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5:27 a.m. - 2003-09-08


I have achieved something that I always thought would take me years to master in very short order.

I have achieved ... "the look".

You know what I'm talking about. At least once I explain it to you.

I have mastered the look that a parent can give a kid that says "I'm serious now...stop it or I'm spanking your ass off."

My Dad had the look down pat.

When my sisters and I would be getting rowdy, he'd tell us all to pipe down. We'd take a look at him and as long as he didn't have "the look", we'd keep being rowdy.

But then he'd get "the look". The look that made him appear like he was ten seconds from going psycho on us. His eyebrows would meet at the bridge of his nose, his lips would snarl and his eyes would bulge.

At that point, we'd all think "Holy shit, he's going to kill us!" and stop whatever we were doing, fold our hands in our laps and remind him that we were at one time angellic and could revisit those days in a heartbeat if he needed us to.

I don't know if Dad still has "the look" or not. I haven't seen him do it in at least 20 years. I remember him bringing it out of the closet and dusting it off when he found me with two ounces of pot in my closet back when I still lived at home. Yeah. I got "the look" that day alright.

Anyway, Friday night, Andrew's running on our couch. We have a big bulky sectional sofa that seemed like a really good buy back in '94 when I was smoking more pot than any man has a right to smoke.

SUSIE: "I want this nice small sofa that looks elegant."

ME: "I want that big-assed thing in the corner with the "As Is" sign on it."

So anyway, I knew someday the couch would make someone happy and it has made Andrew a very happy kid.

Because he likes to run from one end of it to the other as fast as his legs can carry him.

Susie apparently doesn't like him running on the furniture.


I don't care. The couch is almost 10 years old and he weighs 29 lbs. It's not something he's going to be doing in high school. He's not hurting anything. And he's having fun.

"Make him stop," she says.

"Okay," I say.

For the hell of it, I try to give him the look with a stern "ANDREW!"

"ANDREW!" I say, doing my best impression of Dad.

Andrew stops dead in his tracks. His face practically goes white.


He stops and gets off the couch and picks up a book and starts pretending to read it quietly.

I was doubly impressed.

So I thought I'd try it again.

"ANDREW!" I said. "Put that book down and go get Dora!"

He puts the book down. As God as my witness, he put the book down and went and got his stuffed Bear In The Big Blue House since he apparently couldn't find Dora.

I cackled with glee. On the inside of course.

I'm wondering if I can use "the look" to get what I want out of life.

Do you think I can pull up to the drive thru window at Wendy's and when they say "Can you pull up to that parking space and we'll bring you your food as soon as we feel like it", I can just flash "the look" at them and they'll give me my food right then and give me back my money as well?

Can I walk in the boss's office and say "I need a raise today", flash "the look" and get a heftier paycheck a week ahead of time?

Can I walk through the mall and see a hot divorced mama and say "Meet me in the dressing room of Hot Topic in five", give her "the look" and have her slobbin' on my knob in five minutes?

I feel like Superboy when he found out he had amazing powers.

Except he didn't use his to pop hot divorced mamas.

Andrew got his first professional haircut on Saturday.

They've got a photographer coming to his school today to take pictures of the kids and we figured it might be time that we had someone with experience cutting his hair rather than us fumbling around, trying to lop off locks with a dull butter knife.

Plus, we're going to a wedding next weekend and these people haven't seen him since he was a lil' tyke and we didn't want his hair ruining their wedding to the point where it distracted people from the actual ceremony.

So I took him to my hairdresser who's been cutting my hair for 12 years or so.

She did a great job with him even though it's obvious she doesn't care to cut kids hair.

She was all "Sit him in your lap and hold that bastard still".

I tried, but he was a bit jumpy.

Anyway...the end result.

Yes, that's the front seat of the mini-van.

When you have a two year-old, you snap photos whenever they're in a confined space that won't allow them to run around with ease.

And the closet didn't provide enough light for a decent picture.

We've had a George Foreman grill for about two years now and finally used it last night.

We cooked Mushroom Tenderloin Steaks on it.

Two words: Eeeeeee-wwwwwwww.

Call me a snob, but I like my steaks to be any other color but gray.

These turned out gray with brown grill marks.

And they tasted like poodle ass.

We've decided to have a week full of George Foreman grill dishes to try and remove the fat from our diets.

Next up ... Pineapple Honey Chicken.

Then Dijon Chicken Breasts.

We're not giving up on the contraption just yet.

But we're damned sure never having Mushroom Tenderloin Steaks in it again.


I can't say I was a huge fan, but I can say we'll miss you, Warren.

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