so well. I was flattered. Thank you, Mom, for insisting I get the suit!

Awesome day? Yes. I met an important person, went to important places, and pretended I was important too. It'll happen someday. Watch out, UN. You haven't seen the last of me!

The best apartment in Manhattan

My elevator does not have a 13th floor. The elevator skips straight from the 14th to the 12th. It doesn't stop on the third floor either, but there's ample time between the fourth and the second so I'm guessing that there is one, I just can't access it from my elevator. Every time I use it, I feel like I'm in an old-fashioned movie where the 13th floor is bad luck.

I had groceries delivered to my door last night. I ordered them online and had them delivered to my building. Oh the convenience of the big city! My doorman signed for my delivery and brought it up to my door, so I don't even have to deal with the delivery person.

Speaking of doormen, have I mentioned how much I adore mine? Of course there was my friend who helped me out last Friday night, but there are several more. This morning as I was leaving, the morning doorman, Tom, opened the door for me and told me, "goodbye princess! I hope you have a beautiful day." I grinned. See, there's a story behind that. Growing up, my dad would call me and my sisters princesses. At work, I have five bosses (it's kind of a fun set up). They often tease me about being a princess because my parents are so worried about me being here in New York. So when Tom called me princess this morning, I was reminded of all these things that make me happy. I had to run back to my apartment for lunch, and I saw Tom again. He said, "Oh! I get to see you twice in one day!" I laughed and informed him it would soon be three times, as I was coming right back down. When I did, and I was leaving the building, he put his hand over his heart and said, "goodbye my love!" No worries, it's not anything awkward. It's just, well, princess-like treatment. I think we're going to be friends.

There are 37 floors, give or take the missing 13th. Still, the residents are kind to one another. I struck up a genuine conversation with a couple when I came home from work. They have lived in their apartment for 37 years! Yes, I know that's the same number as there are floors. But that's unimportant. Can you imagine living in an apartment for that long? In Utah, it's normal to live in an apartment when you go to college, and then for a little while after you get married, but most people go on to buy houses. Here, it's completely normal to live in apartments and pay rent for the rest of their lives. But they said they were happy to live there. They asked where I lived and how long I'd been here. They were excited for me and assured me I would love it here.

Yes, yes I will.

Layover adventures

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Chelsea. On her travels to New York she had all sorts of small adventures.

Like getting her shoes shined. Who knew that could be an entertaining experience? During my layover, I got my boots shined by some guy named Ramon. He started off our interaction well. We did the whole 'where are you going, why, have you lived in ____ long, how long have you been shining shoes,' etc.  Then he asked, “how old are you?” I answered, “22”. He looked up to say something. “Wow, you have gorgeous eyes!” Tips coming your way, man. The rest of our conversation went with me giving a little, him giving a little. Eventually, I found out he has a three-year-old boy who he wants to spend more time with. Unfortunately, he works two full-time jobs. “My dream,” he said while looking over his shoulder to make sure the other shoe shiner was a suitable distance away, “is to own my own shoe-shining business. I'm gonna leave here and be on my own.” Isn't that an interesting dream? Maybe some people would think he isn't dreaming big enough. But you know, it makes him happy. And if he can earn enough money doing it, I see no reason why he shouldn't be able to. His shoe-shining skills are fantastic, by the way. My boots look completely new.

Same layover, in a corner. I was watching a show on my laptop under the pretense of waiting for it and my phone to charge. The show finished and I was packing up when I realized that my little corner on the second floor had another occupant. There was a man kneeling on a prayer rug, murmuring a prayer to himself. I continued to put my stuff away. I would have liked to watch (that was my first experience seeing a Muslim person pray), but I felt it would be disrespectful to him. After all, I would be a little uncomfortable if people watched me. I noticed another man standing awkwardly near, watching the praying man. That man, I decided, lacked manners. Then I felt stupid when they greeted each other like long lost friends. Oh well. That'll teach me to judge. But really, I was more amazed with the Muslim man's actions. In the United States,  ever since 9/11, there has been such a negative connotation with all things Islam. How much courage would it take to stay true to your religion when you knew that the people around you could have that perception? Furthermore, I think it would be hard to pray so openly, even if it was just for the embarrassment factor. I admire him and I hope I will never be afraid to show my religion. If he can do it, so can I.

