Friday, November 14, 2008


ME: Yeesh! What a weird night and day!

TIM: Oh goody. I'm on the edge of my seat.

ME: That lacks sincerity Tim.

TIM: Well of course it does! You were expecting maybe...I don't know, who were you expecting?

ME: No one else Tim. No one else.

TIM: Holla at cha boy.

ME: Oh for crying out loud.

TIM: Okay okay.

ME: Well, last night I woke up at 3:00 in the morning.

TIM: Fascinating! Sell the movie rights, quick!

ME: That's not the story Tim.

TIM: Sorry.

ME: And I was thirsty, so I took a swig of my water bottle from the night table. Peter, who wakes up if I dream too loud, then asked if he could have a drink also so I handed him the bottle and he took a drink. He handed me back the bottle and as I attempted to put it on the nightstand, I displaced a pile of books and they all tumbled down and fell onto the floor, scaring my poor little dog, but I finally managed to put the bottle of water down. What's so weird is, I just thought the entire scene was hysterical! I started giggling incessantly. I fell onto my back and just lost it. I was insane with laughter. I could barely breathe. I was an idiot!

TIM: I see. What was your husband doing during all of this gaiety?

ME: He just laid there, on his side, facing away from me. He never even turned over to face me. He just waited for me to stop. When I was finally gasping my last snorts of glee, he referenced an old inside joke he's made a few times.

TIM: Which is what?

ME: You won't get it. It's an inside joke.

TIM: I understand. I'm just curious.

ME: He said, "What part of the evidence don't you understand"?

TIM: That's stupid.

ME: Yeesh Tim, I told you you wouldn't get it.

TIM: That doesn't stop it from sounding stupid?

ME: Whatever.

TIM: Go on.

ME: So, a couple of hours later I'm at MacDonald's ordering a diet drink and this lady steps in front of me and says, "MOVE!" all mean. So I move out of her way because, I mean, who WOULDN'T? And then she utters under her breath, "asshole". And I started laughing AGAIN!!!

TIM: I am stunned.

ME: I know, right? I laughed after being called an asshole.

TIM: I'm stunned that you're ordering diet soda that early in the morning. Do you have a death wish?

ME: Stay with me here Tim. I'm laughing after being called a name. That's the gist of the story.

TIM: Fine, but I'll revisit that diet soda for breakfast in the future.

ME: I'm sure. Anyway, then I go to the hospital for an MRI of my brain because my episodic amnesia has been worse of late. The tech asks me if I'm claustrophobic. I say, "Oh yea!". He lets me listen to Classical music. Cool. But first he stuffs my ears with foam plugs. That's counter-intuitive to me, but okay. Then he puts the headphones on. The music starts, I go into the tube, I start to relax to Pachebel's Canon, and then THIS HIDEOUS CLACKING STARTS. What do I do? Do I freak out? No. I start smiling!!!
What the heck?

TIM: And your concern is?

ME: I don't know if it's concern. I just found all of these experiences interesting, to say the least.

TIM: You never say the least about anything. Look how long this entry is. Look at it! It's huge already. No one is going to read this!

ME: Tim, it's not really about anyone reading it as much as it's about you and I processing things.

TIM: No. It's about people reading it.

ME: Are you going to help me figure out why I'm smiling and laughing at stuff that should make me crazy or irritated?

TIM: You're mentally healthy?

ME: No. I'm talking to you.

TIM: Fine. Be nasty.

ME: That's not what I meant. Oh forget it. I'm just going to keep smiling. I'm not going to worry about it until I stop feeling good. Does that make sense?

TIM: Makes perfect sense to me? But considering I'm an imaginary voice in your head, that shouldn't really give you too much comfort. Hey! Did you hear the poem by the schizophrenic? "Roses are red, violets are blue. I'm a schizophrenic and so am I!"


Friday, November 7, 2008


ME: Hey Tim! We did it?

TIM: And what's that?

ME: We elected a President. The people spoke and a clear winner emerged. No dirty tricks, no shenanigans, no controversy. A clear, undisputed winner.

TIM: Shenanigans?

ME: Fine. It's a quaint, rather antiquated word, but it has its place.

TIM: Yes. Congratulations are in order. Do you feel better? You were struggling quite a bit with your choice.

ME: I feel like a million bucks.

TIM: Too bad your clothing choices will never reflect that.

ME: Oh, your slams about my fashion sense, or lack thereof, can't even bother me right now. We're still riding the elation of election night. It was beautiful and unifying.

TIM: Can I assume you voted for Obama?

ME: Oh, no one knows who I voted for.

TIM: What? You didn't shout from the rooftops who you voted for?

ME: Nope! I cried all the way to the voting booth. Cried and prayed. I didn't know my choice until I stepped up to the machine.

TIM: You're kidding! You seemed so dead-on certain after our last conversation.

ME: I know, huh! But that was just the beginning of my "editing out the drama" and thinking about things. It was a decisive moment for me. It clarified a lot of things but it didn't "seal the deal". I really struggled.

