Bad Words

Yesterday we were on our way to school in the car, it’s about 7:30am, and Carter says from the back seat, “Mama, is F@#K a bad word?”

Um.  Yeah.

So I said, “Well, it’s not a nice word, so we don’t say it in conversation.”

“What does it mean?”

Well, I didn’t go THERE.  But I said people use it all kinds of different ways; as a verb, a noun, an adjective… you have to admit, you can't beat it for versatility.  Personally I say it quite a bit, usually in my head, occasionally alone in the car, but not within earshot of the kids.  I find it very satisfying and at times, the only word that fits the situation perfectly.

“Well, is sith a bad word?  Siht?  Something with an S.”

“S@#T?”

“Yes, that one.”

“That’s not a very nice word either, so we don’t use it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s rude.  Remember how I told you that holding up your middle finger means that you’re telling someone they’re useless, they’re lower than dirt, and that’s why we don’t do it?  Using those words make people feel like that too sometimes.  So we don’t use them.  You’ll probably hear other people using them, though.”

So I asked him if he’d heard someone saying those words recently.  He said there were two boys in his class that were talking about it at lunch and they were trying to think of all the bad words they knew.  “They said there was an f-word, two s-words, three e-words, and a c-word.”  Little boys, you BETTER NOT teach my kid the c-word.  (I can't think of what the e-words must be.)  I’m not upset that he knows those words.  I knew it was just a matter of time and I’m amazed we made it this long.  I learned the s-word earlier than he has; in second grade when Justin Lavoie wrote it on a desk.  It didn’t mean anything to me then, just like those words don’t mean anything to Carter now, he just knows they’re “bad.”  But, he said, “I didn’t like that conversation very much.”

I’m not thrilled he knows those words now, just like I won’t like it when he no longer believes in Santa or the Tooth Fairy.  But I know those days are coming too.  In some ways I wish I could keep them both little forever, homeschool them and control everyone they meet and insulate them from all the bad in the world.  Last week these same boys asked him if he was friends with another kid they thought was weird.  Carter struggled with that, because he thought the weird kid was just fine, friendly even.  But he could see what those boys were asking, “Are you friends with the weird kid?  Because if you are, you’re weird too.”  We talked about that, and I told him he’d face that problem all his life.  Even as an adult you face that, adults are just more subtle.  “I don’t like that person, so you don’t need to like that person.”  

He asked me what he should do about it.  I asked him if he liked the “weird” kid.  He does, so I asked him if he thought it was a good enough reason to not be friends with him just because the other kids thought he was odd.  And I told him that if he stopped being friends with the odd kid, it would probably hurt his feelings.  But I didn’t tell him what to do; I asked him what he was going to do.  He said he was going to invite the boys to play with him and the weird kid, and they’d see how much fun he was. 

Yesterday I asked him what happened with all of that.  He said he introduced them all, and they played tag, and he doesn’t know if they all like each other but they all played together.  My boy the peacemaker.  I asked him what he’d do if those boys started up the “bad word” conversation again.  He said he sat with somebody else at lunch so he wouldn’t have to be a part of that conversation.

I’d really like to save him from that crap.  The peer pressure garbage and the do-you-like-me-I-like-you-but-different-is-bad idiocy.  There were some people I was friends with in school that weren't exactly scholars, nor were they the best-behaved people, but there was something to them I liked.  One girl had (and still has) the absolute best sense of humor; she wasn’t exactly brilliance personified but dang, she could make me laugh.  Another girl I knew used every expletive there was in every sentence she spoke – but she WAS brilliant and probably one of the kindest people I’ve had the good fortune of knowing.  I’d hate to know I’d have missed out on them if I’d been “saved” from the peer pressure of being friends with them.

I don’t know how I’m going to help these kids navigate this world.  It’s ugly.  As Christians, we need to be in the world and not of it.  That’s hard.  When you’re in the world you see all the ick and you have to deal with it.  People will hurt you, influence you for good and bad too, make you uncomfortable, and force you to make difficult decisions.   They make fun of you for being different.  You get labeled as a prude because you don’t do the same things they do; if you do the same things they do to “fit in”, you’re a hypocrite.  I don’t want anybody to teach my kids the c-word, offer them drugs, or tempt them to steal.  I don’t want them to be put in the morally-questionable yet socially-defining position of “let me copy.”  But neither do I want to completely insulate them from it, because the awful people of the world, that’s who we’re instructed to tell about Jesus.  To show them Jesus, because that might be all they ever see of Him.  How will they ever understand what people are going through, the temptations they face, the trouble they’re in, if they never have to see it?  How do they ever have an “I’ve been there, and this is how my faith in God helped me through it” conversation? 