On the plane ride to New York, I met a very interesting person. A guy guy about my age sat down next to me on the plane. He smelled like he had just been smoking and he looked a bit scruffy. The stewardess got mad at him because he wouldn't turn off his phone because he wanted to send a text, then when she left he pulled it back out again (don't worry, he turned it off as soon as we started moving. No violations). I figured I had been put next to a troublemaker. About an hour into our flight, drinks were being passed out by the same stewardess. The guy next to me stopped her and apologized for the way he had acted. He explained that he had a medical condition so he had to take medicine that made him a little loopy, and he realized that he had been rude. Once again, shame on me for judging. We got to talking and I asked him what he does. He replied that he's going to school, but as for work he grows medicinal marijuana. Yeah, it surprised me too. He lives in Colorado, so it's okay. He said that he has a medical condition, so he was always allowed to grow a couple of plants. Then a company who grows medical marijuana (legally, folks) contacted him and asked him to grow for them. We talked about it for a while. The curiosity got to me and I asked him if he was ever hesitant to tell people what he did. He replied that yes, it was something he had to think about. For people older than him, he just told them he worked with growing plants for medicine. He felt like he would be judged for what he did, and he's probably right. But for people his age (he said "our". I was happy someone finally recognized me as a college student without me having to show my drivers license) he would tell them if they seemed like they would take it the right way. I was honored, and told him so. It's always nice when people deem you worthy of knowing the truth. At the end of our flight, he showed me the way to the checked baggage pickup (what's the word for that?) and went on his way. Nice guy.

I think I've been lucky in my interactions with other people. I got to meet/see people from entirely different worlds than the one I'm from. Coming from Mormonville Utah, I think they impact me so much more than they do for people who have lived in diverse areas. Everyone is interesting, and I love seeing the differences.

Constant happiness

Friday, I flew into New York. I didn't know anyone, I had never been to the city, I hadn't even seen my apartment.

On Sunday, I went to church. Do you have any idea how comforting the institutions of the can be? It doesn't matter where you go, they will always be the same. I've learned this before, but I had never realized just how much I depend on the relationships we have in church. The girls in the elevator realized they didn't know me and, in the time period between the first and third floor, I had been introduced to all of them and been assured that they were there if I needed any help adjusting. The bishop came up to me right after Sacrament Meeting ended to introduce himself and make sure I was invited to the new member's meeting. The relief society president came to the meeting, asked questions about me, and actually cared. I met people at church who I'm excited to see again. God is always there, and I trust my relationship with Him. But sometimes, it's really nice to have mortal confirmation that I exist and that I'm important.

Today, I went to work and was greeted by name by six people I just met and already trust. We had a meeting for several hours. We went out to lunch and talked on subjects from the new Les Misérables movie to the Arab Spring. The director knows my name and teases me and Sarah, the other intern. I went home thinking, wow, that went fast! And I can't wait until tomorrow!

That, my friends, is living.

People is people

It doesn't matter where you go, there's always someone willing to help you out. Like in California when we locked our keys in our rental car and my dad couldn't come pick us up until his work was done. A guy on the beach adopted my entire family and took us to his favorite restaurant. I've been lost in Paris with my mother, and a complete stranger came up to us and asked if we needed directions. And now, in New York, I find that the tradition continues.

When I arrived in New York, I went to my apartment and asked the doorman for my key. He found the key but no new resident paper. Unfortunately, he couldn't let me in without it. It was after eleven on a Friday night, and I was exhausted from a long day of traveling. So I looked at him and asked, "what can I do?" He looked at me a moment, as if he couldn't believe I was being polite about the whole thing. He said, "wait a second" and called the guy who supervised him. The other guy claimed I would need to submit a form and they would get back to me on Monday morning. My favorite doorman wasn't going for it. "What, do you want her to wait here for two days? She's just sitting here, and she asked me what she can do! I can't just tell her to leave!" After a fair bit of arguing, he got off the phone and told me the other guy wasn't going to let me in.

