New Jersey, New Life

Here's our House

2006-08-29T23:09:00.000-04:00

Thanks Elizabeth for this great picture of the house! You can see the new sidewalk and the red barn. You can also see that this was taken in the winter, before the black eyed Susans bloomed.

Yet Another Blog

2006-03-26T08:03:00.000-05:00

http://BananaP.blogspot.com

He's arrived. Read all about it.

Door Knob Update

2006-03-05T17:30:00.000-05:00

You will be thrilled to know that Nick has completed his door knob S.E.P.R program (Survey, Evaluate, Procure, and Re-install).

After surveying all upstairs doors and evaluating the door knob needs, he voted for door knobs that could be easily and affordably procured at Home Depot. He brought home and installed a variety of knobs - "crystal", brass, and his least favorite, cheap white metal.

I voted for white porcelain door knobs to match those already in existence in our home. Having a bit of time on my hands, I did some internet research and the cheapest porcelain knobs I found were just under $60.00.

Given the price, not including shipping, Nick rejected this option.

I adamantly rejected the crystal knobs. Lovely, yes. Affordable, of course. However, they did not go with the house. For those of you who have been here, it's a pretty simple old country house (I'm sure that's not the correct architectural description). The crystal knobs just looked too fancy for our humble abode.

This past weekend, our dear friend Elizabeth came to visit from Massachusetts. In my only non-medical outing since January 8th, we took her for a quick spin through our town. We made a brief stop at the Tomato Factory, a local antiques "mall." As we were wandering through the dozens of rooms, Elizabeth looked down and in a surprised voice said "Oh, there are your door knobs."

And, she was right. At our feet was a bucket filled to the brim with antique door knobs. Crystal knobs, wooden knobs, and our beloved porcelain knobs. We bought 2 pairs, for less than one set of new knobs would have cost us.

Nick spent the rest of the day installing knobs, planing uneven doors, and rehanging all upstair doors.

Amazingly, all upstairs doors now close and reopen easily. All have lovely antique porcelain knobs. And, our bathroom door even locks.

Thanks Nick!!

The Great Door Knob Survey

2006-03-02T18:01:00.000-05:00

I am fortunate to be married to such a handy guy. Not only handy, but methodical. These two qualities are lovely in a spouse when the two of you own an old house.

The other night Nick was going around the house with a pad of paper, pen in hand, evaluating our door knob situation. Who knew we even had a door knob situation? Nick was concerned that some doors didn't close; others only had mismatched knobs; and that the door to our guest room - if closed - could not be opened from the inside.* (This, of course, is not very hospitable to our guest... but a tricky way for us to keep our guests visiting longer.)

The next night, Nick asked me in a very concerned voice "Did you take the door knob survey?" Door knob survey? I quickly envisioned a door knob survey:

Please rate how you like the following door knobs. Circle the appropriate number next to each knob.
5: I always like the doorknob
4: I mostly like the doorknob
3: I like the doorknob
2: I sometimes like the doorknob
1: I never like the doorknob
N/A

Downstairs Bathroom doorknob: 5 4 3 2 1 n/a
Upstairs Bathroom doorknob: 5 4 3 2 1 n/a
Bedroom doorknob: 5 4 3 2 1 n/a
Guest Room doorknob: 5 4 3 2 1 n/a
_________________________________________________________________

Well, you get the idea. I got very excited and wanted to take such a survey (anything to make bedrest more exciting). However, upon further explanation - Nick did not create an actual survey for his spouse to take - he was referring the list he made, evaluating the doorknobs. Drats.

But the project is keeping him busy. After trial and error with a few Home Depot knobs, we've realized that only porcelain knobs (see picture above) will do. Sadly, they are about $56 more than the $3 knobs from Home Depot.

So, if anyone has come across any old white porcelain knobs in their attics, we'd be very interested in taking them off your hands.

*Amy Cooper came to visit this summer and got locked in her room. Crafty Amy used her credit card to "break out" of said guest room.

Another Blog

2006-01-19T16:02:00.001-05:00

For those who are interested in my most recent pregnancy adventures, please visit:

http://feelingincompetent.blogspot.com

My Excuse for Not Blogging Sooner

2005-11-25T12:57:00.000-05:00

I am sure you have all been wondering what happened to my blogging.

"Did that backhoe run over Susan?"

"Did the jughandles and stripmalls of New Jersey finally get to her?"

Oh no.

Instead of producing blog posts, I've been a little preoccupied producing something else.

You see, I'm 14.5 weeks pregnant. Yup, that's right, Susan and Nick are procreating.

So, if you get your caluculators, calendars, and charts out - you'll see that once we produced a new sidewalk in front of our house -- we produced a little something for the inside of the house.

For those of you who have gone through this first trimester pregnancy thing, you'll understand just how abosolutely, bone numbing tired you are. I was sleeping from 8:30 at night to 7:30 in the morning. I was sneaking out to my car during my lunch break and catching a quick nap.
And once (please don't read this if you are my boss) even fell asleep for a moment on a conference call.

But now, in the glow of the second trimester, I am wide awake enough to realize that none of my pants fit me anymore, that I have gone up (at least) one bra size, and that I haven't posted a blog entry in, oh, about a trimester.

The good news is that after 14.5 weeks, the signs are all pointing to a baby without Downs Syndrome or trisomy 21. Apparently, after the medical professionals "ran the numbers" I have the same risk as a 20 year old has for the above problems.

We've seen 2 arms, 2 legs, and even the start of little fingers. We've heard a strong heartbeat, and we've begun to tell the world. Actually, we told our family and close friends, and our family is taking care of telling the world. Even maybe the universe. Because, not only is this the first grandchild for my mother, by the way my parents are reacting, you would think it's the first baby ever born in this universe!

The bad news is that I am starting to REALLY learn about how this baby is going to get born. YIKES. Pretty scary stuff!

So, aside from being extremely superstitious (I'll go into that another time) we are very happy.

Please keep your fingers crossed that a healthy, happy, Baby Pollara arrives safely, soundly, quickly, and painlessly on or near May 23rd.

Happy Thanksgiving

Hey Honey, there's a Back Hoe in Our Front Yard

2005-08-17T19:44:00.000-04:00

So, as you will recall from a previous post, our insurance company sent out a secret spy to our lovely abodes. This secret spy then identified a number of hazards (a very large number of hazards) that needed to be fixed, or they would cut us off.