TIM: So, right up until the time you got into the booth? Seriously?

ME: Yep! The way I saw it, I had four choices. McCain, Obama, Keyes and Nader.

TIM: Wow.

ME: Exactly. I stood there and stood there and stood there...and then I realized that, it was going to happen exactly like it was supposed to happen so pick the man and be done with it. So I picked. Then I finished voting and walked out. That afternoon I bought two celebratory pies and went home.

TIM: So no one knows who you voted for? Not even your husband?

ME: Right.

TIM: And you're suffering under the illusion that people care, aren't you?

ME: Absolutely.

TIM: I'm speechless.


Wednesday, October 29, 2008


ME: Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh

TIM: Let's edit the drama. What's the problem.

ME: The election's coming.

TIM: And?

ME: I'm still not sure who I'm voting for. I'm that hideous demographic called "The Undecided"

TIM: Kind of like, "The UNdead"?

ME: Yea. I'll wish I was dead if I make the wrong choice.

TIM: There will be plenty of people to make that happen if it gets out who you voted for.

ME: Don't I know it!

TIM: I thought you were 100% behind Obama?

ME: Wrenches were thrown in the works. There were hitches in the giddy-up. Spin was spun.

TIM: Were you attacked by the cliche police?

ME: Something like that.

TIM: Quick! I need you to be more vague. I almost understand what you're saying.

ME: I know I know. I sound ridiculous. I really don't know who to vote for anymore. I've listened intently to both sides. They're both passionate. They both have good points. I thought if I "picked my battle" and just went with the candidate that best represented me on that particular issue, that priority, so to speak, then that would be that!

TIM: Okay, that's a plan. What happened?

ME: I can't come up with a definitive battle! There's just so many! So many people that I love and respect are voting for different people. There's no real consensus. No mandate.

TIM: So, you're picking other peoples' minds? You're trying to figure out what other people are doing? Am I hearing you correctly?

ME: It sounds like that doesn't it?

TIM: Excuse me. I'd like to speak with Deborah please.

ME: Tim, it's me.

TIM: No. I need Deborah. The loud-mouth blond Democrat that talks way too fast, dresses funny, sits weirdly, rocks too much, has poor taste in, well almost everything?

ME: Me again.

TIM: No, I'm not certain I know you.

ME: Fine. You have my attention Mr. Runs-into-the-room-with-Gunns-blazing. Spill.

TIM: Who are you? What is this? You were dead on certain about Obama for months. You even had a link to his website on your other blog; you know, the one that isn't as cerebral OR as interesting as this one. But since then, you've studied the issues, became politically active, even stomping for some issues. You involved your HEAD, as well as your HEART. What does this say about you?

ME: I went with my emotions when I supported Obama. I was seduced by his "feel good message". I didn't study things out thoroughly. Right?

TIM: Could be. Does that mean it's wrong to support him now?

ME: Not at all. He could still be the right man. But I have to support him now based on what my research tells me. I have to learn to balance my critical thinking skills with my emotional response. And if I'm using my critical thinking skills, McCain can and does have good points as well. In fact, there was a time, I'm thinking 2000, when I actually loved McCain. But was that emotional at THAT time as well? Am I getting it?

TIM: Yes, you're getting it. Now, continue to edit. Phase out the drama, bring in the rational thought. Step back, take a look. Look at your family. What are your immediate needs for the next year? The next four years? What are your priorities? Are they financial? Are they feelings of security? Are they morality issues? Which candidate will best represent what you're going to be about in the immediate future? Are you with me?

ME: Am I with you? Seriously? Just try to get way from me. No don't! That would totally require some kind of weird medication that I can't health care coverage...wait!...oh my gosh....HEALTH CARE COVERAGE!!!! BY CRACKY!!!! I THINK WE'VE DONE IT!!!!!

TIM: "WE" Do you have a multiple personality in your pocket? Oh wait...

Sunday, October 19, 2008


TIM: Well, I'm feeling a bit spurned, rejected, left-out.

DEB: Are you serious?

TIM: It's been days Deborah! What am I to think when I don't hear from you for days on end?

DEB: Um, well, considering that I come to you when I'm experiencing internal conflict, I suppose you can consider me...I don't know....healthy?

TIM: Well, your mental health is absolutely alone-ville for moi.

DEB: Moi? Who are you, Ms Piggy?

TIM: Fine, you know what I mean though. You can't even stop in for a nice "Hello" or "Hi Tim, how are you" every once in awhile? You have to be tortured or upset to speak with me?

DEB: Tim, it's the nature of our relationship. You represent my angst, my struggle du jour.

TIM: I can't believe you just said "struggle du jour", what are you, a menu of emotional complaints? Do you get salad with that?

DEB: Been watching a lot of TV lately Timmy boy?

TIM: I have to kill time some how.

DEB: Books.

TIM: Looks who's talking! Earlene? A girl and her mac?

DEB: That's called "creative out letting".

TIM: You totally made that up.

DEB: Whatever.

TIM: !

