Is there a problem, Ossifer?

Ahhh, nice to have some downtime and solitude at home. I went to the grocery store today, and got a start on climbing Laundry Mountain, but I've been able to get mostly caught up with blogs, even if I didn't comment on each and every entry.

I'm still fairly sore today, and I think most of that is because of Evil Refrigerator. Ken and Randy moved almost all the big stuff, but there were some appliances that had to come to our place. Ken's Mom is giving us their washer and dryer and their old garage fridge, and we're storing the stove until we have our garage sale this summer. So yesterday morning, Ken was unloading those appliances. Most went into the new garage, which was no problem, but Evil Refrigerator had to come into the old garage, which involved steps and ramps and uneven surfaces. I was trying to get around Ken to move the ramps, and as he adjusted a little bit, the fridge slipped part way off of the dolly, and the door opened down onto my upper arm and wrist. It hurt like a mother, and believe me, the expletives flew! Ken was able to get it back under control, and got it up into the garage, where it sits silently (for now), plotting its next evil maneuver.

I iced my wrist right away, because that was what hurt the most, and that seemed to keep the bruising down. It's still a large bruise, but it's not the lovely, deep violet color of the one on my upper arm. I think there are shades of rose madder in there. (I think Mark will get that one!) It honestly could have been a lot worse, so I'll thank my lucky stars it wasn't. Ken also got knocked on the wrist by a floor lamp, and he's sporting plenty of bruises, too. All in all, there were no major injuries, just minor ones. Bumps, bruises, a slight puncture wound to Randy's forearm, I got some cactus stickers in my thumb...but we survived!

I mentioned the drunk and disorderly incident, and I'll tell you about that. I've seen plenty of D&D, but it's mostly been in college age kids or younger adults...not in older adults who theoretically should know better. I'm sure these people will never read this, but I still won't mention them by name, because he's basically a good guy. I'll just say it was a family friend who was helping to load things up. The trouble started when we were loading things up from the kitchen, and there was a big jug of orange juice that needed to be gotten rid of...and a big bottle of vodka close by. Someone suggested screwdrivers. I love screwdrivers, but I wasn't ready for one right then, so I abstained. Ken had a couple of mild ones, and then stopped. The family friend--let's call him Dave--kept going, and then the enabling neighbor got in on the act. He started making the drinks for Dave, and his recipe consisted of a big glass of vodka and ice, with a splash of orange juice. Dave's wife took a sip and almost spit it out and the enabling neighbor just laughed. Real freakin' funny, A-hole.

Finally the truck was loaded up, and it's amazing that Dave didn't injure himself or anyone else. That's one of the things that pissed me off about the whole thing, because moving can be dangerous business (as I discovered yesterday morning), and if Dave wants to endanger himself, that's one thing...but Ken was also moving these heavy objects, and it could have endangered him. Dave was to the point where he was trying to help Ken with something, drink in hand, and tipped his drink all over Ken's leg. What amazed me is that most people witnessing this were laughing. I don't think Ken was all that amused to have screwdriver poured all over him, and I know I sure wasn't amused by this behavior. I thought it was getting out of hand...but at least the truck was loaded.

Then we headed over to Dave's house (his wife drove) to spend the night. At least he was home and wasn't driving anywhere, because he wasn't done yet. There was plenty of beer interspersed in there, too, and then he switched to margaritas. That seemed to be the same basic recipe as the screwdrivers: a big glass of tequila with a splash of margarita mix in there. [shudder] How he managed to not puke his guts out, I'll never know. At least he was more of a happy (if loud) drunk rather than a mean one, but he became boorish and exhibited extremely poor etiquette at the dinner table. Nothing got real nasty, but I was not impressed, and I'm sure my face showed it. A couple of exchanges took place.

Dave: [to me] Is this the best potato salad you've ever had? [His wife made it.]

Me: It's really good! [It was, I liked it.]

Dave: But isn't it the best you've ever had? [Why he asked me specifically, I'll never know.]

Me: Well, I'd have to say that's my Mom's. [Sometimes I'm too honest for my own good, but I was not going to diss my Mom's potato salad!]

Dave: Awww, no way! This is the best!

Me: I gotta go with my Mom's, but this is right up there.

Dave: Second best, then?

Me: I'd have to give that to my sister. [She makes it like my Mom does.]

Dave: Awww, man, no way!

Me: Okay, it's in the top five.

Ken's Mom: I'm a little disappointed that you didn't mention mine. [Dear God...let this conversation end soon, please!]

Me: That's right, I'd forgotten that you made potato salad for us at some point. Yes, yours is in the top five.

Frankly, my own is in my top five, because I make it like my Mom and my sister! Of course, I've never made up a list of my top five potato salads, so I wasn't thrilled about being put on the spot that way, or being hectored into saying that his wife's was the best potato salad I've ever had. It wasn't. It was good, and I ate all of what I'd put on my plate, but it was not the best I've ever had. If someone asks me such a rude question, I have no problem with being honest and telling them what I really think. If you have the nerve to ask the question, you might not get the answer you want to hear.

Another exchange happened when Dave said something in reference to me, and for the life of me, I can't remember what it was, and neither can Ken. Again, it was nothing really bad, just sort of teasing and challenging.

Ken: [laughing] I think that would be a bad idea.

Me: [helping to clean up in the kitchen, not looking up] That would be a very bad idea.

Ken: After she gets done kicking your ass, I will.

So here's the thing. Ken and I love our beer and wine, no doubt about that. We also enjoy the occasional cocktail, with a particular fondness for Bloody Marys, Margaritas, and lately, martoonis. But we seem to have a switch that flips in our heads that keeps us from getting too wasted or too out of control. What was the deal with this guy? Ken has known him for a while, and he says that's "vintage Dave." Ken's Mom said that she thinks it's his coping mechanism, that he was bummed about them moving away and that was how he reacted to it. I think he needs to find a different coping mechanism, because as much as I love vintage stuff, I can't say I like vintage Dave too much.

From the little I've been around the guy, I'd say that 95% of the time, he's really a good guy. A hard worker, funny, willing to do anything for a friend. That other 5% is very unpleasant to be around, and makes things very uncomfortable for anyone who happens to be in attendance. The enabling neighbor was laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world as he made these drinks that consisted of almost straight booze for the guy. How is that funny to anyone, at least anyone so many decades away from college age? And why would anyone think it was okay to get so obnoxiously blasted?

I told Ken that if it were him getting so stinking intoxicated, I'd be humiliated, and there would be a talk involved. I also told him that if I ever got that way, I'd expect him to give me a talking to. If it were me that got that bad, you can bet that I'd be apologizing the next day up and down and right and left to everyone I'd subjected to my obnoxious behavior. "I'm really sorry about last night...I don't know what got into me...I was feeling bad about this move, and I over-compensated...if I said anything that offended you, I am SO sorry...."

I have no problem with celebrations, or even partying hearty, but there's a line that can be crossed, and I believe it was crossed that night. Dave is a good guy, and I hope he can get a handle on that sort of drinking. When he's drinking beer, it's not an issue, but my advice to him would be to stay away from the hard stuff, or learn how to limit your intake of it. You just don't handle it well, dude, and I don't find it funny OR cool...I just find it sad.