Nick, my super amazing husband, has the ability to fix anything. This I did not realize when I married him. I knew he was smart and very funny, kind and creative, and good at tinkering with sandblasters and gardens. I did not realize that all of these skills (especially the sense of humor) are essential when it comes to owning an old house or two. So far, Nick fixed our plumbing mishaps; engineered a very elegant washing machine drainage system; hooked up a dehumidifier to a pump on a timer so he wouldn't have to empty the bucket anymore; fixed steps; painted exteriors; graded dirt away from the foundation to promote good drainage; re-roofed the barn; chopped down trees too close to the foundation; and taught himself to re-mortar bricks.

The one thing Nick couldn't quite tackle on his own (must to his annoyance) was our pesky sidewalk issue. We had tried to get the sellers to pay to fix it. They scoffed. We bought the house anyway. Hopewell Boro, you should know, is a "Tree City USA", which means that the town scoffed when we asked if we could cut down the maple tree that was pushing up the sidewalk. The maple tree lives on the tiny strip of grass between the sidewalk and the curb. Our land, Not our tree. Hopewell's tree. Hopewell practically laughed in our faces when we asked if the town took responsibility for fixing the public sidewalks. Nope. If it's in front of your house, you need to deal with it.

So, after meeting with 5 different contractors, we finally decided to go with the guy who could do it the soonest. We debated trying to "save the slate" which original to the house.Which, by the way* George Washington walked over to get to the Princeton Battlefield. However, we weighed the pros (oh, it's so old and pretty) against the cons (we need to make our mortgage, we need to eat) and decided to go with all cement. But we wanted to move the slate to the side of the house as a sort of patio area. Glen (see previous post) and Nick decided to try and move it on their own. Here's another con. Slate from the 1700 or 1800s weighs a freakin' ton. A FREAKIN' ton**. Glen and Nick lifted one corner up, realized that if they got anymore up they would probably get crushed by it when it fell on to them, and put it back down.

Henry and his team arrived this morning - and by 5:30, had most of it dug up. The back hoe is parked right in front of our house. Henry says they'll be done tomorrow, just 3 days shy of the secret insurance spy's deadline.

*Nick's words
** Also Nick's words

Look at Our Barn Now!

2005-08-17T19:03:00.000-04:00

Just look at our beautiful barn!! We hired Glen, our most wonderful next door neighbor who conveniently owns a home improvement company and is a sculptor, to paint our sad, sagging, garage. After much debate on the color, we settled on classic red. Then, of course, it poured. And poured. And poured. Which meant, our garage stayed old and yellow. Then, one day, the sun came out. When we got home from work the entire job was done. From ugly garage to beautiful barn in less than 10 hours. It was as if the painting fairies arrived, did their magic, and vanished into thin air.

Our backyard has been transformed. You should come see it for yourself.

Look what we got in the mail

2005-07-15T20:00:00.000-04:00

__________________________________________________________________

Sometimes you get annoying things in the mail, like bills. Sometimes, you get stupid things in the mail, like "Pet Product World" catalogues.

And sometimes, you get the craziest things - and you just have to share them with your blog-readers.

This week, we got the above pictured postcard addressed to the former resident of our house. He hasn't lived in the place for at least 2 years.

So, for over two years, Richard Kennedy's Taxidermy Studio has been holding onto Drew's stuffed coyote.

This card raises certain questions:

Like is it only one coyote OR since the card says "Your coyote have been done..." is it more than one coyote?

Where did Mr. Slimmer find the coyote to be "done"?

How long does it take to "do" a coyote?

What do you think was done to aforementioned coyote?

And, wouldn't you think it would be called a Taxidermy shop, instead of a studio?

Anyway, we thought the house had an interesting 19th century history. Who knew that it would have such colorful 21st century residents?

Here's the Barn

2005-07-07T21:22:00.000-04:00

This is the view from the driveway, looking into the backyard. From this vantage point, you can see our gravel drive, our chainlink fence that has a tree growing through it, and our barn. The barn is yellow. Soon it will be red. Our insurance company said we had to paint the barn or they would cut off our insurance. They didn't tell us what color. So, being original sorts, we thought red would be good. Glen, our next door neighbor is an artist AND he owns a home improvement company. Glen will be painting the barn, as soon as it stops raining.

Come visit.

Home Sweet Home

2005-07-07T21:11:00.000-04:00

Well, here it is, the picture you've been waiting to see. Our house. Actually, our houses. This picture was taken in March, during our home inspection. Now, the house looks much better because all of the trees and flowers are in full bloom.

We live on the "tall" side on the left. Our tennant lives on the right side. We share a front porch, but mostly , Nick and I use our side door - which is just out of view on the left side of the picture.

The tippy top windows in the front are the attic. Probably where the bat came in.

We're taking votes on what the current color of the house is. Nick thinks it's yellow, I vote for green. We both agree that it's very dirty and should be washed. Washing the house is about 756 on our list of things to do to the house.

I did some research and the house was built somewhere between 1875-1887. Franco's Pizza used to be JH Piggott's Implement Shop, which was built in 1860. We live in an old, old town.

In the background you can see the historic Hopewell House Liquor Store. It is very useful to have a liquor store this close to your house.

Write this one in permanent ink

2005-06-23T21:09:00.000-04:00

Well, it's official, Nick and I are home owners. Homes owners, to be exact. On April 29th we closed on a two family house on the main street of "historic" Hopewell Borough, New Jersey.

Hopewell Borough is about 10 minutes from Princeton, 1 hour from Philly, and, for those of you familiar with the area, about 20 minutes from New Hope, PA and Lambertville, NJ. The town is an actual, real live town - with a coffeehouse, 2 ice cream shops, 6 restaurants, and 1 bar. All within walking distance of our house. We're right around the corner from Franco's (sometimes, for some unknown reason, called Vincenzo's) the best little pizza shop and across the street from the "historic" Hopewell House Liquor Store. At Hopewell House, you can have a "house" account, if you're a regular. There's a tiny library where they still have a card catalog and where they still stamp your book with the due date. The library closes at 5 for the dinner break and re-opens at 7 pm. So, in buying this place, I've met my requirements of being able to walk to:
a cup of coffee
a beer
a good take out restaurant
a nice restaurant

Nick has also met his requirements of green space (the town is surrounded by protected parkland and protected farms) and lots of room to store crazy engineering supplies he's been lugging around for 30 years. And parking. We have a driveway. No more crazy Somerville parking nightmares. Ahh... the good old days.