DEB: Oh my gosh, now you're not speaking to me? Tim? Tim? You have to speak to me Tim. This is your blog! It's called "Tim Gunn's Voice", not Tim Gunn's Cold Shoulder! Why would anyone read Tim Gunn's Cold Shoulder?

TIM: I'd read it if the shoulder was turned against you!

DEB: You don't mean that.

TIM: *sniff*

DEB: Tim. I'm not that healthy. Really. The quarter's almost over. I have classes coming up that will crawl under my skin and send me raging against the system. You know this. It's just a matter of time before I am a loon....a raging loon...and to whom will I turn when that happens Tim? Huh? To whom?

TIM: Impressive use of grammar...

DEB: Thank you. I did it for you my friend.

TIM: Well, some one's going to have to be here for you. Goodness knows those men you live with can't handle existential crises or fragmented personality disorder. Fine. I'll stay here for awhile longer. Oh for crying out loud. Carry on!

DEB: *sigh*

Sunday, October 12, 2008


TIM: You're smiling again. And that is seldom a good sign for anyone.

ME: Hahahah. Well! I've figured out that whole Youtube thing and I have mastered it.

TIM: You've "mastered" Youtube? Why is this a frightening thought?

ME: Don't be sceered. I've started posting silly little videos I've made with my Mac computer. I think they're funny so I started an account on Youtube so I could post them there.

TIM: And the point is?

ME: Is this where I say another pointy-head joke? Because you know I love pointy-head jokes?

TIM: No. Spare me. What exactly are you uploading to Youtube? And will I be sorry I asked?

ME: Here's what I do. This is my creative process.

TIM: I'm sorry already. Carry on.

ME: You're not sorry, you just love saying "carry on" and I love hearing it. We're a little dysfunctional like that.

TIM: Speak for yourself.

ME: I always do, you're in my head.

TIM: Oh for crying out loud...

ME: OKAY OKAY. Here's what I do; I turn on my Mac computer to the IPhoto. I switch on the video component and turn on one of those crazy visuals like a "squeeze head" or something where I'm all distorted. I look at myself and then, this crazy persona or character comes into my head and sort of takes over. I hear her voice, I get a sense of her story, and then I just start speaking it.

TIM: Speaking what?

ME: Her story! I'm not scripted or anything. I just take off. It's like I'm channeling or something. It's the funnest thing ever!!! You know how some people channel long lost spiritual giants? Well, apparently I channel embittered divorcees and old women with bad face lifts. I don't think I'm "evolved" enough to catch a being of light or a mystical warrior, maybe next lifetime, eh?

TIM: I see.

ME: Hey. That's what psychotherapists say.

TIM: Go on.

ME: They say that as well. Are you writing stuff down? Are you taking notes?

TIM: Why? Would that bother you?

ME: What are you doing Tim? Are you trying to psychotherapize me? What the heck Tim?

TIM: Don't get angry. I just find it curious that you're caught up in this activity of "channeling" other people's personalities?

ME: Oh, you mean like style gurus? You mean like imagining entire conversations with imaginary men? You mean like that Tim? TIM?

TIM: Hmmmmm. I suppose, on hindsight, there probably isn't anything horribly out of kilter about it? It sounds harmless really. It's actually quite humorous. I say "CARRY ON"!!!

ME: I thought that was what you were going to say.

TIM: Well, of course you did, you're brilliant like that...

Tuesday, October 7, 2008


TIM: My, you're happy.

ME: Oh I know! I reconnected with an old friend from high school back home. Turns out we only live a few miles apart and we're going to meet for dinner. Isn't that crazy? Thousands of miles from home and here we are, so close to one another. And we've been neighbors for seven years and didn't know about it!

TIM: What's her life like now?

ME: Well, it's probably nice. Her husband is a golf pro and she lives in a very exclusive neighborhood.

TIM: I see...go on.

ME: What do you mean, "go on"...that's it.

TIM: That's it? There's nothing else rolling around in that head of yours? You're not consciously or unconsciously comparing your lives?...your looks?...your neighborhoods?

ME: Tim, it's not like that between us. We're old friends.

TIM: Who haven't spoken in almost ten years and have managed to miss seeing each other despite being neighbors for seven of those years.

ME: Well, her life lead her down a different path. She married into some money, divorced, married a golf pro and lives a very nice life. That isn't to say she hasn't had her internal struggles, we all have.

TIM: But she didn't have any material struggles, right? She's never had to "Donna Summer" it.

ME: Tim, that's a relatively obscure cultural reference that few people would get. Did you mean to say she's never had to "work hard for the money"?

TIM: Of course I did. I was being hip.

ME: Stop that.

TIM: Holla at cha boy.


TIM: So, you're about to have dinner with an old friend from the past who hasn't shared your struggles. She's led a relatively privileged existence while you have, shall we say, NOT. She's traveled the world and in fact just returned from a "jaunt" to Italy with her daughter and you have...

ME: Boldly sped around the switch backs of Aguanga on the back way to Temecula.

