Wednesday, May 4, 2011

9. Pie

As the Babushka began strutting away from the Diner, a strange thing occurred. The street lights began to flicker... the suddenly, LIGHTNING STRUCK! BOOOOMM! The Babushka jumped three feet straight in the air.
Then the aftershock.
Glass shattered and dogs wailed frantically.
And suddenly, like a long line of dominoes, the lights of each building shut off progressively down the street. The Babushka gaped.
"American electricity," tisked Svetlana. "This is why they use whale blubber back in the old country."
She peered down the street, old eyes squinted. Surely not everything could be out?
The Babushka turned in response to an electric buzzing sound behind her. NO! The one place in ALL of Watershed Heights from which God had not revoked the power of light was of course the place from which the Babushka had just hurriedly escaped. Dina's 28 Hour Diner. The Babushka checked her watch. It was 3:14 PM.
The Babushka frowned. There was no way she was going back in there to face that old stinky War Vet and country po-dunk waitress.
But then... a sweet aroma began to seep out from within the diner. It's lights suddenly shut off, but the aroma persisted.
What was this strange smell? The Babushka closed her eyes and smiled deeply. It reminded her of the old country. She imagined herself frolicking as a child with her two sisters, Anastasiya and Agnessa, through the great Sunflower fields by her family's dairy farm. The aroma brought her back to her own grandmother-Babushka's Russian kitchen... She saw her grandmother slipping old and worn oven mits over her delicate fingers, shuffling close to the old fire-wood oven, and then carefully... carefully... removing a succulent, long slaved-over meat pie from the oven's dark bowels.
She opened her eyes. A long line of people was already extending from the inside of the diner. "What ees theees?" pondered the Babushka.
"I WANT PIEEEEEEEEEEEE!" A man screamed as he began attempting to thrust his way through the crowd. A fight began to break out.
"WOAH MAN!" Thought the Babushka. "I'm finna dipp!"
So she left.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

8. My Milkshake

After one unsuccessful attempt at receiving inspiration through osmosis, the Babushka realized that in order to have a revelation concerning her destiny, she would have to be in a positive environment filled with pleasant people. Unfortunately, no such people existed in the human wasteland of Watershed Heights.
The Babushka's tummy grumbled. "Perhaps my tummy's gotta get inspired first," she thought.
For once, the Babushka was not in the mood for Jamaican. And besides, DeAngelo would be expecting her to want a refill on her weed stash. (The Babushka hadn't been smoking much recently, and didn't want to disappoint her dear friend.)
Since Svetlana was already out and about she decided to head east to Deena's 28 Hour Diner. She'd heard the place was good, although the concept of 28 hours in a day perplexed her. Sounded like some Sci-fi shit.
She walked into the swinging doors of the diner with a "GLING!"
A kind, pretty hostess smiled a lipstick coated smile, and with a gesture, told Svetlana that she was permitted to sit anywhere she liked.
The Babushka huffed, since she was not so familiar with any of socially acceptable ways in which Americans demonstrated gratitude, and scurried off to a lonely little table in the corner. She plopped her handbag on the ground and scooched in close to the table until her top fatroll was avalanched over her place-mat. A waitress approached.
"Good evenin' ma'am! Waylcome to Dina's Diner. Mah name's Destiny and I weeyull be your waitress tonight!" Destiny's white teeth twinkled in the reflection of the light up retro "Dina's Diner" sign hanging on the wall.
The Babushka scanned her menu with a frown. "I will have uh, da BIGuh pancake, and uh, the uh shocolate milkshakeuh. Largeuh." The Babushka was no pansy when it came to eating. Russian men liked their woman fat.
Destiny returned in a jiffy with a steaming giant pancake in the shape of Mickey Mouse and a tall glass of milkshake. "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard..." the Babuskha sang unintentionally under her breath.
She dug into the pancakes, only relieving herself to take greedy slurps of milkshake in between. She picked up the metal can of maple syrup, allowing it to stream and flood over the hot cakes, shimmering like snake venom and casting the reflection of the spinning ceiling fan above the Babushka's head. Svetlana pealed off the strawberries from the top of the massive pancake, popping them delicately into her mouth, and licking the gleaming remnants of melted chocolate chips off of her saggy old fingers. Delicioso.
In the middle of the Babushka's licking fest, a creepy old man was escorted past her table. Svetlana watched him intently. He smelled homeless, but looked clean enough. He was deceiving. The Babushka furrowed her brows with distrust. Suddenly, she did not feel like completing her delicious pancake meal. She was too disgusted with American hygiene to eat anymore.
"Billuh Pleasuh." Svetlana snapped her fingers in Destiny's face as she clicked past the table on her shiny pink high heels. Destiny's smile twisted into a confused pout as she squeaked "Yayus ma'am!" And hurried to the back of the restaurant, clicking all the way.
After receiving the bill, Svetlana cast one last disapproving glance back at the stinky old fart. He stared back, unafraid.
Svetlana waddled out the of the restaurant, sighing mournfully. "How can I have a destiny when I surrounded by nothing by stinking, filthy Americans?"

7. Inspiration

The Babuskha had been medidating for many days on what her destiny should be.
Rock star?
no.
Cuban revolutionary?
no.
Eventually she decided that it would come to her with time.
At that thought, the Babushka decided to go on a walk through the neighborhood, perhaps to acquire some inspiration.
She passed scraggly homeless men, hissing prostitutes, and that naked dog-man who had eaten her beloved Putzina. "Несамоходные неприкрытой американских свиньи!" She screeched down the street at him.
While distracted, The Babuskha failed to realize that she was about to walk into someone.
"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOIN, GRANMA!" Hollered an angsty looking woman. The Babushka clutched her purse and started cursing in Russian.
But this bitch was relentless. She shoved past Svetlana, extending her left arm high enough to expose a black nail-polish coated middle finger.
"Несамоходные!" Muttered Babuskha.
She remained uninspired.