Alright, already, enough of the blather Susan (I bet you are thinking this right now), get to the good part - tell us about the house. The houses.

It's a side by side two family. A very old, side by side two family. The side our tenant lives in used to be a blacksmith's shop, back in 1890. The side we live in used to be the blacksmith's residence.

Our side has 3 bedrooms (read: GUESTROOMS, hint, hint); 1 1/2 baths; a full walk up attic; living room, dining room, big eat in kitchen, and a room on the first floor that we are calling the office. The tenant side has 2 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, livingroom, dining room and kitchen.

The people we bought the place from had bought it solely as an investment - they fixed the major stuff - new roof, windows, re-did the kitchen, new gas heating system. We're finding that, while the big stuff is fixed, in a really old house, there are a lot of little things that need to be dealt with.

Maizie has taken to the place well. She even made some new friends. Like a bat. That she caught. And presented to Nick. I, thank goodness, was in the basement doing laundry (I'll save my perfect washing machine dream come true for another entry). When Nick came down to tell me, I asked if the bat was dead when Maizie brought it to him. "Mostly Dead" was his response. I have convinced myself that the bat came down from the attic - which means I will never go up in the attic again. Which is fine, because it's filled with all of the boxes that we don't want to deal with.

So, in my next entry, I will post pictures of our house and regale you with stores of leaky bathtubs, overflowing toilets, crooked sidewalks, and dining rooms without electricity.

I keep meaning to send out a clever moving card - but I can't find my clever moving card supplies. Maybe they are in one of those boxes in the attic. I would (actually I did) post our new contact info here - but Nick got a little freaked out by that. So if you send me an email - I will send you our address and phone number ...

Will post more, soon, I promise.

xoxo,
Susan

Hmmm... maybe this state is ok (for somethings).

2005-04-24T20:10:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, as Nick and I were driving on some winding country-esque road, past trees exploding in pinks, purples, and white - Nick asked "Why don't they ever talk about Spring colors?"

It seems odd, that "they" only ever talk about Fall Foliage. "They" must be all of the jaded, cold blooded Yankees who have never experienced a New Jersey Spring. As I recall from the 8 or so years I lived in Somerville, the weather pattern went something like this: winterwinterwinterwinterwinterwinterwinterwinterwinter ONE NICE DAYbacktowinterbacktowinterSUMMER...

Here, in late March, something definitely shifted. The air smelled different and there were real, live daffodils blooming by early April.
Now, at the end of April, it's out of control. Cherry Trees are everywhere. There are more varieties of cherry blossom trees than I ever thought exsisted. Some are "weeping", some look like ballerinas in gauzy tutues (sp?), and some look like big poofs of cotton candy.

I started this entry in late April, and now, as I finish it in early May, I am still amazed that trees and flowers keep blooming. Now it's the dogwood and magnolia trees' turns. Oh, and the azaleas. And the lilacs. And the big purpley bushes that I've never seen before.

Frankly, it's out of control.

You just need to take a trip down here to see it for yourself.

2005-04-06T20:44:00.000-04:00

No, we didn't adopt a small child with a large fuzzy face. Our laps were just feeling a little empty for the picture.

It's been a little while

2005-04-06T20:15:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, when you move to a new place, get a new job, and pretty much, mix your whole life up, it's tough to regularly post blog updates.

March roared in like a lion and left us 31 days later with water up to our eyeballs (more on that later). But, it was a great month. Our dear friends the Goodsells came to visit and proved, once again, that even if you don't see a good friend for a while, you can pick up right where you left off. We shared laughs, cheesesteaks, and long conversations. Paige spent the weekend taking plastic spoons out of a basket and putting them back in the basket. A great time was had by all (see picture above).

Work continues to chug along. Nice people, interesting work. No drama. What a concept!! I had forgotten how much fun work could be.

It was sad, right around the 30th, to be un-surrounded by my friends, not sharing the very best yellow cake with white icing made especially for me by one Ms. Amy Cooper (my blogmother). But, we got on a plane the next day and flew to Arizona to bear witness to my best friend from high school's wedding. Amy K. and her girlfriend, well, now wife, threw quite a shindig after a truly beautiful ceremony. It was all held at Boojam Hidden Garden.

The day after the wedding we drove and drove. After driving 2 hours north to Sedona, we went further west to Jerome. The sign read "Jerome 24 miles", but that didn't tell us that we would have to drive over a mile UP to get to the old copper mining town turned artsy-fartsy gallery land.
Then, we had to drive DOWN the mountain. I, being in the passenger seat, felt this was more terrifying. Nick, being in the driver's seat, thought that going up was a bit more hair-raising because we were on the outside lane, at points without a guardrail separating our car from certain, plummeting death.

After Jermone,we drove to Prescott, and ate at a wonderful little cafe called Pearl's Place, a place so new (it only opened a week ago) that it's only listing on the web is in a municipal government issued spreadsheet detailing pending liquor license applications. If you happen to be in Prescott Arizona, take the time to find Pearl's tucked in among the noisier tourist traps on Whiskey Row. And get the Onyx chili. Yumm. Oh, and the website is wrong because they serve liquor. Hmmm, or they are breaking the law.....

When we returned to NJ on Sunday evening we learned that it had rained, pretty much non-stop, since Thursday. Sadly, the Delaware River couldn't handle it and burst out of it's bed Monday morning, just in time for rush hour. My two favorite towns here - Lambertville and New Hope - apparently got hammered. Very sad.

But, today it was 76 degrees and sunny. Flowers are blooming and, thanks to day light savings time, the days are longer.

I hope wherever you are, you are unflooded and happy that Spring has Sprung.

Proof that it's Time

2005-02-23T23:40:00.000-05:00

Grandma Russo's 90th Birthday Bash 2/6/05

I offer this picture to you as proof that it is definitely time for me to get my hair highlighted/colored again.