TIM: Nice try. There are no switch backs in Aguanga.

ME: I know. But it sounded fierce...just for a second.

TIM: Where are you dining?

ME: A gourmet pizza place on El Paseo in Palm Desert.

TIM: Perfect.

ME: I know! Who gets dressed up for pizza?

TIM: You do, apparently.

ME: Yea, whatever. I just want to visit with my old friend. We had so much fun speaking together on the phone. We talked about her mother and her father. She asked about my mom, whom she always loved. In fact, our mothers are neighbors now! She said she loved California, as I do, but that she couldn't find any real friends and that just the other day she has said a prayer she could find a good friend and voila!...she found my name on some weird classmate reunion thing that I had just joined the day before. It seems providential.

TIM: Then what are you worried about?

ME: I WASN'T worried! You were the one with the weird doubts and questions.

TIM: Deborah, you know how this works. My purpose is to give voice to your unspoken thoughts and concerns and internal conflicts and then provide a rational response viz a viz "my" voice so you can feel better about things, right?

ME: Look, if you explain it in those terms, it's not quite as effective. You have to remain in character or else I just appear needy and a tad psychotic.

TIM: Fine. *clearing throat* Deborah, you and this woman were friends way before "life" stepped in between the two of you. You are coming from a "shared base"; a common root system. The bond you created during your adolescence appears to have remained intact as evidenced by the emails and phone conversation each of you have shared. For goodness sake, your new found friend actually prayed to find a companion before finding you! I know you well enough to know that THAT particular information unfurled your faith flag and it is wavingly proudly. My suggestion is for you to go to lunch and enjoy your friend. Listen to her life. Listen to the silences between the words. Look for her story in her eyes. Reconnect those 15-year-old hearts that spent so much time together in deep discussion, playing with her poodle and tanning by the pool. Just because life appears easy doesn't mean a thing. Not. One. Thing.

ME: Well said Tim. I couldn't have said it better myself.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008


TIM: So I couldn't help but notice how much straighter you're sitting. Any particular reason?

ME: Am I really sitting straighter?

TIM: Oh, you certainly are. You hadn't noticed?

ME: Hmmmm, I guess it must be subconscious. A reaction to my latest endeavor.

TIM: If I turn and walk away will I be spared the details or will you spill them anyway?

ME: Oh no, they're comin' at cha big boy. They're spilling...clean up on aisle Tim.

TIM: *eyeglasses temples in mouth* Spill.

ME: I'm practicing writing in my "scholarly voice". It's fun. You wanna hear it?

TIM: *bent over shaking*

ME: Oh my gosh! Are you laughing? Seriously, are you laughing at me?

TIM: Oh my dear, that is priceless. No, seriously, what are you really doing.

ME: I was serious! Yikes, I can be a scholar! I can use a scholarly voice.

TIM: Oh stop it, you're killing me. Oh, my sides....this is so rich...

ME: Dude! I just summarized a heavily researched article in a peer-reviewed journal on organizational leadership regarding goal-conflict and it's relationship to budgeting constraints between athletics and academics and the effect, if any, on the academic health and personal well-being of students.

TIM: And you just referred to me as "dude" before you launched into your defense.

ME: Rats

TIM: Yea...

ME: Hmmmmmm....

TIM: Your posture isn't as straight anymore.

ME: Well, of course not, I was set down a notch or two.

TIM: Are you going to use your "scholarly voice" at the dinner table or when you speak with your grandchildren?

ME: No.

TIM: You're not going to use that ram-rod straight spine of yours to play with them either. Relax. No one loves you because of any "voice". They love you because of your words. Go sit in that rocker you're so fond of and curl up in that obnoxious little ball thingy you do.

ME: Awwwwww, Dude.......

TIM: We'll discuss THAT voice another time.

Monday, September 29, 2008


TIM: What's that smell?

ME: I'm fine. And yourself?

TIM: No really. What is that?

ME: That's my sore knee. I speed-walked today and now I'm paying for it. It's an ointment the doctor prescribed.

TIM: You mean unguent.

ME: What is an "unguent"?

TIM: Deborah, I came from your head, that word was in there. You must know what it means.

ME: Whatever. I need to treat the knee and prescription salve is the treatment of choice.

TIM: What's wrong with good old-fashioned aspirin? The swelling goes down, the pain goes away, and no one smells your problem.

ME: Well, it's not good for the alimentary canal, it doesn't cut it in the pain department and this is less invasive.

TIM: Speak for yourself, my olfactory system has been invaded plenty.

ME: Your olfactory will recover.

TIM: What's wrong with your knee anyway?

ME: It's refusing to play well with the rest of us. We, collectively the rest-of-my-body-mind-and-spirit, are actually quite young at heart; but the old knees are grumpy old things that refuse to get along. They ache and moan and cause problems.

TIM: Hmmmmmm, sounds like some people I know...and by "some people" I mean certain bloggers who have imaginary conversations with style gurus.

ME: Hey! I am not an achy, moany, problem-causing blogger. I am fun. I am youthful. I am.....covered in unguent complaining about my joints. Oh my gosh, I'm old.