I’m trying very hard not to keep all the bad things from reaching my kids; I AM trying very hard to warn them before they get blindsided with something, and to help them face the tough stuff.  To know where they stand on things before they’re challenged, so they’re confident about their opinions.  I worry those challenges will come before I’m ready.  I want them to be able to make good decisions when I’m not around to tell them what to do, and to know that awful things are out there and will have to be dealt with, one way or another.  I shudder at the mistakes they’re going to make, the temptations they’re going to fall prey to, and the horrible things that may befall them.  I can only pray that God will protect them and save them from themselves and the myriad bone-headed decisions they will inevitably make.  When I think of all the times I did something that could’ve gotten me maimed, beheaded, or killed… well, they say God protects fools and children and at any given time in my life, I’ve been one or the other.

So as much as I totally didn’t want to have to explain the word f#@k to my 8-year-old with my 5-year-old in earshot, at least we got the chance to talk about it.  Frankly I’m just glad he didn’t hear it from ME.  

Conflict Sucks

I can be a weepy. sobby, emotional mess.  I know this.  But let me just tell you what these past few weeks have been like. 

Week before last, I was at the rescue mission and I stopped by the men's side to drop off some sugar in the kitchen.  I said hello to one of the guys.  One of the directors saw me, called me into his office, and proceeded to rail at me, basically accusing me of trolling for dates.  I left in tears and didn't go back to the mission, and I was miserable for a week.  I finally decided the next week I had to talk to him.  I had to confront his accusations because what he said wasn't fair.  He didn't even know me.  Everyone I've talked to, except him of course, appreciated me being there, and since I go with my entire family, they know I'm not trying to hook up.  So I called every day and left a message.  I never could get him on the phone.  By the end of that week I was a basketcase.  So the next week, I showed up on his doorstep, even though I was scared to death about how this next conversation would go; the first one had tanked in the first 10 seconds.  We ended up having the type of discussion I think God had in mind in Matthew:

“Moreover if your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone. If he hears you, you have gained your brother. But if he will not hear, take with you one or two more, that ‘by the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established.’ And if he refuses to hear them, tell it to the church. But if he refuses even to hear the church, let him be to you like a heathen and a tax collector.” (Matt. 18:15-17)

I REALLY just wanted to walk away and not talk to this guy again, like ever.  But the people who would be hurt by that are the people we were both (theoretically) trying to help, and I can't help anyone if I'm not at the mission.  So I walked in his office and sat down, and we prayed together, I told him how hurt I was by his statements, he apologized all over himself for hurting me, and then he told me what he'd REALLY wanted to say and failed miserably at.  During all of this of course I was a weepy mess again, 'cause I'm a girl, and I'm embarrassed at not being able to control myself, but here's the thing.  I was proud of myself -- of US -- for handling a conflict the way God intended.  It wasn't pretty.  It made me vulnerable and it made him have to step up and admit he was wrong, and ask for my forgiveness.  It required me to be brutally honest to a virtual stranger and set myself up for probably being hurt again, since I didn't know how it was going to turn out.  At the end of the discussion we parted as friends, brother and sister in Christ, and partners in the effort to help people who are going through the worst challenges of their lives.  The crapstorm of the week before was gone.

I wanted to tell you this because if you're struggling in a relationship, I want to encourage you to speak up.  I want to encourage you to resolve the conflict and go to the person and say, "You hurt me" or "I know I hurt you and I'm asking for forgiveness."  The conversation I had required that I bare myself and confront someone I barely knew about an incredibly sensitive situation.  I hate confrontation.  When I first married Dallas, I couldn't talk to him about anything emotional unless it was in the dark and I couldn't think too hard about what I was saying -- I just had to blurt it out real fast before my brain could catch up.  (You'll be glad to know I'm past that; yes, over the last 12 years I've improved.  Slightly.)  Suck it up, buttercup, and say it and let the chips fall where they may.  God wants us to resolve conflict, admit when we're wrong and ask for forgiveness.  