As you can clearly see upon close scrutiny (zoom in if you need to), the tippee, tippee top of my head, by my part, is (ever so slightly) darker than the rest of my hair.

What more proof do you need?

Hold onto your hats

2005-02-23T23:29:00.000-05:00

Are you ready for the big news.
The appointment has been made:
Friday at 12:45... you guessed it...
I will be getting a "partial foil" at Metropolis by none other than
LA herself.
I am sure you can barely contain yourselves.

Sometimes, the Experts are Right

2005-02-17T09:01:00.000-05:00

Current jobseekers know the statistics:
.0001% of people find jobs through the classified ads
.0002% of people find jobs online
You have a greater chance of landing on the moon than landing a job in this economy.
Most jobs are found through networking.
You just have to put yourself "out there".

Since hanging up my trenchcoat as a corporate spy and donning an apron as a coffeehouse gal, I have been looking for that so-called real job.

I met with all of my Boston friends' New Jersey pals. I bravely called the woman I met at the bad hair salon and met her for coffee. And, I checked in with my parents' friend who had always offered to hook me up with her VAST corporate network if I ever moved back into the area (all that got me was a voicemail with a misspelled web address from the above mentioned parental friend - thanks, I couldn't have done that on my own).

I scoured Monster.com; CareerBuilder.com, newspaper classifieds, and on-line versions of newspaper classifieds.

On January 14th I saw an ad on www.nj.com/jobs for:
Account Manager
Account Manager is the Primary individual that is responsible for maintaining multiple client accounts. The Account Manager would also be responsible for ensuring the accurate and timely submission of all documentation to client.
Hey, this sounded like it had some potential. And then I read:
Account Manager will provide telephone support to all client inquiries.

Telephone support. NO WAY!! Not interested. Thank you VERY much.
But, then I read the following:
The JK Group manages the philanthropic programs of major corportations.
Now that really sounded interesting. I wanted to find out more about this JK Group. So, I took my corporate spy trenchcoat off of it's hanger and slipped it back on. I did web searches to find the JK Group. I finally found some article that mentioned the president's name, searched more about him, and finally came up with the company's website: www.easymatch.com. I read on-line about them and decided to send in an email requesting an informational interview. I couldn't find the hr person's name on the site, so I called in. I spoke with a really friendly customer service person and when I told her I wanted to write in to the hr department, she gave me a name (let's just call her Ms. Jones). When I asked what her title was, I was expecting to hear Director of HR. The woman on the phone calmly told me that Ms. Jones was the CFO.
Well, OK then. So, I sent Ms. Jones CFO an email with my resume. At the bottom of the email I wrote:
"I am sure you are very busy, but I would truly appreciate it if we could meet for an informational interview. I will call you next week to see if we can schedule a time to meet. Thank you!"

Now, writing the email is easy. Picking up the phone and making the follow-up call, not so easy. I finally got the courage to call on January 24th. With voicemail directories, I was able to dial right in to Ms. Jones' office and, low and behold, she answered.

I blurted out something like "Hi Ms. Jones, my name blah blah blah, not sure you remember me, blah blah blah, sent you a resume blah blah blah..."
Well, it turns out that she did remember me, and we talked for a while on the phone and then she invited me in on Wednesday the 26th. As we were hanging up she said "Now listen, we all wear jeans here, so if you show up in a suit, we're all going to laugh at you."

So, that Wednesday, in my "good" jeans, I drove to a ubiqutious low brown building in a ubiqutious New Jersey office park and spent 2 hours meeting with Ms. Jones. In her oversized, but relatively empty office was a life sized cutout of Elvis, a few plants, and a paper strewn desk. We talked and talked for about 2 hours. She gave me a tour of the joint - from the warehouse to the server room. We walked by lots of cubicles filled with lots of people in jeans and t-shirts.

Now, wearing jeans all the time is fine by me, but it's so interesting how dress codes become uniforms in company cultures. It was very strange to see a woman of grandmotherly age, in grandmotherly hair and make-up, wearing puma sneakers, a lime green t-shirt, and baggy jeans, rushing past us in the hallway.

Anyway, at the end of the tour, Ms. Jones shook my hand, looked me directly in the eye and said "I've got some things to think about, and I'm going to talk to some people. You'll be hearing from us."

That Saturday she called to say that the president wanted to meet with me. So, on Tuesday, in my second best pair of jeans, I met for 2 hours with the president, Mr. Smith. It totally did not feel like an interview, but more like a meeting. At one point he said "So, Ms. Jones told you all about the job we're thinking about for you?" I told him, no, I actually had no idea that you were actually thinking of a specific job.

It turns out that the JK Group has a new product that will help major coporations manage their volunteer programs. And, to quote Mr. Smith "We need someone to champion the product." We brainstormed for a while and then Ms. Jones came in. The two were quite chummy with each other and there was a lot of laughing and smiling.

That Saturday Ms. Jones emailed me a complete job description, of which parts seemed to be pulled right from my resume. She did tell me they had to post the job internally, but that I would hear from her at the end of the week. That call told me that they were out of the office until Monday and she would call me then.

Monday came, she called, and offered me the job. Yippeee. I am the new Product Specialist for the JK Group. I get to wear jeans everyday, be creative with marketing, product development, and client and internal staff training. I will work directly with Mr. Smith. I even get an office instead of a cube. It also turns out that Mr. Smith the President, and Ms. Jones the CFO are married.

I start on Feb 28th.

Aside from the normal fears of:
1. I will be a big failure
2. I will mess up the whole company
3. People will be mean to me

I do have a few red flags up about:
1. The fact that Ms. Jones called me from the office, on Saturdays
2. Working for a married couple could be fascinating

I am thrilled about:
1. Working in a for-profit company again
2. Working in a for-profit company that does good in the world
3. Getting a chance to meet new people here in New Jersey
4. Getting a change to really use my brain again
5. NOT having to manage people

So, this one time, I tip my hat to those experts who say that the way to get the job is by putting yourself "out there". And, I am confident in the knowledge that if this job sucks, I can always get hired at Starbucks.

Wish me luck.

Oh, and probably the most exciting part is that I promised myself that when I got a "real job" I could get my hair highlighted. I bet you can't wait for the next hair update.

Do You Want Room for Milk?

