Friday, April 22, 2005
I participated in Volunteer in the Park Day also known as VIP Day. It's organized by NYU, and students, faculty and residents volunteer to plant flowers, pick up garbage and paint benches. I did an hour and a half in Washington Square park doing all those things. I'm proud to say that a green garbage can and the two big black urn-like flower pots in front of the famous arch, were painted by moi! So that's my NYC claim to fame. Just think of all the people who take photos in front of the arch and thus also with the big urns. And to think I painted them ;)...and practically most of my sweat pants in the process too, haha. It was a beautiful day so I was glad I was able to be out to enjoy it and to do something nice for Earth Day.
later that day... in Connecticut...
Have you ever been drunk with your family? And then try to pretend that you aren't by covering up and using big words like "decor." And whenever you say something that you think sounds intelligent your mind is saying "Yay, decor, that was perfect! You are so great Tara, you have them all fooled and you are so freaking drunk, and they have no idea, lol!" Then you have to bite down on your smile due to your own self congratulations and laughter that is going on in your head.
Well, this evening wasn't too bad, because no matter how tipsy I was from some red, red wine that was making me feel real fine, I still ended up the designated driver. After all, my mom and her friend were doing martinis and were definitely beating me.
While I was dropping off our friend and temporarily parked in her driveway, my mother goes "I love this song" and flips up the volume on the radio, blasting Hall & Oates "Ill Be Around." There was some clapping, snapping, pointing, crazy arm-waving dance moves, leading up to all three of us girls putting our faces near each other and screaming "Whenever you need me, I'll be there!" lol, good times!
PS: I walked by Tyne Daly on Bleeker Street!
Article: The Lying Game: In an Internet-hookup culture, even sensitive guys think theyre players. By Amy Sohn in New York Magazine