So what do you do when your situation doesn't turn out like mine?  When the person you're confronting says "I didn't do anything wrong, I'm not admitting to anything, and I don't care whether you're hurt"?  Beats the heck out of me.  I don't know where you go from there, I guess it depends on whether you have a blunt object in your hand and whether they'll fit in your trunk.  All I'm saying is that if you want to have a relationship with someone, you've got to at least try, do your part, and be honest with them.  All you can control is your own actions.  When you've hurt someone, you've got to acknowledge it, however difficult it is to admit you're wrong (and believe me, it's difficult).  I respect the man I argued with for owning up to handling the situation badly, and repairing the relationship in a Godly way.  He said he respected me for coming back to confront him and not running away with my tail between my legs, badmouthing him to everyone else.  I screw up so often it was nice to feel like I was doing something the right way for a change.

Unfortunately I have other crapstorms I'm currently dealing with, where I feel like I'm being treated unfairly.  I desperately want to call up some people and give them what for, use some very satisfying words, throw things and stomp my feet.  However, I'm trying to handle it like an adult (being an adult sucks) and like a Christ-follower should.  To be a doer of the word and not a hearer only.  I don't know if these other situations will turn out as well but I'm just praying for some divine guidance, as usual, and trying to do the best I can.  Onward and upward, as Mom says.

And the Mother of the Year Award goes to....

Yesterday I was in Target, and I was right behind a lady and her son in the checkout line.  This lady was BEAUTIFUL.  I mean visually stunning; somewhere a magazine was missing its cover model.  Her son was freaking adorable, in a little jon-jon and saddle shoes (SO CUTE!).  She was dressed to the nines and had perfect hair.   And I was thinking, "I bet she's patient too, and never yells at her kids."  And sure enough, here she goes, "No, buddeeee, we're just going to give all these things to the nice lady here, not throw them, okayyyy?"  While her son continues to throw all the things she's brought to the checkout out of the cart and onto the floor.  Fling.  Fling.  Flingy fling.  So then she starts looking around at the cashier, and then me, and then the lady next to her, and then the other cashier, and everywhere but this little boy.  Like any of us are going to do anything; heck, we're waiting to see what SHE'S going to do.  Maybe we'll learn something.  And he's just happily throwing things to the floor while she's flipping out.  She's smoothing her hair and crooning to him, "Now let's just let Mommy have that, okayyyy, honeyyyyy?" while he's totally getting into the flinginess and is now jumping up and down vehemently in the back of the cart. In the middle of all this she stops to tie his little saddle shoe that's come untied and smooth his hair back down, because believe me, he's totally feelin' the moves.  And this goes on and on until she and the cashier finally retrieve everything, she pays for it, and off they go.  

Here is the time where I judge.  But no, I'm not judging HER.  I'm busy judging ME.  Seriously, if that was my kid, I'd 'a whacked him on the behind LONG AGO, maybe 2nd fling.  And I think, "Geez, could I really be that patient, as patient as HER, with my kids when they're misbehaving like that?"  The answer is no.  And I know, I've read all those articles about how mommies should stop judging each other and give each other a break, we need to lock arms ladies, SOLIDARITY 'TIL EIGHTEEN, we will prevail, these children will not break us.  But the thing is you are CONSTANTLY comparing yourself to each other and your kids to each others' kids, to figure out if yours are average, or above average, or freaks of nature.  You can't help it; it's ingrained in you from grade school when you all start comparing report cards.  It's like that in adulthood, only your kids and the way you keep your patience is what you're grading each other on.  Old ladies judge you.  People without kids judge you.  And even if they don't say it, you KNOW they're thinkin' it.

So compared to this lady, I'm wondering about myself.  You know I'm not a fashion plate.  If I never had to wear a dress again that would be A-OK.  I will take my jeans and my Converse ANY DAY.  She's fashionable AND in public.  WITH a kid.  I run to Target in mini-bursts when I don't have a child with me, even if it's 8:45 at night, if that's what it takes.  I have got the speed trip DOWN.  Plus she's totally not losing her temper even though her son is acting like a rabid animal.  People, I just cannot put up with crazy.  If my kids can't behave in public, we are totally leaving, I don't care where the cart has to go, we are GONE.  But the thing that gets me is that in the middle of this awesome display, she's worried about his tiny little SHOE and whether his hair is in place.  NOW I feel like a jackalope, because MY kids ate dinner butt naked last night at the dinner table because they'd just gotten out of the pool and we hadn't yet made it to the bath and everybody was hungry.   Sometimes I KNOW they forgot to brush their teeth but I'm just too freakin' tired to get everybody out of the bed again.  I've fallen asleep in the middle of a story.  I've fallen asleep in the middle of a story I WAS MAKING UP.  I've let them swim when the pool was green.  They've had processed, sugary, diabetes-inducing sugar-crashing powdery-heaven donuts for breakfast BECAUSE KRISPY KREME.  I've let them run around the yard in their underwear in a rainstorm and jump in puddles probably full of every horrifying microorganism there is, even the ones with fangs.  I HAVE FORGOTTEN THE TOOTH FAIRY.  