2005-02-03T11:53:00.000-05:00

I have asked this question more in the past two weeks, then ever before in my life. You see, I am the newest counter gal at the Main Street Coffehouse and Cafe. I bet you are wondering "How did this happen?"

As you may recall, prior to moving to New Jersey, I had agreed to be a research analyst for a company specializing competitive intelligence. I would be able to work from home researching companies and calling into to them to "interview" key players in the organization. That all sounded great. However, and this is a big however, I couldn't very well call a company's president and say "Hi, I'm working on a project for your competition, could you please answer these very specific questions about your business operations?" So, the plan was to call into companies and say things like "I'm an independent consultant working on a project for a client (all true) and I know you're an expert in your field, do you have a few minutes to chat?" While, this wasn't quite a lie, it wasn't straight up either.

It turns out, that while I love research, learning about new companies,and talking to people - I can't in fact lie. While some might argue that I wasn't lying, I certainly wasn't being up front with these people. So, I graciously bowed out of the CI game and have started a full blown job search.

The coffee house gig is a great diversion from sending out coverletters and searching the web. It's fun to learn how a food retail business works and it's great to talk to real people. And, I get to wear a white apron, the kind that goes around your neck and ties at the waist. I feel awfully professional when I put it on. I'm only working part time, a few afternoons a week, but it's very fun. It's also good for the soul to mop a floor, bake cookies, and make a mean froth on a cappucino.

I've only had one big mishap, last Saturday during peak breakfast hours, I was making a latte. The milk was done steaming and I pushed the off button and pulled the pitcher of hot milk away from the steam spout. Turns out, the steam spout was still on and I sprayed myself and a 10 foot radius with hot milk. I was sticky from head to toe.

Since the last update, I'll have you know that I've connected with some very nice people (who just might turn into friends), found a great realtor, and in general, am feeling less hostile about the Garden State. Especially since we only got 10 inches of snow and today it's going to be 45 degrees.

But, no matter how little snow we get, it still doesn't change the fact that I miss you all very much.

Hair Situation Update

2005-01-07T16:13:00.000-05:00

As you may recall from a previous post, the first week I was here in NJ I went to the B&B Color Studio. You may also recall that this was not the best of experiences for me and my hair. B&B (Butchering and Blunders) did just that. They butchered my layers and blundered my color. My hair was supposed to be colored with semi permanent color that would make my tresses look naturally full of gloss and shine. Instead I got PERMANENT color, that was kept on too long. Instead of gloss, I got glow - my hair radiated with a purpley, reddish hue. Yikes. I tried to make myself believe that no one would notice and that my hair obsession was all in my head, not on my head. But, when even my husband made a few comments about the color (I could wear and Easter bunny suit for a week before he would notice), I knew something had to be done. I tried to hold out, but after only a month I had a very bad root situation going on.

So, I took action.

On a dark and stormy night (tee hee, it was only rain, not like in Boston) I drove to the Princeton Shopping Center (where McCaffery's Supermarket is) for my 5:45 appointment with LA at Metropolis Salon. LA's real name is Laurie Ann but there are two other Lauries in the salon, so she goes by LA. Metropolis is a metropolis of a hair salon. There must be chairs for 25 stylists. When you come into the salon you check in at the front desk, where there are 6 different "windows", like at a bank. All of the women at the desk wear black and have their hair pulled back, a la Robert Palmer video. You check in with them, they write out a ticket, give it to another woman dressed in black and she directs you where to go.

I was first directed to change into a smock in the dressing area. So, like in Boston, I took off my top and put on the smock. When I came out, I realized most of the patrons had their shirts on underneath the smocks (so why the dressing room?). At first I felt self conscious and thought I had made a terrible Princeton Salon faux pas. But then I comforted myself with the rationalization that these women were too uptight to remove their shirts in a private dressing room and appear in public with bear arms. That made me feel sexy and risque. So, I decided that I was going to enjoy this experience if it killed me.

My personal hair salon escort led me over to the coloring chairs (there must have be 15) and then LA came over. She was dressed in black but had a bright green scarf around her neck. She sat down next to me and really listened as I explained my hair issues. We decided to "low light" my hair with my natural color and then put on a gloss to make my hair sparkle and shine. After we agreed, she then repeated our understanding, so there would be no confusion. My heart filled with appreciation.

When it was time to wash the color out, a young woman named Natalie came over, introduced herself and took me over to the bank of sinks. As she began to wash my hair another hair washer came over and starting asking Natalie if she had any questions. I figured out that it was Nat's first day on the job, so I asked her how it was going. She loved it, it was fun and "way more exciting" than her previous salon job. I confessed that it was my first day at the salon as well and we had a very sincere bonding moment.

As I sat up to have her comb out my hair, another woman walked past us. Natalie asked her salon mentor who that was. "Well, her salon name is Madison, but her real name is Jennifer."

Salon name?!? I cracked up and asked for further explanation. It turns out that the salon is so big that the manager doesn't like people to have duplicate names. Apparently the clients get confused. This was hilarious. It felt like we were in a junior high Spanish class and Gretchen picks out Marguerite as her Spanish name. Whenever someone walked past us, Natalie and I would giggle and ask our mentor, what her salon name was.

Finally, it was time for LA to trim my tresses. Again, she listened carefully, repeated what I had said - AND - get this - she held out a length of my hair and asked me if that was too much to cut off. Damn straight it was. So, she revised her cutting plan and went to work. When she was done, she asked me how I wanted it dried. "Do you want me to blow it out straight?" Of course, I told her, but it was late and raining, and I didn't want to take up all of her time. "Don't be silly, you spent all this time and money here tonight, you deserve to have your hair just as you want it."
My heart melted.

After blow drying it straight (but not poker straight, thank you) she went to work trimming the edges (just like dear Umberto, sigh). I asked her what shampoo I should use, and if the new "shampoos for straight hair/shampoos for curly hair " really worked. She scoffed. Of course they don't. Then she bent down and whispered close to my ear "Don't by your products here, they're way overpriced. Go to Ulta down Route 1". Then, she spun me around and Voila! My old hair color was back, but only more shiny. My cut was fancier, actually a style. Miraculously, it's no shorter, but there are more layers, so it's not as boring. Some might even call it stylish.

