Either the bad juju continues or I’m channeling Mia Watt’s.
So here I am minding my own business, on assignment in San Fran, when I’m attacked by a homeless woman.
Let me start at the beginning…
I had to go into the city today because even though I’m sick, I promised my daughter I’d go to a Trunk Show. It’s like this, my oldest daughter is getting married next year and when she was here a couple weeks ago, she and her sister went into the city to a designer bridal boutique where they were told that the designer would be in town for two days and two days only in September to showcase his Mother of the Bride dresses. Normally they don’t carry his Mother of the Bride dresses, only his wedding gowns. So, being the good little mother that I am, I made the mandatory appointment to meet with the designer and his staff and check out his Mother of the Bride dresses. Now this is important…pay attention…my daughters made me do this because:
a. I hate dresses.
b. I don’t own any dresses.
c. I don’t buy dresses and
d. I don’t wear dresses.
So, I hauled myself out of my sickbed, took some Tylenol, jumped in the shower and headed down to catch the Vallejo ferry to San Fran only to find that the Vallejo ferry building is being remodeled, there is only one ticket kiosk open, and even though I’m twenty-five minutes early and usually the Ferry is empty as a tomb on Saturdays - even when the Giants are playing in town - today every single person living south of the Oregon border woke up and decided to take the ferry into San Fran. OMFG. I made it onto the ferry with 30 seconds to spare and thank god I did because I was in no condition to drive to the city.
We arrived at the Ferry Building in San Francisco - which, as any of you living in the Bay Area know, is a zoo on Farmer’s Market day - an amazing zoo, but a zoo nonetheless. But, pushing my way through the crowd, I stop to check out the produce and I decide if I get back in time, I’ll buy sweet corn, red carrots and purple okra. In that order. Oh, and some jujubes - ANYBODY WHO CAN TELL ME WHAT A JUJUBE IS WINS ALL FOUR DAUGHTERS OF PERSEPHONE BOOKS.
I cross the Embarcadero and thread my way past the craft vendors when all of a sudden, I see IT. A necklace calls to me and I glance up at the sign on the booth - good juju necklaces $30 - oh man, I have to have it. The vendor and bead-worker (?) beadist (?) is a sweet guy from Rwanda with a soothing accent. He and I talk for a while, and I figure if he can survive Rwanda, his necklaces definitely have good juju. He puts this gorgeous piece of hand-beaded jewelry in a little bag for me and I stick it in my purse - I don’t put it on because I know I’ll just have to take it off at the Trunk Show.
I find the bridal place with only a few wrong turns and I sit and watch the tableau - it’s fascinating. First of all, the designer is this great Latin guy who speaks Ladino. IF ANYBODY CAN TELL ME WHAT LADINO IS, YOU WIN A COPY OF BEAUTY AND THE FEAST. How do I know he speaks Ladino? Because there’s a whole family speaking Ladino meeting with him right before me and I listen in. And she - the bride - is getting married in Croatia. Croatia? And I’m looking at the mother of the bride and the short dress she likes and I think…If she’s brave enough to put that sucker on, then for sure I can try something on…maybe they have a plain paper bag in my size. Why am I schooching toward the door? Omg, he sees me scooching toward the door! He’s coming this way and he’s really cute and perfect and I hope gay.
Why do I hope this designer is gay? Because if he’s gay, and this is most important, his fashion sense will be a bazillion times better than mine. But also because if he’s gay, he won’t look at me and say, Eww! He’ll look at me and think, How can I make this look good?
Let me tell you, until you’ve gone to a Trunk Show and had a gay designer and his staff squeeze you into size 6 dresses, all with built-in corsets (that one’s for you, Kat!) you haven’t lived. Now I know what you’re thinking…you’re remembering the snarky line from The Devil Wears Prada - “Six is the new fourteen…” Who the fuck cares? Not only did he make me feel beautiful, I looked at myself in the dress he chose for me - and in my own eyes I looked beautiful. It’s like a dress Sigourney Weaver wore once to the Academy Awards, only mine is better - it’s sort of a sapphire blue with touches of opal, off the shoulder and so flow-y. I can’t wait to wear it with my cowboy boots! I get it in two months - he’s making one just for me. My designer measured me. Shucks…
So happy good juju me, strolling back to the Ferry Building, feeling pretty damn perky despite being sick, with plenty of time left to shop for produce and maybe grab a late lunch. I’m thinking - Hey, girl, let’s get out the necklace and put it on! Sure! Why not? Just as I reach into my purse, somebody grabs me by the shirt and yanks me backwards, screaming right next to my ear…CUNT SLUT DYKE CUNT SLUT DYKE! I spin around, ripping my shirt from a dirty hand, and there’s this homeless crazy woman with Satan eyes trying to grab me and she’s getting ready to spit on me. Oh hell no - nobody spits on me. I don’t know where her spit’s been. I shove her backwards and she falls on her ass and spits at me anyway - I jump to the side. She misses so she aims for me again. I take off, looking for a cop and I find one a block away. I tell him what happened to me.
He says, “I saw that woman and I was wondering if I should keep an eye on her. Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Are you shaken up?”
“No, not really.” (because her demon-spawned saliva missed me)
“Is she still back there?” He’s looking over my shoulder.
“No, she vanished into the crowd.”
“Do you want to file a complaint?”
“Will it do any good? Will it get her any help?”
He shakes his head.
“Then no. What’s the point?”
He tells me he’ll be on the look out for her. I thank him and find a place out of the way. I pull the necklace from my purse and stare at it for a few moments - after checking to make certain crazy lady is nowhere in sight. Is the necklace good juju or bad juju? Did she try to stop me from putting it on because it’s good juju? Or did she attack me because the necklace attracts bad juju? Or am I an idiot for even wondering?
Okay. I am the decider. I put the necklace on. I buy my ears of corn, the last bunch of red carrots and the last two pints of purple okra. I get a half-bag of jujubes. I wander to the back of the Ferry Building and the guy from the Hog Island Oyster Company treats me to two freshly shucked raw oysters with mignonette sauce just before they pack everything away. I head back to the front, knowing I have over an hour to kill, when I realize it’s two minutes before the bus back to Vallejo leaves. It will get me home an hour and ten minutes earlier than the ferry. I go for it. Easy peasy.
You tell me…good juju or bad juju? Wear the necklace or don’t wear the necklace? And why am I living Mia Watt’s life? These things only happen to her!
