Once it’s in your mouth, you can’t really back out. You’re going to have to see it through, that’s the rule generally speaking, everyone knows that. Soooo, be careful what you put in there in the first place is my motto. Some people get braver with alcohol but I tend to get even more skittish with the little warning message going on a loop in the back of my head, ‘you’ve been drinking, caution, nothing new, you’ve been drinking, caution, etc.’ So it’s in the morning that I’m most likely to go for it:

-The thing that looks like a spiny sea urchin is some kind of heavy sticky cake with spikes stuffed with orange mush, and it’s good, mango I think.
-The thing that looks like a cupcake of black mealy worms is some kind of puffed rice held together by a goo that tastes like a berry of some kind, and it’s good too.
-The smokes fish sucks just like I thought it would, bass I think, and it tastes like ham gone very wrong.
-The things that look like little round potatoes are steamed dough balls stuffed with brown stuff that looks like apple butter. It’s pretty good, but after two bites I still had no guess whatsoever about the brown stuff so I stopped. I wasn’t even sure if it was sweet or not, honestly.
-The thing that looks like a steamed dough ball covered in egg yolk is a steamed dough ball but the yellow stuff is a pineapple reduction, I think, and the stuff inside tastes like minced taco meat.
-The thing that looks like a philo dough cuplet filled with something fleshtoned and covered in what appears to be carrot shavings almost went in, I gave it a little lick to be frank but I think you can still take that back, and it was gonna be fishy I could tell.
-The thing that is clearly pork sausage tastes a little like fish, but at that point I was probably fish-paranoid and hallucinating because who would do that?
-The doughnut was a doughnut and the hash brown wedgie was a hash brown wedgie, both fried enough to break your teeth—did the fry it twice, like shooting a dead guy?
-The pineapple was FANTASTIC.

Later: I’m not pregnant. Here’s how it happened. I go to buy a headset. I walk to the mall, the “real” one, big expensive western thing, multistory all glass etc. For me, whose petals close when talked to unexpectedly, the shopping customs are rough. There’s no bargaining this time, but the level of awareness of my presence just unnerves me. But, as with most things, it comes down to desire vs. fear and holy sooner or later batgirl who do you think is gonna win? So, I see it. The fur. The slept in it for a year, lost my mind my heart maybe my soul in it, my only friend when the lights and the heat went out in the food left to rot house I just got back and nobody in that X-belonging god damn city so much as called in it, the showed up in the emergency room in week-old pj’s with pneumonia in it, got better in it, always look weirdly only I would wear it and look good in it fur coat. I bought it from an Asian woman at a vender convention in Chicago, a little too big and not my best color . . . I want another one. And here it is. In pink. I reach out and touch, sure enough, same stuff, peculiar soft snippets sewn together bit by bit. The tag, what the hell is that? 194656183056 . . that’s not the price. Lots of itsy bitsy calligraphy-numbers-more-caligraphy. And the inevitable two sales women on either side of me a foot from my head SMILING. It’s fine, but I wish I could tell them if you knew me better you’d not like me this much, honest. I'm sure it's easy to figure it out but I can’t think straight. I leave. But I at least want to know how much it was. All around there are signs that say SALE and then 7! Or 5! Seven what? I wander around some more and find a drug store. I go in and think well I’ll buy a thermometer bc I am kinda hounded by this sinus thing for real and maybe I should pop the cipro. Besides, I figure then I can learn how the price signs work,which is really what I'm after. So I make the little shape of a thermometer at the guy in the air with my hands and SMILE REAL BIG and he brings me over to the pregnancy tests. I laugh, he laughs, he’s so happy for me. So fine whatever (see feeling 10. of previous post), I look carefully at the little price sticker below, think I got it, buy it, and yeah ok the change basically comes back as I expected, around $5 not $50 in case you ever find yourself in China possibly carrying an immaculate conception short on cash and need to know that. I go back to the store and pink fur is $300 apx. If it had been brown, I’d be wearing it right now, but I figure if you’re gonna buy yourself a new boyfriend, the gay one probably isn’t the most serviceable choice. The word for Thank You sounds like zitszits. The second thing I’m going to learn to say is fur coat . . . and then get better at the bargaining thing.

Also. Captain of Industry says if you get lost here you stay lost. There is simply no way to communicate where you ought to be. You’re just screwed. So when it’s that important, probably Starbucks is not the best landmark choice. See, I knew Lil’ Ridiculous would turn up. I could go to the moon and that bitch would turn up, sure as shit. My feet are killing me now. I wonder what I’d get if I went back to the drugstore for toenail clippers. Maybe the headset.