Once again, I paid a small fortune. But this time, I can honestly say, it was worth it. Yeay for Metropolis Salon and LA!! Not that I believe happiness depends on how you look, but it sure is a lot easier to be happier when you love your hair.

Happy Hair Styling to You and Yours.

The Quest Continues (Part 2 of the Drivers License Saga)

2005-01-06T14:29:00.000-05:00

Finally, it was our turn for our pictures to be snapped (twice for me, I'm a bit vain), to chitchat with the friendly dressed, smiling, baby holding agents and to pay $26 dollars each (cash or check only). Then, we had to wait a few minutes for our 26 hologrammed, maximum security licenses to be printed and laminated. Then, voila, we were fully licensed to drive in the state of New Jersey.

By that point, the lines to register your car were down to only 5 people. So, Nick jumped in line and I sat in one of the gray nubby chairs, watching my fellow New Jerseyites' jaws drop when they walked in the front door. But, I also watched people calmly waiting; the very accommodating receptionist doling out forms and information; and many MVC agents spending so much time being courteous to their customers, that not much work was getting done.

At last, after 2 hours and 35 minutes, we walked out of the MVC station. As we were driving away, we saw that the "Current Wait Time" sign now read "97 minutes" for those waiting for car inspections.The Official Car Inspectors were busy chatting up people whose cars were already in the inspection bays. New Jersey might not be efficient, but at least the folks here are friendly.

The Quest for a New Drivers License Part 1

2005-01-05T10:53:00.000-05:00

On Thursday, December 30th at 11am, Nick and I decided that it would be a good time to get our new (jersey) drivers licenses and car registrations. We found out from the NJ Motor Vehicle Comission website that the state requires that all cars registered in New Jersey are inspected, but that the inspection was free. This made us happy.

The rest of the day, made us very unhappy.

Nick took charge of this project and found a "full service" location about 15 minutes north of our house. The plan was, get our new licenses and then get our cars inspected. As we were leaving, Nick made sure I had my MA drivers license, my passport, social security card, and our wedding license. In addition, Nick had his passport and birth certificate. In the name of national security, New Jersey has instituted a new system of identifcation and Nick wanted to make sure that we were fully prepared.

So, we set off, and found the MVC garage. We knew we were in the right place because of the sign that said " Current Wait Time" and a bright yellow clock that read "15 minutes". Yeay for New Jersey! 15 minutes wait time. We were thrilled with Garden State Efficiency. But then, after circling and circling the dusty yellow alumium garage building, Nick finally pulled over and I ran into one of the 8 bays to find out where, at this full service location, we could get our new licenses. An Offical New Jersey Inspector lifted his head out from under the hood of a Chevy Nova and kindly informed me that this was a full service inspection site, but that to get our drivers licenses, we needed to go to the MVC location on Route 1 - which was about 25 minutes away from where we currently stood. I got back into the car, eplained the situation to Nick, and after a few key explitives, we were on our way, again.

We finally found the next MVC compound because it, too, had a big sign out front that said "Current Wait Time". However, this sign read "85 minutes." We thankfully realized that it was 85 minutes to get your car inspected. It couldn't possibly take 85 minutes to get our drivers licenses. We were right, it took us 155 minutes.

We entered the very mauve building and the place was packed. Lines snaked all over the room. Directly in front of us there were 6 different straight lines, to our left there was a mishmash of people. Some in line, some in a crowd holding laminated blue cards with handwritten numbers on them. There were vending machines and in the center of the room, 6 rows of office chairs covered in gray, nubby material. A few dejected people sat, slumped down, in the chairs.

We were greeted by a friendly middle aged woman who directed us to the receptionist to our right. We walked up to the large mauve desk and the very friendly young man in jeans and a white sweater greeted us and asked what we were here for. We explained: New Licenses, New Registrations. He smiled, handed us 8 different pieces of paper, in various sizes, and rattled off a list of instructions. Our first step was to fill out the white and beige cards. Then, we were to go straight up to the table on the far left (where lots of beraggled people were waiting with those blue numbers), cut right in front of all of them, and talk to the women at that table. We completed the forms and, as we were told, cut right in front of everyone and gave our cards to the 2 women behind the mauve table.

They looked at our forms and then asked for our proofs of identification. We pulled everything out - the passports, wedding license, social security cards, and Nick's birth certificate. They looked at everything, made lots of check marks on our beige card, and then, one of the women looked up and asked "Do you have proof of your current address?" Our hearts sunk. We hadn't thought of that. Just then, I remembered that I had a copy of our lease in my purse. I was carrying it around in the hopes of one day, figuring out where our local library was and signing up for a card. Thank God, I hadn't found the library yet.

With our beige cards stamped and approved, the women pointed us to the line behind them. It turns out that we needed to get a permit before we could get our licenses. A picture permit. So, we waited in a line with about 5 people in front of us. Right before us a woman with a baby waited for her picture to be taken. When it was her turn, she didn't know what to do with her child. A womanwith dreadlocks and wearing a shimmery black blouse was behind the (yes, it's true) mauve counter offered to hold baby while she took the picture of the woman. There was lots of laughing and kibbitzing. While the lines were long, at least everyone was friendly. It was finally our turns. Handing over our beige cards, $10 (cash or check only), and our proofs of identification (again) - we were finally able to get our new permits. Then, we were directed to go OUT of the building we were in, make a left at the front door, and into the next building.

There was a loud hum in the first building. People were talking, MVC agents were shouting out names and directions, a few kids were crying. When we walked into the next building, there was silence. Just the buzz of flourensent lights. No one was in line at the counter. A few poor schlubs were struggling through the computerized knowledge test, but we were able to step right up to the counter. A man who must be a captain or general of the MVC because he was in full MVC uniform, greeted us sternly and asked for my beige card and, surprise, my proofs of identifcation. He scoured my identifications. A full 5 minutes must have gone by when he looked up and barked "Why is your middle intitial E on your passport, but G on everything else?" Startled, I blathered on that we had gotten married and I changed my middle name from Elizabeth to my maiden name, Gross, and changed my last name to Pollara. I was sure he was going to send me to MVC jail if I didn't answer correctly. He made more check marks on my beige card, had me take an eye test, scribbled more on the card, and just as Nick stepped up to the counter, decided it was time to take his lunch break. Another MVC agent came over, this time younger and not full dress uniform, to help Nick. Well, to try and help Nick. His computer froze and he called over his supervisor, a big haired woman eating a Burger King sandwich. She unplugged and replugged the computer, turned it back on, and voila - we were back in business. While we were waiting, another woman walked into the quiet room and was being helped at the counter. She and the agent began talking about how long the lines were in the noisy mauve room. Both she and the agent agreed that the new MVC reforms (click on This Is Not Your Old MVC) while not helping the lines very much, sure made the MVC a much friendlier place.