But I am seriously learning to embrace all the differences between us mommies, and when I hear of a cool new idea that I think could really help me, I give it a whirl.  When somebody lets their kids talk to them in a way that I know I would have gotten the crazy-eyes-defcon-8-look from my mother for, I just tell myself, "nope, couldn't take that, but you do your thing, girl."   I AM NOT OPEN TO CRITICISM, lady in the bathroom with the opinion I didn't ask for.  The answer is, "You're doing a beautiful job."  That is always the answer, lady.  Just like when you're pregnant.  "You got a basketball under there?"  I'M TRYING TO STEAL A BAKED HAM AND THANKS A LOT FOR DRAWING ATTENTION TO IT.  "You are beautiful."  THAT is the answer.  I try to keep them from breaking necks and having any organs visible on the outside, but I also try not to hover or gasp audibly every time they jump into the pool or balance on the curb.  It's a fine line, people.  I have children with no fear, no visible trepidation of any kind.  I'm trying to not impart my crazy on to them but let them take their own path to the therapist.  We are stringent about the basics but we're a little lackadaisical if nobody's eyes are going to get poked out.  I try to let them reason out how to handle things on their own and I try to think of times growing up when I had a similar problem, if it'll help.  And sometimes I lay down the BECAUSE I SAID SO because that's the answer.  

So I snapped out of my Target envy and got up to the cashier, and she said, "Can you BELIEVE that lady?"

Sigh.  I am so FREAKIN' glad I left my kids at home with Daddy.

Rachel and Leah and Goats

So much of the Bible is weird to me; talking donkeys, people cutting off ears, people dropping dead, people being turned to pillars of salt.  Half the stuff, I’m looking in the notes trying to figure what the heck that was I just read.  “Life Application” my butt.  If anybody comes looking to cut off my ear, I’m running. 

But I had another a-ha moment the other day where I finally understood something. We were reading the Jesus Storybook to the kids; we do that every night, and woe be unto you if you are tired and want to skip it. This story happened to be about Rachel and Leah.  It's in Genesis 29 and it talks about Jacob, who goes to work for his Uncle Laban.  Jacob works for Laban, and in return, Laban asks him what he wants for wages; he wants to marry Rachel because she's just so beautiful, he can’t stand it.  "²⁰ So Jacob served seven years to get Rachel, but they seemed like only a few days to him because of his love for her."  Men are like that.  Wave some booty and they fall apart.  Ask me how I know.

So Laban says “Work for me for seven years and you can marry Rachel.”  Jacob does that, he works for seven years, and on his wedding night Laban sends Leah to his tent, not Rachel.  Now I guess it's pitch black dark in there, I don't know, and nobody talks (which I find hard to believe), but somehow he doesn't realize that it's Leah that he got, not until the early morning, after they've already done the nasty. And then Jacob goes to Laban all worked up, saying, “I served you for Rachel!  What the heck?”  (This is kind of like the Message.  “Dude, what up, you jerk!”)

Laban says, “We don’t give the younger daughter away first.  Work for me another seven years and I'll give you Rachel.”  No explanation for why he couldn't have said that up front, why he sneaked Leah in there.  No Steve Urkel, “Did I do thaaaat?”  Seven MORE years until Jacob gets Rachel, like Laban couldn’t have ever MENTIONED the fact that the oldest goes first?  For Pete’s sake, I’d have given you an extra cow if I’d known that, you know? 

