Sometimes You Just Need a Ride

This post isn’t funny. At all. Well, okay, it’s a tiny bit funny because I keep mentioning tampons, but I swear that tampons are the only funny part of this story. You can smile when I get to the tampon parts.
Here’s the thing: I know this really awesome lady, and no, her gorgeous red hair is not what makes her awesome. In fact, it has the opposite effect, because it makes me want to push her down because I’m jealous. Not the point.

Anyway, life pooped on this awesome red-haired lady. She got SUPER sick over the summer, and even though everybody keeps assuming it was from a tampon (now is the time to giggle), it wasn’t from bad personal hygiene (yeah right, like anybody with hair that gorgeous doesn’t spend HOURS on personal hygiene!). So she gets really sick from a non-tampon-related illness and ends up in a coma for a whole month of the summer, meaning she and the gorgeous hair didn’t lounge by the pool AT ALL. When she wakes up from the coma, she finds out that it was a good thing that she woke up when she did because they were practically holding the saw over her arms and legs, thinking that maybe if her body had less meat to deal with, she would recover faster. I personally think they should have started with her hair, but that might be the jealousy talking again.

So life has basically sucked for the redhead since this summer. She did end up losing a few body parts, but the hair more than makes up for it, and they were minor body parts. Well, okay, you kind of do need your thumb, but I think she got to keep most of it in the end.

Here’s where I come in. Besides laughing at her expense about her love of tampons and thumbs and secretly hating her for owning that hair, I found out the other day that she had a super-important doctor’s appointment, and no one to take her. Because she can’t drive. And the reason she can’t drive is her awesome hair gets in the way. I made that up. Okay, it was her tampon. I made that part up, too. You may giggle again.

Anyway, I found out she had no ride, so I Googled “limo service” in her home town, found one that didn’t look sleazy, and gave them a call. They took her info, nabbed my credit card number, and took her to her doctor’s appointment in STYLE. And I know for a fact she rocked that damn red hair of hers the whole way there.

PLEASE do not even for a second think of telling me how sweet that was or how nice I am for doing her a favor. First of all, I’m not nice, I want to shove her down because of her hair, remember? Second, I want you to do something WAAAAAAY better.

I want you to do that for someone else.

Do you know how much effort I spent on helping somebody whom life has pooped on lately? None, because I didn’t even need to get out of my chair to arrange it and it took five minutes of my life. Do you know how much that limo cost me when you compare it to her medical bills? Nothing. Do you know what I sacrificed to be able to afford that ride to get her to her appointment?

A new Keurig.

Yup. I was going to buy another coffee maker, this one to go in my office so I wouldn’t have to walk down the stairs to get more coffee while I write. Then I realized that the gorgeous red-haired lady would be thrilled shitless just to be able to walk down those stairs. And I felt really small inside for wanting another coffee maker.

I love all of the people who stop by my blog and tell me how great I am and how funny I am, but just this one time don’t tell me I did something great. Because I didn’t. I did something human. I did exactly what I should have done. Instead of saying something nice to me, please go pass it on to someone around you.

UPDATE: Check out the suh-weet ride provided by Valley Limo in Pennsylvania. It turns out that when I booked the trip and they charged my card, they charged me for the Town Car rate but sent the stretch bad boy, because “that lady needed something special.” Like her hair isn’t freakin’ special enough! But they really didn’t have to do that, and they did and they are rock stars for it, so if you ever need a limo in Pennsylvania or the tri-state area, please go with those guys.

I’m not sure that car is stylish enough for this lady’s hair. It’s not to be believed, people!

Go Ahead. Bet me MONEY This Isn’t Real.

You KNOW I'm gonna wear these to Walmart. And to church. And then probably to Hell.

There is a website called It is an entire piece of the internet, accessed via valuable broadband, that is dedicated to making kitschy crap out of tampons. If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’.

I want you to picture the scene where I send my child to school with a diorama of the first Thanksgiving made entirely out of tampons standing up in a cardboard shoebox. Or where we patiently arrange the tampons to represent the eight planets in the solar system (yeah, I was totally on board with kicking out Pluto). Or how we make an Inuit igloo out of the cottony middles, cutting off the strings to weave friendship bracelets for Field Day.

Then I want you to envision the school calling Child Welfare on me for using insertable feminine hygiene supplies to help my daughter with her homework.

I will freely admit that my real problem with, besides the obvious shunning of the Instead plastic cup, is that I didn’t think of it first. Go ahead, give me a glue gun, various sequins, and a box of Tampax, and I will prove to you that I could come up with some really cool shit. Only no one’s gonna pay me to blog about it.

But the tampon-slash-doily site isn’t really the only missed opportunity on cyberspace. I really, really, REALLY wish I owned this one website whose URL I came across purely by accident, I swear. This one sticks in my craw so badly that I can’t think about it without wanting to take off my earring and cut someone: Go ahead, click that link and see where it takes you.

Yup, there is a website devoted entirely to the tear-away spandex garments, f***-me pumps, and shiny tension-mounted poles (shut up, that wasn’t a dick joke) that strippers apparently need for their daily 9-to-5 jobs (pm to am, that is). Do you know what kind of money there is to bed made in French maid outfits with Velcro tabs? Or 120mm stiletto pumps that are still safe for walking the stage several times a night?
Instead, I caved to the pressure from my second grade nun and made this site,, a perfectly white-bread kind of website where no one has thong panties that rip off in time to the soundtrack from Boogie Nights. The joke’s on you, Sister Catherine, I fully intend to have my own herd of male prostitutes available for escort duties on my new site, I have to pay for all those tampons and glue sticks somehow.