Finally, Nick and I were stamped, signed, and permitted to go back into the noisy room to get our drivers licenses. We were greeted again by the friendly woman, sent to the same receptionist, but this time we were given a blue number. So we had to wait the crowd of grumpy blue card holders who were waiting to see the 2 women behind the mauve table. Nick decided to chance it and wait in the car registration line, while waiting for our blue number to be called. The guy behind us was bitching and moaning about what a pain in the ass this was, and in Kentucky, the state he had just moved from, all you had to do was put an X on the paper and they gave you a license. New Jersey, he proclaimed again and again, was a Communist State. The woman in front of us turned around, red faced, and said "In Communist States they shoot you. They shot my grandparents. This is New Jersey, they do not shoot you." With that, Nick decided to step out of that line, and wait in the glom of blue card people for our number to be called. It was called. We had to show the same two woman the same pieces of identification that we had already showed them, get our white card signed off on, and then, wait in the long snakey line for our photo to be taken again.

By the time we got in the snakey line, we went across the front door. So when people walked in, we became the greeters. We directed people to the receptionist, the bathroom, and to the quiet room. And, we chatted up the folks around us. People who all said the same thing: Since the reforms, the MVC lines were still awful, but gosh, everyone was sure friendly. I began to imagine the agenda for the staff training of the MVC agents: Session 1 Smiling; Session 2 Small Talk; Session 3 Friendly Clothes vs Uniforms.

See Part 2 for the rest of the adventure.

2004-12-20T15:43:00.000-05:00

The Last Brunch in MA

This is a picture that our wonderful friend Amy Cooper took at our last brunch at Upstairs on the Square, our most favorite place in Cambridge, MA. I just posted it to see if I could figure out how to post pictures. It doesn't really have anything to do with our new life in New Jersey except that we still have those clothes we wore in the picture. So, same clothes, new life. We look the same, except that my hair is now friggin' chestnut.

Oh, no SoHo

2004-12-20T12:48:00.000-05:00

My husband Nick, bless his heart, was unsure of what to get me for Chrismukah. In the past, Nick knew that anything from The Cambridge Artists Co-Op would warm my heart and tickle my fancy.

So, Nick, like any smart person from this century, went to the internet to find such a gallery in Princeton. If you want Talbots, J. Crew, Starbucks, or Banana Republic - then downtown Princeton is for you. If you want little shop to buy handcrafted pottery, funky jewelry, or blown glass - then downtown Princeton is NOT for you.

One of the places Nick found in his gallery search was called Oh no, SoHo. Yesterday we set out to find the gallery. We started down (you guessed it) Route 1, made a few twists and turns, thought we were going in the wrong direction, turned around and went in the opposite direction, hit a dead end, turned around and went on in the original direction. And on, and on.

Now, one might think that a place which includes SoHo in it's name would be in a hip, funky location. When we called the store from our car, the woman on the phone told us to "Keep going past the corn fields, and we're in the seven year old strip mall on the left." We turned into the strip mall, and following her directions, drove to the far end of the mall. On the way, we passed a liquor store, a dance school (or should I say, School of Dance?), an Indian restaurant serving an all-day buffet, and, you guessed it, a supermarket.

We pulled into a readily available parking spot, and as we got out of the car, a cold rain started to fall. We peered into the window of Oh no, SoHo and it was clear that a gallery, this was not. It was a high priced gift shop with both Judaica and cat sections. We walked into the overly bright store with jazzy Muzak playing and heard two women giggling in the back of the store.

The thing I don't understand about stores in the suburbs of Jersey or Philly is that they all look the same. They all have those white laminate wall units with horizontal grooves running from floor to ceiling. Display rack that hold hanging clothes hook into the grooves. I suspect the idea of the grooves is that you can change the displays by hooking the racks into different grooves, making some very high up and others lower. I can just hear the wall unit sales person making his pitch to the manicured, face lifted new shop owner "See you can change things around to create Visual Excitement for your frequent customer!" The shop owner, opening the store as a new hobby because her children won't let her dress them anymore, nods in agreement.

I wandered to the back of the store to look at the counter of uninspiring beaded necklaces and charm bracelets and the two women were sitting behind the counter. From the looks of the hair and plastic surgery, one of the women was clearly the owner. They looked up from their giggley conversation and the older of the two said to me "We're sort of on a break." and they went back to giggling and conversing.

Nick and I continued to browse through the store when a fifty-something man with hairplugs and a teenage girl walked in to the store. The two women rushed out from behind the counter and gave the newcomers big hugs and kisses. It turns out that the man was the husband of the owner (read, funder of the store) and the teenage girl was her daughter.

At that point, Nick and I left and walked back to the car. I sat down and a wave of nausea came over me. Then, it dawned on me. We had read the name of the store wrong. It's not "Oh no, SoHo!" it's "Oh, no Soho." As in "On, no Soho here, only the crappy ass suburbs with rude people."

If you are keeping score, put one in the Reasons Not to Move to New Jersey Column.

Reason One to Move to New Jersey: Supermarkets

2004-12-18T20:21:00.000-05:00

While I have discovered many reasons NOT to move to New Jersey, there are a few reasons to move to the Garden State. The first reason is Supermarkets. If you like to grocery shop, then this state is for you. I've only been here 18 days and I already have discount shopper cards from 4 different supermarkets, and there are at least 4 others that I haven't even been to yet.

