The Babushka walked home that night to a dark and cold apartment. The power had yet to be restored at Watershed Heights. She tried to fall asleep, but a loud and relentless storm crashed and boomed above her.
The Babushka tossed and turned all night, but there was something tugging at the back of her conscience. It wasn't the profound darkness that shrouded the normally night-life lit streets out her window. It wasn't the biting cold left behind by the absence of electric heating. There was something else.
At the crack of thunder, he Babushka sat up hurriedly and shot her baggy eyes to the digital clock by her bed, only to remember that the electricity was out. The clock stared back at her blankly. The apartment reeked of silence.
She then peered down at the old Russian watch on her fat wrist. 1:00 am. Exactly.
Suddenly, the Babushka heard a hallow stomp climbing the stairs of Watershed Heights.
They sounded empty, lost.
Svetlana sat and pondered. She momentarily settled back down into bed, closing her eyes. The footsteps continued to ascend. The Babushka popped open her left eye.
A hissing whisper echoed through the stairwell. "I must get some esleep," the Babushka grunted. However, she found herself being drawn from bed. Her slippers slipped on over her bunioned old feet and she found her way out the creaky, rotting door.
The Babushka peered left and right and saw the flit of a black habit turning up a new flight of stairs. It was that crazy nun bitch that lived a few doors down. Agnes Monaghan. What was she doing up this late? Nuns weren't supposed to party...
The Babushka followed. One heave of a fat arthritic thigh at a time...
By the last flight of stairs, the Babushka's asthma was really kicking in. She huffed and puffed, bending over and clutching her belly. She peered upwards to see Agnes standing at the top, stepping forward onto the roof of the building, completely unaware of the Babushka's inquisitive gaze.
The Babushka began hoisting herself up the stairs. Agnes remained in place. As the Babushka creeped closer, she heard whispering. Slowly, the whispering grew into a passionate bellow.
"GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD FORGIVE ME!!!!" Screamed the nun. Thunder boomed and Agnes stepped out into the rain, arms raised, completely indifferent to the large wet spots forming all over her habit. Then the Babushka heard a quiet sob.
She stepped closer again, now also on the building's roof. The nun dropped her head, her arms still directed towards the heavens. "Christians..." thought the Babushka.
A wave of sensitivity overcame her, however. The Babushka's face twisted with empathy for this poor, lost soul. What was this strange warmth bulging from right above the Babushka's artery? That same strange force that pulled her out of bed was now guiding the Babushka's hand toward the dear nun's shoulder. A gesture of comfort.
Her hand barely grazed the back of the nun's shoulder when the crazy ass bitch started LAUGHING!!! HYSTERICS!!!! The Babushka snatched back her hand.
Agnes was hooting, speaking in tongues!!! "JIGIJIILIIILALALAAALALA!" warbled the crazed nun.
Svetlana stood open-mouthed in astonishment. The nun ran for the edge of the building and stood on her tippy toes over the great canyon of Watershed Heights.
As the dumb bitch raised her arms again, a twinkling yellow light shot down from the sky, entered her head, and lit up her entire body, like the neon signs back at Dina's Diner.
28 fuckin hours.
Then the nun fell and died.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
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.
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?"
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.
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.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
6. Girl Got Cohones
The Babushka met a few interesting people clubbing. No one she would ever dream of dating, but interesting none the less.
The most notable had been a young lesbian snorting coke from right off the bar counter. Svetlana had approached the woman inquisitively, in complete disbelief that someone would actually put that little effort into hiding their illegal substances. The woman cocked her head at Svetlana and promptly returned to the small white trail before her. It looked like worm. The Babushka frowned.
"Aren't you scared you will get caught?" The Babushka inquired.
"Naw man fuck that shit," said the girl.
Svetlana nodded approvingly. She did not fuck with hard drugs, but what could she say? The girl had cohones.
After another 35 minutes of aimlessly circling the bar, The Babushka remained unsuccessful. These men were too fruity. She needed someone real, someone tough, like the men back in Ukraine.
The Babushka sighed a heavy sigh and reluctantly decided to return for home, empty handed. As she headed towards the door, she cast one last glance back at the young coke-fiend, who was now grinding her nose forcefully into the bar counter. Maybe the Babushka needed to be more like this girl.
A light bulb flickered in Svetlana's head.
Maybe the Babushka didn't need a man.
Maybe she needed a destiny..
a purpose...
or better yet...
her very own pair of cohones.
At that thought, the Babushka hoisted her retro pink beaded sequined purse over her left shoulder and purposefully strutted out the bar door.
The most notable had been a young lesbian snorting coke from right off the bar counter. Svetlana had approached the woman inquisitively, in complete disbelief that someone would actually put that little effort into hiding their illegal substances. The woman cocked her head at Svetlana and promptly returned to the small white trail before her. It looked like worm. The Babushka frowned.
"Aren't you scared you will get caught?" The Babushka inquired.
"Naw man fuck that shit," said the girl.
Svetlana nodded approvingly. She did not fuck with hard drugs, but what could she say? The girl had cohones.
After another 35 minutes of aimlessly circling the bar, The Babushka remained unsuccessful. These men were too fruity. She needed someone real, someone tough, like the men back in Ukraine.
The Babushka sighed a heavy sigh and reluctantly decided to return for home, empty handed. As she headed towards the door, she cast one last glance back at the young coke-fiend, who was now grinding her nose forcefully into the bar counter. Maybe the Babushka needed to be more like this girl.
A light bulb flickered in Svetlana's head.
Maybe the Babushka didn't need a man.
Maybe she needed a destiny..
a purpose...
or better yet...
her very own pair of cohones.
At that thought, the Babushka hoisted her retro pink beaded sequined purse over her left shoulder and purposefully strutted out the bar door.