I have to tell you, I wanted to cry. I was in New York. I literally knew no one. And although I knew I would be able to find a hotel or something, that was an added stress I really didn't want to deal with. So I said, "let me make some calls." And who did I call? My daddy. Because he can fix everything. Within a minute the phone of the doorman was ringing, and the person who subletted my apartment to me was on the line. She argued that she had submitted the form days ago, and it wasn't her fault no one had brought it to him. So my guy made another call to the super unhelpful guy and made a case for me you wouldn't believe. "Can't you just open your email for two minutes? The form is there! Of course it isn't a scam. I have caller ID, and it says it's coming from her! It's right here on the computer, you can check. This girl will be homeless if she can't get in! You won't? You're gonna make me the bad guy? Well, that's not right and you know it! Wait, what's her name again? Okay. I'll call her." Another call was made, and I had my apartment key.

Moral of the story: I have an awesome doorman. I have an awesome father. If you're polite about it people are more willing to do what you want. And last of all, I'm going make it here. I'm going to survive. Because I have the world on my side.

This is part of the view from my window.

Toto, I've got a feeling I'm not in Utah anymore

New York is definitely different. Of course, I expected that. I come from a town so tiny there are no streetlights, stores, or lines on the road. Stop signs were huge when they were installed a few years ago. Then this small town girl came to New York City. I've been to big cities before, spent a couple weeks in Paris, seen pictures and TV shows. But New York, well, it just has a life of its own.

(pic of the Apple store in the Upper West side, from apple.com)

Today was my first full day here. I've heard more sirens than I can remember, there are always people on the street, and my neighbors in the apartment above me make this odd tapping sound. It could be how they walk, or someone trying to send a message through Morse code. Jury's still out. I'm across the street from the Lincoln Center. If you don't know what that is, look it up! I live next door to the NY temple and when I look out my window, I see the Angel Moroni statue from the top back. Yeah, that's right. Be jealous. I also have a great view of the temple roof. Nothing happens there, I checked. See that building right behind the temple? The big huge one? That's where I live.

(pic from lds.org)

Being an actual resident of the Upper West Side, I had the privilege of going grocery shopping. Imagine going to Wal-Mart, or Costco, in Utah on a Saturday night. All the Mormon families are everywhere, trying to stock up on supplies before midnight. That's what it's like here. All the time. I went to Trader Joe's, the best place to get food at a decent price. There isn't a ton of space, so there are escalators leading you to the different floors. Unfortunately, there is a bit of segregation. You and your cart are NOT allowed to ride the same escalator. It has to ride by itself in one designed specifically for shopping carts.

(pic from breakitandlearn.com)

I stayed mostly in my area today, exploring and trying to memorize where everything is. Imagine. The streets are littered with paper and napkins from hot dog vendors, and there's always the smell of cigarette smoke. Policemen hang out on street corners or watch tourists take pictures of each other at the Lincoln Center fountain. It's getting dark, and everyone is bundled up in coats and scarves and boots, although there's no snow on the ground. Families walk around, perhaps on their way home after some suitable Saturday activity. One such family has couple of small children. The kids start to run into the crowd and their parents yell "Red light! Red light!" The children stop and laugh, seeing it all as a game. An older, gray-haired businessman walks dog so big it came up to his waist. He stops and waits politely for an elderly man and woman to go by.  A crowd of well-dressed people walk out of the Metropolitan Opera, discussing plot lines and actors and if they should go get something to eat now or wait until they get home. People talk in languages I've never heard and have no way of recognizing. Everyone has a story. The people you see for one instant are people you will never meet again, but have entire lives and dreams and have the potential to change the world.

(http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/10/20/surprise-most-new-yorkers-say-they-like-the-city/)

Welcome to New York.