TIM: No no're not technically "old"'re just biking toward the exit ramp. You'll get there one day, but just don't kid yourself that you'll never make that turn-off. Enjoy the ride, take in the scenery. It's alright to know that the exit ramp to senior-ville is ahead, perhaps even way ahead, but you can go in style. You can even wear those leggings you're so fond of.

ME: So, I'm doing relatively okay on this aging journey?

TIM: You're doing "relatively okay"...just don't throw away the aspirins.

Thursday, September 25, 2008


ME: That's it!

TIM: What now?

ME: I have had it! No more news shows. No more listening to mean people. No more toxicity. I'm done. Over. Fin.

TIM: Hmmmmm. Who put the bee in your bonnet today?

ME: I can't deal with the toxicity in the environment. This is my new soap box issue. Everyone is so hateful! They're so mean spirited and full of guile. What the heck?

TIM: Excuse me while I look below at some previous posts...hmmmmm....yes, I see, no complaining there....

ME: Sarcasm noted.

TIM: What has brought this on?

ME: I don't know. Everyone is getting sicker and sicker. We're all fatigued and grouchy and we all have weight issues, blah blah blah, and I think it's the toxic times we live in.

TIM: I'm not fatigued. I'm not sick. I don't have weight issues.

ME: You're imaginary Tim. You'll be perfect forever.

TIM: I still have to live in your head and believe me, it's so NOT therapeutic in there sister. It's a tribute to my resilience that I'm even remotely normal after spending down-time in that hell hole.

ME: HEY! Where's the love? And yea, you're remotely normal....

TIM: Deborah, people will always complain and moan, and sometimes it will be about you. You're preparing to enter a very public arena; teaching and possibly publishing. You think you're hearing a lot of criticism now? Just WAIT until you turn your back and they start on YOU! Get used to it. Do some yoga because you'd better be flexible enough to roll with THOSE punches and that skin?...forget the wrinkles, you'd do better to make it thicker to avoid getting your feelings hurt. Caa Caa happens my dear, and then it hits the fan. And when it does, don't finger point, just finger paint. Make it work!

Tuesday, September 23, 2008


TIM: Eww

ME: What!

TIM: That scowl of yours. I'd jump back into your head but I'm afraid of what you must be thinking to put that scowl on your face.

ME: Oh. Sorry. Teenagers.

TIM: Ewww. Yes, scowl justified.

ME: What is the deal with them? Are they retarded? Why don't their minds work right?

TIM: I'm sorry. You said your field is psychology?

ME: I know, I know! I'm at a loss myself. I can't explain my total lack of understanding, insight or compassion.

TIM: Didn't you raise four of these creatures yourself?

ME: Yes! But mine were deliriously easy, funny, bright and loving. They were a joy.

TIM: Are you remembering things correctly or has time rosied the lens?

ME: Well, maybe a skosh, but even after taking the rose-colored glasses off, they were overwhelmingly great people and the experience was a blast. We laughed every day! I mean, look at you and I, we laugh every day and you're imaginary! Can you imagine how much fun I had with real people?

TIM: There's no reason to be hurtful.

ME: Sorry.

TIM: Does the particular teenager who's causing so much menopausal angst have any good points? And please don't make any pointed-head jokes.

ME: *silence*

TIM: Unlike you, I'm not aging but even I have a time limit, can you come up with something before, perhaps, breakfast tomorrow?

ME: I'm thinking. Oh! In June he'll graduate from high school won't go to college...probably won't hold down a

TIM: Okay, forget the "good points". Look. He's there. Period. Learn to love him. You probably do. I know you. If he wasn't there for you to pick on, you'd be bored out of your mind. Doesn't this young man watch Project Runway with you sometimes?

ME: Yes. Yes he does.

TIM: He seems to enjoy it. And even if he's just acting like he enjoys it, isn't that rather nice of him?

ME: Stop it. Don't make him human.

TIM: Okay. Now you're sounding like a serial killer.

ME: Okay okay okay. The kid's okay. Fine. Look, we didn't start out together. I didn't teach him how to walk. I didn't feed him his vegetables. I wasn't there for his first day of school. I get it. I was there for his first day of high school. I'll be there for his last day of school. I guess that's something. Oh, quit looking at me like that.

TIM: Like what?

ME: With that insufferable smile. Oh my gosh, are you wiping your eyes? Are you crying?

TIM: Look at grew up so fast. *sniff*

Monday, September 22, 2008


TIM: Stop that. You're doing it again.

ME: Stop what?

TIM: That incessant rocking back and forth. It never stops.

ME: Tim. I rock. It's what I do.

TIM: Well, it's starting to get on my nerves. You're not even sitting in a rocking chair.

ME: I don't need no steenking rockeeng chair.

TIM: Why do you rock all the time?

ME: Don't know. Always have. Ever since I was a baby. Even before I could sit up, according to family lore, I bounced on my belly.