First, there is a charming little Wild Oats right in the center of town. Now, for those of you who know me well, you will remember that I have a huge fear of contracting a serious disease from food gone bad. I interpret expiration dates on food to mean:throw food away 2 weeks before the date stamped on the item. My experiences with Wild Oats in Medford, MA had not been pleasant. Every time I would shop there, I would inevitably bring home (inadvertently) something moldy - fruit, bread, veggies... it was totally gross! I often referred to the Wild Oats in Medford as Wild Mold. So, I was pleasantly surprised when we found this quaint little Wild Oats on our 2nd day here. It's small, clean, and the folks were very helpful. It gives me the impression of what the original Bread and Circus in Central Square must have been like when it first started out.

But, this Wild Oats surprise was just the beginning. Next, I found the Super Stop and Shop, a mere 5 miles north from our house. It's big, clean, and shiny. And, surprisingly enough, there was PLENTY of parking. I went there late afternoon on a Wednesday. The place was empty! I asked the cashier if there were any days to avoid shopping there and she told me that you can always find parking and that there's never more than 2 people ahead of you in the check out line. When I looked at her in disbelief, she told me that a brand new Super (Duper) Stop and Shop just opened 5 miles up the road and that everyone is going there. But, it turns out that the store I was in, has been opened less than 8 months.

Then, I accidentally found McCaffrey's. It's located in the town of Princeton, at the Princeton Shopping Center - a high end shopping center that looks like it was built in 1962. Again, tons of parking. Again, friendly staff. Again, bright and clean. Fun gourmet and prepared items. McCaffrey's seems to be the place for people who live in Princeton Borough, the real heart of the town. The only draw back about McCaffrey's is that the aisles seem to be a little narrow. But there was lots of town gossiping going on in town.

Down Route 1 (more on Route 1 in a later post) there is strip mall heaven, if you like strip malls, strip mall hell if you don't. There is a Whole Foods on Route 1, a Shop Rite, and a Pathmark - all within a 15 minute drive. I was going to check them out, but, then I found Supermarket Nirvana...

Wegmans

It's unbelievable.

When I was in Mr. Altadona's 5th grade class, we studied about "Mega Cities". In the future, Mega Cities would be these huge buildings where people would live and work and shop and do everything that we did back in 1979 (except I imagined everyone wearing jet packs). Well, Wegman's is as close to a Mega City as I've seen yet.

First, it's beautiful. The lighting is really soft and warm. The whole store has a sort of orangey, sunset glow. Great music plays constantly, the staff is super helpful (almost cult like), and they have every food imaginable, all at totally reasonable prices. They have one whole section that feels like a high end food court. They have a liquor store, a photo store, a totally impressive cheese shop... I could go on and on. Then, upstairs is the "Cafe" where you can eat whatever you just bought. Even the restrooms are spotless! People flock to this place. Yet, there's always parking.

Wegman's shares a strip mall with Kohl's, Target, and Michael's. There's a Home Depot, Comp USA, Borders,Sam's Club, and Walmart across the street. And yes, there is ALWAYS parking.

So, the first lesson for today is: if you like to grocery shop, come to Wegmans (yes, I've definitely joined the cult).

The second lesson for today is: strip malls that only have big box stores totally suck! It needs to be all about mixed use development. Princeton is proof of what happens when it all goes (terribly) big box.

Finding a New Hair Salon, otherwise known as THE MOST IMPORTANT TASK OF RELOCATION

2004-12-10T17:30:00.000-05:00

Anyone who is slightly fanatical about his or her hair completely understands the importance of finding the right hairdresser. For the past few years I had been going to Mario's Salon in Davis Square to see the master of long hair, Umberto. Umberto understands that "I really need a haircut", means "Hey buster, if you cut anymore than a quarter inch off, I'll sue your ass." Not only is he a great stylist, but he's really funny too and knows all of the Somerville gossip. And, he's pretty cheap - I think a haircut and tip is under $40.

As a diversion from unpacking 237 boxes, I spent a few days scouring the Princeton yellow pages, wandering the streets, and looking in the windows of various hair salons before making my big decision. After viewing some websites, I finally decided on B and B Color Studio because I really needed my hair colored (OK, I really wanted my hair colored). I was lured in by their website and the fact that the salon, whoops, color studio had been featured on A Makeover Story. When I called to make the appointment, the friendly woman with a British accent was very helpful and calming. She gave me excellent directions and assured me that Tim, the owner, would do a fantastic job.

So, on Wednesday, I went for what I thought would be your basic one process semi-permanent coloring and a teeny tiny trim. 3 and 1/2 hours later I walked out with permanently "Chestnut" colored hair that was at least an inch shorter (which of course feels like 10 inches when you are a little obsessed with your 'do.).

Tim is the owner and apparently the only person who works there on Wednesdays. He had four clients going at once and left the color on my head a bit too long, so that after I had been washed and dried, he had to put a toner on it to make my hair look like a color that you actually can find in nature. Then I had to be washed and styled again. Oh, in between he also put a "protein pack" on my hair.

Tim was very nice and the other women getting their hair done were very friendly (one just had her first baby a week ago and she is 48!). I wasn't worried at all until I saw the "finished product" of two other women. Not that their hair was awful, it just isn't really my taste to have my hair look like 1985. Yikes... but when you're strapped into a chair with a huge plastic smock around your neck, you feel sort of vulnerable. So, of course I agreed when he asked if I wanted a cut. I made him swear that he would only cut off a 1/4 an inch.

Then, it was time for the blow dry. The thing about blow drying is that it can go either way. I mean it can either be a gal's best friend, making your potentially big hair smooth, shiny, and small. Or, it can be your worst nightmare, making your big hair quite enormous. Let's just say, I had to walk through the door sideways as I left. But, I was much lighter as I left because all this beauty cost about the same as a year's tuition at a small liberal arts school.

So, the moral of this story is - don't trust websites and friendly British women when it comes to finding a good stylist. For the next few months I will on the lookout for women with great hair and begging them for the name of their stylist.

My new dear friend Greta, an 85 year old retired professor and subject of the excellent documentary Watermarks, just got her hair done at Salon Vis a Vis and it looked lovely. So, maybe I'll try there next time.

The Master Plan Revealed

2004-12-10T13:15:00.000-05:00

Well, folks, the truth of the matter is that Nick and I concocted this plan when we decided to move to New Jersey. It's really quite simple, now that we've moved to the Garden State, all of our friends need to move here as well. So this blog will give you all of the incentives you need to make the decision to become a New Jerseyite.