TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH A STYLISH QUANTUM JUMP

TIM: Deborah, are you going out in that?

ME: No, I was hoping to quantum-jump into a parallel universe where I would be queen of Cixten, planet of wise women and fashion gurus. It doesn't require going "out" anywhere, as much as going "over".

TIM: Then I'm assuming quantum-jumping doesn't need your shoes to match.

ME: Wha? Oh, I dressed in the dark.

TIM: Then my work here is done. Tell the women of Cixten I said "hello" and to hit me up on the return trip. Keep that editing eye open, and for goodness sake, turn the light on, Deborah. Holla!

ME: Holla.

TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH HOMESICKNESS

ME: I see how it is.

TIM: Good. Then I suppose my work here is done.

ME: That is not what I meant by that statement.

TIM: So, saying that you understand something does NOT imply that you understand it?

ME: I was being sarcastic. I think you understand that more than anyone...Duh.

TIM: "Duh"? I know. I'll leave and when I come back, I'll speak with the grown-up Deborah. Okay?

ME: *breathes deeply* You're going to be in my hometown on April 2nd. I won't be there.

TIM: Deborah, I'm touring. I'm in thousands of peoples' hometowns. Virtually every day of every week during this touring business. What would you have me do?

ME: Well, if I had my druthers, I'd...

TIM: You'd learn correct grammar and be less selfish?

ME: I thought you knew me better?

TIM: A boy can dream, continue.

ME: If I had MY way, we would go there together and visit my mother and niece and sister and children and we would film it and I would take you into my sister's closet and see her jewelry and clothes and you could fix me.

TIM: Deborah, while I would adore seeing your sister's fabulous collection of art that she refers to as jewelry, as well as your mother's killer bling, "holla at cha, Wendy", I really can't "fix you". We all know that. If you, or anyone else, was actually "fixable", someone would be making zillions of dollars.

ME: I just want to be in my hometown with you.

TIM: You just want to be in your hometown.

ME: I just want to be in my home...are you hypnotizing me?

TIM: No, I like a challenge. You're just homesick and you saw me going to your town so I popped into your head for a visit and now you're just connecting us. That's all.

ME: Really? Am I that simple?

TIM: I wouldn't call you simple. I don't think it's politically correct anymore.

ME: Have fun in Columbus, Tim. Try to visit German Village, specifically Katz's Deli. Not that I'm prejudiced.

TIM: I'll mention your name.

ME: It won't help, we're not related.

TIM: I was kidding anyway.

ME: *rolling eyes*

TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH MOVING DAY

ME: I see old people.

TIM: Are you in a house of mirrors?

ME: That just keeps getting funnier and funnier.

TIM: What's the drama du jour?

ME: I'm moving and my neighbors are so old!

TIM: What did you expect? Your community is a 55 and over neighborhood. It's "gated" for crying out loud. You're surrounded by lovely, mature people.

ME: I'm not lovely or mature.

TIM: Hey! Isn't it nice when we agree?

ME: I'm serious. How will this work? Some of these people are on oxygen and I still play air guitar. I'm having a confidence crisis.

TIM: What are your biggest concerns and for whom?

ME: Ugh. I know this trick. This is where you ask a question and I go deep under my psychological, subconscious blankets to shine a light and seek out the underlying causes of my anxiety, right?

TIM: If the metaphor fits.

ME: I don't blend.

TIM: Have you ever?

ME: I'm not retired.

TIM: Is that the law there?

ME: I don't garden or knit or dress my dogs in coats.

TIM: Deborah, did you actually see dogs dressed in anything?

ME: No.

TIM: Are you afraid of the day that you will blend?

ME: ...

TIM: It won't happen.

ME: How do you know that?

TIM: Seriously, Deborah? You're talking to an imaginary fashion guru in your head. By the time you blend, you'll be the happiest person on the planet.

ME: Promise?

TIM: Oh yes. Just promise me that you'll dress accordingly.

ME: What will that look like.

TIM: I can't tell you what it WILL look like, but I can tell what it WON'T look like. No muu muus and no perms, other than that, we'll deal with it as it pops up.

ME: Cool. Bring it, geezers.

TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH A WIG PURCHASE

ME: I want a wig.

TIM: Are you planning a bank heist?

ME: I knew it! I knew you would never support me on this!

TIM: So...you're psychic and out of touch with reality...

ME: What's wrong with wig wearing? What can't I have a wig for when I'm having a bad hair day?