TIM: Did they perform neurological testing? X-rays? Evaluations? Therapy?

ME: Oh sure Tim. Our middle-class, suburban, Ohio family was all about that in the 50s and 60s. They really wanted to get to the bottom of the weirdness instead of just hiding from it. We were all about "getting real" back then. Can you hear the sarcasm in my voice Tim?

TIM: Not so much, it's being drowned out by the pervasive and penetrating hypnotic motion of your swaying. You're like a King Cobra ready to attack.

ME: King Cobra....hmmmmmm....I like that....

TIM: It wasn't a compliment.

ME: Well, what are you going to do Tim? Go back into my head and sulk?

TIM: Not likely. I get seasick in there.

ME: So, you're going to stay out here and play?

TIM: I'll stay out here with you, but I'm going to nail you to the back of your seat!

ME: Tim.

TIM: What.

ME: You're swaying.

TIM: I am?

ME: It's okay. It happens to just about everyone who hangs around with me long enough. It's unconscious. People tend to other-than-consciously mirror other people and it's true in this case. I notice it all the time. It's become almost a hobby. I see it a lot. It's like yawning. Once one person does it, it become contagious.

TIM: Well, I don't buy it. I'm imaginary. I don't operate that way. Have you ever seen me yawn?

ME: I haven't really looked for it. But you are swaying.

TIM: Stop saying that!

ME: Swayer.

TIM: What is wrong with you? What are you, like 12?

ME: Hmmmmmm...must have been that open, authentic, getting-real upbringing in 1960s Ohio.....

TIM: Forget I said anything about your rocking.

ME: My what?

TIM: Exactly.

Thursday, September 18, 2008


TIM: Deborah, I'd like to speak with you about your newest obsession.

ME: Christian Bale?

TIM: *chuckling* No. That's harmless, he's as imaginary as I am in terms of interfering with your life.

ME: What other obsession are you referring to?

TIM: Your IPod.

ME: OH! My new bestest buddy ever?

TIM: *withering* Yes, exactly, your "bestest buddy ever". I'm afraid this is problematic.

ME: Really? It's just music...and an audio book...and a comic album...and my meditation CDs...and three movies...but, they're all Christian Bale's. It's like a 2 x 3 inch library that I can go in and shut the door and no one else comes in.

TIM: You're making my argument for me. You are spending a little too much time on that item. You've become a tad dependent, a bit needy. The other day you panicked when you thought your battery was running low and you swerved over three lanes of traffic onto a sidewalk to get into a Mac store just to ask for an "emergency battery squirt" to charge it long enough to get you home. That's not natural.

ME: Tim, neither is this conversation but that doesn't worry you much. And besides, those people crossing the street didn't get hurt. They were young, they could run fast. They saw me coming. And that lady with the baby carriage was just way too dramatic.

TIM: Oh, don't be fooled by my calm demeanor. I am plenty worried sister, PLENTY! It's just that there's only room for one disaster per dialogue and your IPod is winning. Perhaps it's time to rethink having more human interaction. Human beings aren't so bad, you gave birth to several and if you don't put your fingers too close to their mouths when they're hungry they seldom bite.

ME: You really aren't helping.

TIM: You really aren't trying.

ME: What? I can't hear know...the volume is up on my IPod thingy....WHAT?

*back of Tim's head*

Tuesday, September 16, 2008


ME: I'm into leggings.

TIM: And hello to you as well.

ME: I really love them. I don't have to be modest if I'm wearing a skirt. You know how I love to scrunch up my legs.

TIM: No. No, I don't know that at all.

ME: Well, you do now. I sit all scrunched up. I'm always scrunched up. I'm a little ball of a person.

TIM: Hmmmmm. So what else about leggings appeals to you besides your proclivity towards armchair gymnastics?

ME: Well, they are way comfy.

TIM: Comfort is in the eyes of the beholder my dear...

ME: So what does that mean? I don't look good in leggings? Is that what you're saying? You don't have a comfort level with how I look in them? Huh?

TIM: I'm just suggesting that next time you're all balled up and doing some kind of unnatural shape-shifting there in your chair, you may want to take a look at what's BEHIND you....that's all....

ME: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Monday, September 15, 2008


TIM: What are you groaning about?

ME: Arrggghh. I have bilateral ear infections, a sinus infection, a sore throat and a throbbing headache.

TIM: Eww. Just speak up. I'll stay over here.

ME: I don't think it's catching.

TIM: You mean, "contagious" and let's just hedge our bets shall we? Speak up!

ME: Tim, you're imaginary, you can't get sick anyway. Aren't you being a bit over-the-top on the contagious thing?

TIM: Let's review the last few seconds. You're having a conversation with an imaginary style guru and you're telling me that I'm being paranoid? Did I hear you right?

ME: Oh, for crying out loud! Just hand me that decongestant please.

TIM: I can't. I'm imaginary.

ME: Tim, would you please be kind enough then to just sit with me as I get my own decongestant, make my own chicken soup, and watch reruns of Project Runway? Hmmmm? Would you do that please?

