saturday: the rub at the brooklyn museum - little kids, old people, twentysomething white girls, black teenagers, everyone dancing to old school hip hop in a museum. best party i've been to in a while.
sunday: walking and brunch/lunch.
when we were in L.A., we were discussing our love of words, especially words that don't exsist but should and portmanteau words, a la lewis carroll, where you smush two words together to make a new one, like brunch.
we were having this conversation in a gorgeous restaurant, and the bus boy came over to our table with bread and oil. he proceeded to spill the oil all over the table and a menu as he set it down. he went away and came back with a towel to wipe up the oil and rubbed too hard on the menu and ruined the plastic cover as well as the paper underneath.
"what is going on with this guy?" one of us asked.
"he's stumsy," jaime said.
and now stumsy's part of my lexicon, and ever so appropriate for how i feel about the fact that i have a crushing crush. my stumsy heart aches.
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