Friday, March 18, 2011
5. Hittin up da club
The Babuskha had not left her room for many days. Two nights after the sudden disappearance of her beloved Blarney, she received a heartbreaking break-up text from Enrique.
Life could not get any worse. Babuskha could not fathom what she had done wrong.
"He's obviously gay," sulked the Babushka.
For the next week she reviewed dating websites. Eharmony, Zoosk, Match.com. No results. She needed someone spicy. Someone exotic.
The Babuskha decided to go clubbing.
She pulled the fishnet tights up and above her wrinkled cellulite-dented knees.
She slipped her bunioned, fat foot into a size 9 shiny gold stiletto.
She dabbed a bit of coverup on top of the hairy mole under her left nostril and smacked her pasty red lips.
The Babushka stepped out of the squeaky doors to Watershed Heights and entered into the world of men.
Friday, March 11, 2011
4. Hello Carnie, Bye Bye Blarney
It had been exactly thirty days since Babushka had found love in the humid, smokey Jamaican Restaurant upon that stormy afternoon. The man's name was Enrique. He was so mysterious.
Following the thunder clash, Svetlana had bashfully asked the man to sit down with her and share a grand feast of ox tail soup. He eagerly accepted her offer and the two enjoyed the rest of the evening together, downing bottle after bottle of tongue-tingling ginger beer, and eventually passing joints with
Since that fateful night, the two had been spending every Wednesday afternoon together at "Jamaican Me Crazy." They had become a "thing."
One springy Wednesday as the pair sat down to the table, Enrique suggested that they make a detour past the town carnival on their way home. Svetlana did not seem inclined to go. Ever since that one incident when a small child had mistaken her for a member of the Freak Show, prompting the Babushka to begin ferociously beating and cursing at the child, leading to a lawsuit from the parents, Svetlana had not associated local carnivals with happy times. Besides, the carnies always hit on her.
Enrique however, was persistent. He said that perhaps he could change Svetlana's perspective on carnivals and give her some good memories to associate with them. At that he winked.
Svetlana could not say no to his enigmatic suaveness. So following lunch, they headed downtown to enjoy a cotton candy dessert.
At the carnival the pair enjoyed a delightful ferris wheel ride, an adventure through the fun house, and Enrique even won the Babushka a brand new pet goldfish. It would not be an adequate replacement for Putzina, however, it would make a better stew. She decided to name it Blarney.
Svetlana and Enrique stayed at the carnival far into the afternoon. The Babushka was enjoying herself so much. Their excursion had become far more than a detour. Her narrow-mindedness on carnivals had definitely been reformed.
The two finally decided it was time to walk home around 10 o’clock. The Babushka emerged from the gates of the carnival proudly clutching Blarney in his water bag. It had been such a wonderful afternoon. Suddenly though, as Babuskha and Enrique were waving a bittersweet goodbye to the lovely carnies, the Babushka tripped on a pebble, causing her to fall forward, sending Blarney and his bag spewing into the air. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Cried the Babushka. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.
The Babuskha fell on her face, peering upwards just in time to see Blarney and his bag burst open on the pavement. Enrique helped her up.
“But where is my little fishy?” Cried the Babushka. She paced around the explosion sight, picking up all the little scraps of plastic off the ground. Blarney was nowhere to be seen. Just then a mangy looking dog walked by. He looked up at the Babuskha inquisitively. The Babuskha cursed at him in Russian.
He peed on her shoe.
So much for carnivals.
Following the thunder clash, Svetlana had bashfully asked the man to sit down with her and share a grand feast of ox tail soup. He eagerly accepted her offer and the two enjoyed the rest of the evening together, downing bottle after bottle of tongue-tingling ginger beer, and eventually passing joints with
Since that fateful night, the two had been spending every Wednesday afternoon together at "Jamaican Me Crazy." They had become a "thing."
One springy Wednesday as the pair sat down to the table, Enrique suggested that they make a detour past the town carnival on their way home. Svetlana did not seem inclined to go. Ever since that one incident when a small child had mistaken her for a member of the Freak Show, prompting the Babushka to begin ferociously beating and cursing at the child, leading to a lawsuit from the parents, Svetlana had not associated local carnivals with happy times. Besides, the carnies always hit on her.
Enrique however, was persistent. He said that perhaps he could change Svetlana's perspective on carnivals and give her some good memories to associate with them. At that he winked.
Svetlana could not say no to his enigmatic suaveness. So following lunch, they headed downtown to enjoy a cotton candy dessert.
At the carnival the pair enjoyed a delightful ferris wheel ride, an adventure through the fun house, and Enrique even won the Babushka a brand new pet goldfish. It would not be an adequate replacement for Putzina, however, it would make a better stew. She decided to name it Blarney.
Svetlana and Enrique stayed at the carnival far into the afternoon. The Babushka was enjoying herself so much. Their excursion had become far more than a detour. Her narrow-mindedness on carnivals had definitely been reformed.
The two finally decided it was time to walk home around 10 o’clock. The Babushka emerged from the gates of the carnival proudly clutching Blarney in his water bag. It had been such a wonderful afternoon. Suddenly though, as Babuskha and Enrique were waving a bittersweet goodbye to the lovely carnies, the Babushka tripped on a pebble, causing her to fall forward, sending Blarney and his bag spewing into the air. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Cried the Babushka. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.
The Babuskha fell on her face, peering upwards just in time to see Blarney and his bag burst open on the pavement. Enrique helped her up.
“But where is my little fishy?” Cried the Babushka. She paced around the explosion sight, picking up all the little scraps of plastic off the ground. Blarney was nowhere to be seen. Just then a mangy looking dog walked by. He looked up at the Babuskha inquisitively. The Babuskha cursed at him in Russian.
He peed on her shoe.
So much for carnivals.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)