TIM: Well, you're being quite lovely even though you're feeling under the weather. Imagine that...

Saturday, September 13, 2008


TIM: What is that?

ME: What?

TIM: That.

ME: What? What are you looking at?

TIM: Your skin.

ME: What about my skin?

TIM: The whole of it.

ME: Well yeesh!

TIM: Melanin.

ME: My tan? You're asking about my tan?

TIM: Exactly. Why do you have that?

ME: Tim. I live in Southern California. I have access to a relatively large body of water popularly known as the Pacific Ocean. Also, I can jump into virtually a gazillion pools. A gazillion is a lot. A whole lot. I'm in graduate school. I can count to a gazillion. I'll start right now if you wish. One. Two. Thre...

TIM: If you have a tan, that must mean you have a tan LINE. Oh dear Lord, please don't tell me you own a swimsuit.

ME: Wow. That would be a bad thing huh?

TIM: People would PRAY for "the big one" my dear...that earthquake all of you Californians are so fond of fearing.

ME: What would you suggest I swim in then?

TIM: Besides the load of debt you're accruing with your advancing degrees and age? I wouldn't presume to suggest anything.

ME: Swim nekkid?

TIM: -------------------


Friday, September 12, 2008


ME: It has been said that "we are what we eat".

TIM: And your point?

ME: Well, I'm wondering if I'm making correct food choices.

TIM: It's difficult for me to pay attention to you when you have crumbs on your chin.

ME: Oh, sorry. I mean, look at you. You're impeccable. All the time. You look wonderful. You're trim, You're fit. Your skin is fabulous. You're the picture of health. Do you believe that we are what we eat?

TIM: I believe that the time to consider those things is perhaps before one grabs their fifth pop tart.

ME: Hmmmmm. Third pop tart?

TIM: Oh *chucking*, I see your point now, it's at the top of your head. That must come in quite handily when you're spearing-for-ding-dongs at the VFW on weekends. Well, carry on.

Thursday, September 11, 2008


TIM: Another long face? That's twice this week, you're bringing me down. What's wrong this time? Did you look for shoes or something?

ME: Gosh Tim, it's not always about fashion is it?

TIM: Yes. Yes it is.

ME: Oh. Well, I bought a little shirt today. It's from the Juniors' section. Am I overdoing it? You know, buying from that section when I'm my age?

TIM: Does it fit, or is it tight enough to make your neck swell?

ME: Oh, it fits, it's a large in Juniors, but it fits okay. I just feel, um, what's the word...

TIM: Needy?

ME: OH! Okay. Do you think that's the appropriate word?

TIM: Deborah, this is YOUR blog, the word "needy" is in your blog description. I didn't come up with it, you did. I merely looked heavenward while you were fumbling with words and I saw it there, over your head. It's right there, in red.

ME: Okay, maybe it feels good to purchase something in the Juniors' section at my age. Maybe it's an ego stroke of sorts.

TIM: Could be. You know, at your age, strokes happen, might as well let them involve your ego as opposed to say, your cerebellum. Carry on!

Wednesday, September 10, 2008


ME: I bought some new make-up. Would you like to look at it?

TIM: Hmmmmm....where did you get it?

ME: Walgreens.

TIM: Really? I'll look at it, but from a distance. Now turn it around.

ME: Tim. It's still in the package. It's not on me yet.

TIM: Oh, I know. I just don't want to get too close to it. Let me guess, they had a "buy one, get one half-off" sale. Am I right?

ME: Maybe.

TIM: Hmmmmmm......what is that?....eye shadow? Silver eye shadow? Are you going clubbing in the near future? Perhaps you became a vampire and neglected to tell anyone?

ME: It's not just silver, it comes with a cool charcoal accent that I thought would look pretty. And I don't go clubbing!

TIM: What about the vampire thing? You didn't deny it.

ME: I don't HAVE to deny any vampire thing. That's ridiculous. And since when do vampires wear silver eyeshadow?

TIM: Well, all vampires are compelled to dress that whole "after 5" look, so silver would have its place. The problem would be, they couldn't check it in the reflection. What else did you purchase?

ME: Um, I bought some green/brown eye shadow and some lipstick! Cool, huh?

TIM: Golly, I should say! I know, let's meet in the bathroom during study hall and we'll swap blush also, bring your mascara too okay?

ME: Your glibness will be the end of you.

TIM: Dear, my glibness is the end of this conversation du jour.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008


ME: Well, are you going to help me go through my closet and decide what to keep and what to put in the garage sale?

TIM: You're thinking of keeping something?

ME: Tim, I have to wear something. I can't throw it all out. Besides, it's not all bad is it? Is it? Tim?

TIM: I'm sorry, were you speaking to me. I was looking at that tablecloth there.

ME: Tim, that's a skirt. It's in my closet, why would a tablecloth be in my closet?

TIM: Exactly. More importantly, why would it be around your waist?

ME: So, you'll help me?

TIM: Absolutely. I'll get the gasoline and matches.

