Dead Babies and Bars

Published July 7, 2012 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

There was a young girl standing outside the supermarket yesterday with a sign and a can.  The sign had a picture of a 6 month old baby on it and it said – “Please help me pay for my baby’s funeral.”  My first thought was – that kid better be dead or you’re totally going to hell for taking money from people.  She’ll totally see me when she gets there for even having that thought.  Maybe it’s the New Yorker in me or the Jew my parents raised but I trust no one.  I look at someone like that and think – are you fucking kidding me right now – I need milk.  I didn’t give her any money but about half an hour later she was behind me at the checkout stand cashing in the coins people had put in her dead baby can and now I felt awful.  I looked at what was on my register runway –  mango’s and magazines – and I handed her five dollars.  Surely if she had a dead baby I wasn’t going to be the one to hold up a funeral.  She thanked me and I thought – you’re a fucking liar.  Somebody needs to do something about the homeless people and children begging for money situation in this country – because the guilt I feel as I drive by them is killing me.  I saw my friend John the homeless man the other day.  He’d gone missing again for a few days and I asked where he was – Vacation.  God I hope he was kidding me.

I went on a pub crawl with my friend Chelsea the other night.   We hit about five bars – the first one she took me too was awesome – then we hit some bars I used to go to when I drank – and that’s when things got ugly.  I haven’t been to these bars since I drank over a decade ago and let me tell you – they haven’t changed a bit – neither has the clientele.  Well – they’ve gotten more drunk, fat, and filthy.  My friend Melissa describes Chelsea as a girl who goes to sleep in a tulip and has a car that runs on muffins.  This is not the kind of girl you take to a shithole.  I didn’t.  I took her to four.  The second bar we went to was almost okay – although some guy grabbed my arm to look at my tattoo.  Apparently drunk people with tattoos feel a kinship with other people who have tattoos in bars which is – oh I don’t know – everyone.  He was hideous.  The third bar we went to had bathroom stalls  filled with other peoples poo.  The fourth I completely blocked.  Then we hit my mother lode – Dresden’s.  Marty and Elaine have been singing there (loose use of the word) for over 31 years.  They still are.  Chelsea was gob smacked.  She wanted to know what was on their heads.  (wigs)  The lighting was a little too bright for what was going on in there and if Marty and Elaine were once any good – they sure weren’t any more. The comedy of Dresden’s isn’t so funny when you’re not drunk.  It’s sad.  When the bass player sitting in with them started hitting on Chelsea – I had to take the Tulip home.  Tomorrow I’m taking her to the supermarket with a sign that says “Please help pay to have my pub crawl erased from Chelsea’s brain.”  I’ll let you know how we do..

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