The Bible says that God saw that Leah was not loved. Now it doesn't say what's wrong with Leah, other than she has “weak eyes,” it just says that she wasn't loved.  And we already know that Jacob didn't want her. I don't know if she had horns or was just butt-ugly or had some giant disfigurement or what her major malfunction was.  Apparently the main issue was that she wasn’t Rachel.  I try to imagine what she must have felt like; not being loved or wanted, married to her cousin (ew).  I don't think I'd have a happy life if I married somebody who straight up said he didn't want me. But the thing that I'm struck by is that through Judah, Leah’s son, came the line that would give us Jesus Christ.  How crazy is that.

I’ve heard that when we suffer or when bad things happen that we can't see the big picture; that only God can knows the purpose of our suffering.  Sometimes bad things or disappointing things happen in your life and you’re crushed, and maybe later you see how that worked out for good, days or years or whatever.  Example.  When we were just moving back to Jax, Dallas was promised a job. Then suddenly they decided to offer that job to someone who had less experience but also was cheaper. At the time, and for a few months later, he was devastated because he was counting on that job and he was really looking forward to working there.  But out of that disappointment came the job he has now, which he absolutely loves.  And through which we've been blessed to meet some very special people.  Later he was fine with not getting that job, because he enjoys what he's doing so much; God had something better.

But Jesus came through the line of Judah, and obviously Leah had no idea about that, that was WAY down the line.  She spent her entire life knowing she wasn't loved, with her weak little eyes and her horns and whatever.  The most awesome thing that came out of her life, and she never saw it!  She never had a clue, she’s just living her unlovable life, popping out a bunch of children and selling herself for mandrakes.   It's just one more reminder that even though I don't always see it and I can't understand it, I have hope that there's a larger purpose at work.  Ya just never know.

Minor epiphany aside, I'd like to leave you with a conversation between my three children. Yes I said three.  Eli is half mine, just like mine are half Sandy and Ron’s.  Eli came to spend the night the other night and on the way home they were all just being crazy, so I told them they should play the alphabet game.  We do this a lot in the car, mostly just to keep the kids occupied in the car so they don't drive me crazy, and here's how it goes.  For each letter of the alphabet, you have to think of an animal you're going to ride on, a place you're going to go, and something you're going to buy when you get there. This is the conversation.

Carter:  I'm going to ride a...

Eli:  Goat!

C:  No, hush, I’m thinking. 

Lots of giggling.

C: I'm going to ride a…

E:  GOAT!

C:  No, I don’t want a goat, I’m going to ride a….

E:  GOAT!

Hilarity ensues.

C:  Hush, Eli, I’m going to ride a gorilla.  And I’m going to go to…

E:  Georgia.

C:  Not Georgia.  G…g….g….guh guh…guh…

E:  GEORGIA!

C:  NO!

E:  GEORGIA!

C:  FINE!  I’m going to Georgia.  Mama, Georgia is G, right?
Me:  Yes, you can go to Georgia.

C:  Eli won’t hush.  Eli, hush.  *sigh*  I’m riding a gorilla and I’m going to Georgia and I’m going to buy a….

Sarah Cate:  A GOAT!!

Extemporaneous jocularity commences.

Randomosity

Good grief.  It's about a thousand degrees.  I'm hahhht.

One week Dallas was off, so we took the kids downtown to ride on the sad little Skyway that cost the city 40 quadrillion dollars that nobody ever rides.  But they love it, and it's kinda handy, but it doesn't go anywhere but downtown.  How pathetic is that.  We got to eat lunch at the Southern Grille, where our beloved Miss Jill works.  On the way Carter and Sarah Cate peppered me with questions:

"How many wheels do really big trucks have?"

"Why do they have two wheels next to each other?"

"Is that a Z or a U truck?"  (I used to work for CSX, and we learned that trucks with codes on the back that end in a U are containers; Z means a trailer.  Ever since I told Carter that, he is obsessed with finding the codes on the back of big trucks.)

"How many cylinders do cars have?"

"What's a transmission?"

"Why do trains have so many cars?"
"Why isn't the caboose red?  It should be red."

"I love this bridge!  Can we turn around and go back over it?"

"How do helicopters turn?"

Constant questions.  Some of the car questions, I'm like, Can't we just call Papa and ask him all these?  I don't know how cars go or what a carburetor does or why gas stinks or any of the other myriad of questions I'm asked on a daily basis.  The best I can do is, Let's Google it.  Dear Lord, we thank you for Papa and Mr. Google and the internet.  Amen.