Sunday, September 7, 2008


TIM: Well, I've avoided this subject, but your hair. Talk to me.

ME: My hair? Okay. I'm letting the natural grow out so I can see exactly where the silver is. Is that a problem?

TIM: What do you mean "exactly" where the silver is? Does it move? Is it wiley? Does it play tricks on you, is it on your crown one day and at your bangs the next?

ME: Well, no, of course not. The silver doesn't move, I just want to know what part of my hair is actually silver. I should have phrased it differently.

TIM: Well *chuckling* rephrasing wouldn't have really helped. It still doesn't fix the problem does it?

ME: What problem? What are you talking about?

TIM: Roots. And I am NOT talking about the miniseries. We have a problem on our shoulders and by "we", I mean "you". You're going to have to make a decision here my dear and soon. Those roots are spreading like backstage gossip and it's ugly.

ME: My plan is to let the roots grow out just an inch or so more so I can get an accurate "read" on what my situation is and then get a nice weave with some gold and other warm tones. You know, not so brassy.

TIM: I see. Well, you're really running head on into a "make it work" situation. You know that right? How are you in hats?...OH!, Take that off immediately! My legs are weak. That was frightening. Were you dropped on your head as a child? Do you go to a support group or anything for that. You brave thing.

ME: Tim, the shape of my head is not that bad and my hair will be fine. It will grow out and one day, when I'm finally finished with school, I'll be able to pull it back in a ponytail and all will be well. Tim? Tim? Yeesh, somebody help me, he's passed out again!!!

Saturday, September 6, 2008


TIM: Is this the paper you're working on?

ME: Yes! I'm not quite finished, I have some polishing up to do around the opening paragraph and, of course, the summary.

TIM: Good, I'm glad you told me you're not finished. It's a bit boring. I'm afraid Nina and Michael would be a bit bored by it.

ME: What? Tim, Nina Garcia and Michael Cors aren't going to read this! This is a school assignment? Nina and Michael are judges on Project Runway, why would they read this paper?

TIM: I didn't say they were going to read it, I said they would be a bit bored by it.

ME: Why do you do that to me? Why do you take me to a place of hysteria, a brink of insanity, and then drop me off? Why do you take me there Tim?

TIM: Well, the ride is simply delightful, the scenery can be shockingly different each time, and I had a few minutes to kill. Carry on.

Friday, September 5, 2008


TIM: You were out early this morning.

ME: I needed to pick up a couple of things. I needed tweezers and dish detergent.

TIM: No seriously, what did you need that early?

ME: Seriously, I needed tweezers and dish detergent.

TIM: ?

ME: What?

TIM: How are those two items even remotely connected and why would they drive you to leave your home looking like that?

ME: Like what?

TIM: Do you not own a mirror dear? You're wearing a leopard print synthetic material. There are NO synthetic leopards. And even if they did exist, they wouldn't come out before 5:00 pm. Haven't we had this conversation before?

ME: I, I, well, maybe. I shouldn't have worn this out this morning?

TIM: Deborah, you shouldn't have worn it to scour your toilet, okay? But, it's done. So, let's tweeze tweeze tweeze and get those dishes done. We shall never speak of this again.

Thursday, September 4, 2008


TIM: Why the long face? It's not genetics, you're not horsey people.

ME: My assignment this first week of school was to electronically respond to two of my "classmates" with a probing question regarding their comments about their goal statements. As it turns out, and this may be a first, it appears that I'm the only person in the class. I emailed the professor about it. This is so freakin' pathetic, I can't stand myself.

TIM: Let me get this straight. You worked all day yesterday trying to connect through overloaded servers to even get into this class and now you find out you're the only student in the class? What's the problem? You LOVE being the center of attention. This class is custom-made for you! You woke up this morning and stepped into a steaming pile of Deborah luck.

ME: I did?

TIM: Oh yes dear. You can work this. You just plug right along and do the work and stand by it. Carry on. And on.

ME: Okay, that's a plan. Maybe that's how it's supposed to be, huh? Maybe I"m supposed to be the only creature the professor is focused on. Wow. Cool! This could work out way great...easier assignments, looser due dates....hmmmmmmm.

TIM: Don't push it.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008


ME: The effing servers are down. It's the first day of school and the effing servers are down. Are they serious? I'm trying to do this on-line. The class is on-line. Really? Are they really doing this?

TIM: Deborah. Dear. I'm concerned. You're developing unattractive beads of sweat on your upper lip.

ME: What? So! My professor is going to think I'm not there! He'll think I've blown off the class! Worse, he'll never know I existed because I'M NOT THERE!

TIM: Oh, the professor who has perhaps dozens of other students in his class? Oh, do you think he'll be as consumed with you as you are with him? I just want you to ask yourself if he's developing unattractive beads of sweat on his upper lip because Deborah is having difficulty getting into his class? Do you think?

ME: Whatev. Fine.

TIM: There you go. Let the computer elves do their jobs and you can check back later. If it's happening to you, it's happening to others. Now off! And blot blot blot!