Perfect Type Casting

Took the progeny to see Rock of Ages last night (and learned that my movie theater has $5 movies on Wednesday nights, yee hah!).  What a fun movie.  No surprises, really--well, there was one little twist involving Russel Brand and Alec Baldwin that had me rolling in the aisle--but still...a very fun movie.

I'm kind of in love with Tom Cruise again a little bit.  What a perfect roll for him to redeem himself from his "You don't know anything about Neuropharmacology, Matt Lauer, I do" idiocy.  There is nothing I love more than a celebrity who doesn't take him/herself too seriously.  At least, I hope Tommy Boy was trying to be ironic. 

There are several intertwining story lines, which fit the "Save the Cat" template pretty nicely, thank you Hollywood.  Tom Cruise was perfect as the narcissistic, scotch swilling, anti-sage.  Axel Rose couldn't have played Axel Rose any better.  If you go to see it, pay special attention to the codpiece in the first Stacee Jaxx scene.  Hil-Air-Ee-Us.  And the tatoos.  And for an old fart, the physique was pretty impressive. 

The boy-meets-girl love story was pretty cheesy, corny, over-the-top, but I think that worked, too.  Cutie Patootie Blue Eyed Sweetie Pie diving into the underbelly of the LA metal scene, and all that. 

Anyway, it was pretty fun.  And next on the movie-viewing-then-reviewing agenda: Magic Mike.  Grrroowwwwl! See you in a week or so...

Just Call Me a Rebel

I am not what one would call a dangerous person.  I don't text and drive (thought I have been known to use my Kindle App in stopped traffic moments). I have a hands-free phone deal in my car.  I have been known to knock over a mail box or two, and I have had a couple of garage doors replaced because I didn't check that the door was up all the way before pulling in, but those were victimless crimes. 

I am especially conscientious in the parking garage.  I HATE having to go up an extra level to find a parking spot when there WOULD have been one on a lower level, except some selfish A%$#*e couldn't be bothered to park straight.




But I have been on some sort of a weird adrenaline-junkie impending peri-menopausal kick lately that has inspired me to learn to shoot, rapel, kayak, zipline...  stuff like that.  And this morning, when I got out of my car and looked at how I'd parked, I saw that I was a little closer to the left line than the right.  Totally unbalanced. 

Not my car.  This is an unpaid actor. Do not attempt this parking style without wildly fluctuating levels of progesterone and estrogen.

And I left it that way. 

How 'bout you?  Anything new and rebellious in your life?



Oh, Deer!

My family is big on the running gag, especially with puns.  Just as I love a good book series, we love a good inside joke that runs through a story.  I wonder why that is?I kind of think that I like inside jokes because it makes me feel like I'm a part of what's going on, I'm "in the know", so to speak.  And I've probably passed this on to my kids.

Of course this comes from my terrible childhood, in which I was that annoying smart kid who probably wasn't really excluded by anyone except the really elite popular kids, all of whom are now living in trailers or are guests of the state.  But I FELT excluded. 

So when I got a little older and started to get a little bit of a sense of humor, I latched on to any thread that I could carry through the day.  Now I'm that annoying not-as-smart woman who tells the same amusing anectdote until she's pretty sure everyone has heard it at least twice. 

So here is the latest in the Stanley Family lexicon of experiences:

Last night, the Big Guy out of town, me home alone in bed, I was about to settle into Still Into You,  the new release by Roni Loren, when my phone rang. It was number two son.  Phone calls from any teenager that come after 10 p.m. are always answered with trepidation.  Phone calls after 10 p.m. when mom is reading smut are met with trepidation and irritation, but that's another post. 

Me: "Hi, Sam"
The Sam Stanley Experience:  "Mom, I hit a deer."

Me, rapidly readjusting my plans for the next hour: "Are you okay, blah blah blah"
TSSE: "I'm fine, but the deer's pretty messed up.  His leg is all flopping around."

Me:  "Call the police, they'll come deal with the deer."

I dragged The Bearded Wonder (AKA number one son) out of bed to come along, because I know he'll remember the name of the towing company that we have a contract with  (Note:  this is not because we have THAT many accidents.  It's because we own a tire and auto repair shop), and he'll be able to assess the damage to TSSE's vehicle. 

I toyed briefly with the idea of bringing along my .22 rifle, because if the police weren't there soon and the deer was in extreme distress, I wanted to be able to put it out of it's misery, but I'm not quite sure what the rules are about hunting still-living road-kill in residential areas.  I DO live in Kentucky, so those rules are a little blurry, but still. 

Anyway.  The Sheriff's deputies in all their extreme cuteness were there, as was the resident of the house with an injured deer and smooshed Honda in it's yard.  The homeowner said if it was colder out, he'd take the deer, but he was tired and didn't feel like gutting it, and his aunt would have a shit fit if she got up and there was a dead deer hanging from a tree in the yard (ya think?).  I have some hunter friends, too, but it was midnight, and didn't figure anyone would want to drag themselves out of bed for this...though I could be wrong.  I'll take a survey and note who goes on speed dial for the next deer collision. 

Anyway.  The car got towed, the report got filed, the cop promised that after we were all gone, he'd take care of Bambi.  I kinda wanted to stick around for that, given my newly discovered inner Bad Ass...not because I wanted to watch the deer die, I just wanted to check out the fire power Deputy Cuteness was carrying.  But we dutifully returned to our vehicle, which was parked in a driveway across the street.

And coming down that driveway was a woman in her late fifties, smoking a cigarette, bleach blonde hair a little bedheady. 

Me:  "Sorry for disturbing you.  My son hit a deer, the police are going to take care of it."
Smoking Lady:  "Where did it come from?"

Me:  "Huh?"
SL:  "Did it come from this direction?"
TSSE:  "Yeah, it came from right about here" (indicates the front yard of Smoking Lady)

SL:  "Oh, no. That was probably one of our babies."
All Three of the Stanleys:  "Uh..."
SL:  "Since they put that subdivision in, destroyed all their woods, they don't have nowhere to go.  So we feed 'em.  Put in a salt lick, too. This year we've got twins that come."

SSE: "It was an accident."
Bearded Wonder: "It was full grown, not a fawn."

SL:  "Well, I sure will miss it."

Oh. My. God.  Okay, yeah, deer are pretty.  I don't like to see them dead.  It's cool to see them when they aren't coming at your windshield,  in the headlights, literally.  But here in the midwest, we have a major over-population issue with deer.  There are more deer around now than there were in Daniel Boone's time.  The subdivision that went in did not reduce any deer numbers.  It gave them a golf course to cavort on, lots of hostas to chew on, but I don't think they're endangered.  And can I just say that if you live near a busy, windy thoroughfare, and you feed deer in your yard, you might be providing more opportunities for teenaged drivers to get in accidents?  ARGH!

Sorry.  I lost the amusing anectdote thread there for a minute. 

We Stanley's got in my car to go home, assuring TSSE that it was an accident, don't feel bad, Deer.  Bambi's with his dad now. 

But I think TSSE is still a little shaken up.  I could use some more deer puns...anyone got any to offer up?