irrational_shoes epitome of incomprehensibility You know when you wear them, irrational things are going to happen, not all of them bad. 150606 ... e_o_i I'm wearing my irrational shoes. I'm wearing my irrational shoes. I'm dancing like it's international news while wearing my irrational shoes. No, seriously, I took them off, because they were really hurting my feet, especially the toes of my left foot. I took my sock off just now, half expecting to see it covered in blood. No blood. Just a few reddish marks of protest. I'd decided that the black heels looked better with my outfit than flat shoes. These were the ones I'd worn to my first day as a teaching assistant back in 2011, which was also the day I'd bought a bunch of books and got off at the wrong bus stop - you'd think I'd have learned sore foot lessons from that, but you need to learn sore foot lessons every few years. Heels and socks are gauche because gauche means left and my left toes hurt. Anyway, I put on my irrational shoes and went with B. to walk around downtown, looking at buzz surrounding the Grand Prix car race (bars, cars, T-shirts, promotional bags of chewy candy, crowded streets). We walked from Concordia metro to Berri-Uqam and back to around Peel to the movie theatre there. My feet didn't hurt much then. We were talking about going to a Vietnamese restaurant and then seeing a French documentary. Instead, we went to La Belle Province, split a hamburger and fries, and watched Mad_Max: Fury Road in 3-D. Early on, there was a sequence where the good guys' truck gets attacked by spiky cars, and when one of the spiky cars exploded bits of debris were thrown everywhere. I ducked. Of course, a second later I realized there was nothing to duck about, and since B. had seen me, I caught his eye and we laughed. Turns out the 3-D glasses hurt his eyes, though not mine, and he didn't wear them for most of the movie, despite the slight blurriness of the naked screen. Naked. Who wants to get naked? People don't want to get naked when they're wearing irrational shoes, contrary to what you might expect. His shoes were rational, but saying "Oh, you can stay at my place, so you won't have to go home by yourself, because you don't want to walk home late," didn't make sense. I mean, it doesn't to me. You don't try to seduce someone by making them scared of stuff, that's creepy. But I didn't want to say "seduce" in case I'd gotten the wrong idea and also there are words that are embarrassing to use in metro stations. I tried to tell him not to put stuff that way, it annoyed me. Also (I didn't say this) it kind of ruined the goodness of things, like the talking and looking-at-murals part. Because there was a looking-at-murals part, before watching spiky cars explode in false dimensionality. I told him who they were: Hellen Keller, Maya Angelou, Simone de Beauvoir, and Frida Kahlo. I mean, they had their names right underneath them, but I told him a bit about who they were. I am not a thing, but I am an information dispenser. On the bus ride back, the shoes really hurt. I was standing up, holding on to a railing and trying to read poetry. When I was walking home, I didn't take them off and walk in my socks, but kept them on for appearance's sake (I would die in any sort of apocalypse, wouldn't I?) but I was sort of stuttering, I mean tottering, and if people saw me, I probably looked drunk or arthritic. (Please God, no arthritis. Also please - reasonable conclusion to the You-Know-What.) I am alone, because the brother is off working early season at summer camp and the parents are across the country at the Convention of the High Elders of the Predestined Church of Canaduckia trying to convince the Holy Priests and Priestesses not to gay-marry people, or something. Naturally, I disapprove (see "fences" for why this involves killer rabbits). It makes me want to find a girlfriend and then not have sex with her until we are married under Canaduckian law. Take that! The best revenge is completely irrelevant. Why doesn't he ever hold my hand? Why no hand-holding and then, "Hey, let's have sex", except not, because he doesn't communicate in that language? I am afraid we can't understand each other anyway because our irrationalities are incompatible. His do not extend to footwear. Or rather that his first language is French and mine is English. I need to communicate better too. I'm aware of that. Hey, Mad Max: Fury Road is kind of awesome! Stereotypical masculinity/femininity sometimes, but then not. Precious bodily fluids (blood, milk, oil - because cars are bodies too). Lack of backstory isn't a problem, though the dialogue can seem out of place when it makes unexplained references or gets (sometimes) cheesy - but you've got a guitar shooting fire, so there's that. 150606 ... unhinged maybe i should've rescheduled our plans for a third time maybe you could've respected me and my time 150607 what's it to you? who go blather from