I'm going through a mid-life crisis.  Since Carter was born I've been doing volunteer work somewhere; first it was with Department of Children and Families, a few in the middle, and now the mission I told you about.  I know my job is important to companies, they need what I do, but I feel like I'm not doing enough for people who really need a hand up.  Not that I think I can save the world or that I want a career in social work so other people's problems can suck the life out of me; I just think that the work I do that really counts is about at 5% vs. the paycheck I bring home is 95%, and I need it to be more like 50/50.  Over the last year or so, it's really become a compulsion.   I'm a relatively intelligent person, I got MAD SKILZ, surely I can find a position somewhere at a non-profit or a hospital or something; I don't have to be a missionary in Outer Slobovia.  But, I love the people I work for.  Seriously, there are not better bosses out there; I have the absolute best.  I don't particularly want to leave them.  And I still need a paycheck.  But I've got to do something or I'm gonna DIE.

So I'm looking into other avenues.  I don't know what that is, or what it's going to look like, but I'm hoping I'll know it when I see it.  I don't know how long it'll take, to find that THING.  But I'm willing to wait for the right THING, whatever that is. 

I met some more folks at the mission that I can tell you about.  There's Mike -- he was in phase 2, where they go to work on the farm, and he got colossally drunk one night and they kicked him back down to Start.  At least he's stayed in the program.  I sat down to talk to him and a guy named Bo, and Mike said, "I feel like I recognize you."  So I was like, "Really. I must just have a familiar face."  And he goes, "No, you look like my buddy's old lady."  Seriously?!  Who says that any more?  I gotta check with the old lady before I go out drinking tonight.  Isn't that from like, the 1950s?  I look like somebody's old lady.  How NICE.

I  met Joseph.  He told me he doesn't want to talk to anybody else about why he's there, but he wants to talk to me because he can tell I'm a Christian.  How he can tell that I don't know; I slop food around and clean tables, the hallmark of every God-fearing person, I guess.  He told me he's drunk most of the time and he finally decided he can't take it anymore.  His girlfriend tells him he comes home and yells at her and throws stuff around, and he doesn't remember any of it.  But he told her he was going to the mission, and she's so proud of him so he's trying to stay.  He said, "Look at my eyes, can't you see the bags under them?  I can never sleep when I'm drinkin'.  They're usually worse than this."  So I told him he has to stay, his girlfriend knows what she's talking about; he needs to be here.  He said, "yeah, okay, I might do that."  And I'm like, "NO.  I mean it.  YOU HAVE TO STAY.  I'll be here next week, I expect to see you.  If I don't see you I'm gonna hunt you down."  And he gets this huge grin on his face and he says, "Yes ma'am."   Guess what happened the next week -- no Joseph.  No Joseph since.  His girlfriend took him back.

Matt (the one that said his big belly was prettier than having track marks) went to the hospital for a week; I don't know for what, but Nehemiah said he called every day, so I was hoping he'd come back.  Not only did he not come back, he took somebody in the program with him.  Grrr.

And still no Cameron or James.  *sigh*

Next time I'll tell you about Cowboy, because he's had an amazing life.  And Nehemiah, because he's embarking on an amazing life.

But let me tell you what happened today.  I went to a volunteer project management class through one of the local service organizations.  I walked in to the class, and it was in a conference room with only one other girl.  Another girl came in, in a black dress.  Then a few minutes later a guy in an orange shirt came in.  Then two guys who were leading the class came in.  And we all sat there chatting before the class was supposed to begin, until Black Dress says, "I have to tell you about the weirdest thing; I was coming here, looking for a place to park, and there was a lady walking around the parking lot.  I stopped to ask her if she needed anything, and she said 'I'm looking for a way to kill myself.'"  We all just looked at her, and then Orange Shirt says, "Yeah, I saw her too, right out front.  I asked her if she needed anything but she said no."  So here I am thinking, I must have misunderstood.  So I said, "She's out there, wandering around, and she said WHAT?"  Black Dress repeats her story, and I said something like, "We've got to go get her."  I don't remember exactly what.  So I stood up, grabbed my phone, and went off into the parking lots looking for her, and the rest of them are just kind of following me around.  Long story short, we couldn't find her, and I couldn't find her later just driving around in the parking lots after the class, but WHO DOES THAT?!  Who talks to someone who says "I'm looking for a way to kill myself," and DRIVES OFF!  Then you sit in room full of people for 10 minutes before you say something?  ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

People are INSANE.  Freakin' insane.