TIM: You can't afford a real human hair wig. You'll never wear it because you'd be too self-conscious. You live in a very hot, dry climate so your head will get too hot and boil your brains. You've been watching too much of Real Housewives of Atlanta...and that makes me so proud of you I just want to pop-and no, I'm being sarcastic. Shall I continue with my reasons?

ME: Yeesh. No!

TIM: What brought this on?

ME: Are you kidding me? Look at this stuff that is considered "hair". It's this stuff right here. It covers my scalp.

TIM: Ahhhh yes. The filament wire sprouting from your cranial pores. What color ARE you working on this week?

ME: Thanks. Thanks for confirming my reasons for getting a wig.

TIM: Please. There are plenty of people with hair far worse than yours.

ME: Name one.

TIM: George Rickles.

ME: He's bald.

TIM: You asked.

ME: Give me another.

TIM: Donald Trump.

ME: I could totally do that with my hair in another couple of weeks. You realize that don't you?

TIM: No need to go follicularly postal. Fine...here's the rant you're seeking. It's hair. It's not YOU. You're underneath it all. It's clean. It's trimmed You've actually received compliments on it. Sure, sometimes you pin it back like some kind of 12 year-old tomboy, but typically it's appropriate when the occasion calls for it. Sometimes I even sense some pride in yourself. Don't get all huffy on me. You're learning to edit...though heaven knows you could use some help in that department. If you're adventurous for change, let it grow, which you know you will, until it makes you crazy and then you will rationalize cutting in back into the neat little cut that you love so much. Who are we kidding with this discussion. Purchase the wig, pull it out for Halloween parties, and I promise to never say, "I told you so".

ME: I hate you for making me love you.

TIM: That wasn't weird at all.

TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH A BAD PAPER

TIM: You know, to some you would appear smug, but I know better.

ME: Word.

TIM: Oh! Street cred! Holla!

ME: Stop knowing me so well! Let me have a weird AND bad day.

TIM: I live for your weird, bad days.

ME: I have a 25 page paper due in 5 days and I'm creatively constipated.

TIM: So, you have an alliterative problem.

ME: Oh my word, I can't come up with anything. I wrote a proposal and not only did the topic get shot down, but I didnt' get the full number of points. I threw an academic tantrum, I complained, I beat my fists against the ivy-covered walls...

TIM: You mean the "virtual" ivy-covered walls, right? And the truth is, the proposal you submitted was the wrong one, right? You didn't follow through and edit for mistakes. It's the same as one of our designers sending down an outfit from a prior week's challenge. It was from an entirely different class from an entirely different quarter! What were you thinking?

ME: I KNOW!!! The names of the documents were virtually identical. The only difference was this "_"...that little under line mark. Puhleese!!! What the heck???

TIM: Deborah, you saved those documents yourself. That was YOUR doing, no one else's.

ME: Hey! Who's side are you on?

TIM: Seriously? Would we even be having this or any other conversation if I EVER agreed with you about anything? Our entire relationship is based on me giving you snarky, yet wise and pithy feedback about your pathetic existence, or attempt at one.

ME: I know...

TIM: Did you apologize to the professor?

ME: I practically groveled.

TIM: No really, did you say you were sorry?

ME: I'm serious. I not only asked for forgiveness, I admitted that it was my mistake and then I said that we were both wise and acted in our own best consciousness. I even said, "Go, us."

TIM: *chuckling and shaking head* Oh well then....as long as you patted yourself on the back while you said you were sorry, by all means, she should certainly rethink the entire thing and give you an "A"....PLUS even!

ME: Did I do that?

TIM: "Go, us?" No...you were very humble...I could see your vertebrae as you bent over in humility.

ME: I sense sarcasm.

TIM: Are YOU being sarcastic?

ME: What is this...some kind of weird rabbit hole of snarkiness?

TIM: Look, you apologized. Good. You saved your ego, not so good. When you make a mistake, own it. It doesn't make you a smaller person for admitting when you went wrong and then fixing it. You'll be more careful in the future. If the professor can sense that from you, then you'll be fine. If she has an ego problem, which she might, there's little to anything you can do about it and in the future, when you're teaching, you'll know to be more sensitive. Look for the good in any trial you face-it's always there. Now stop me before I swoon over myself.

ME: I've got it. Yeesh. I'll just plow forward. I guess that was a poor choice of words. Have you noticed the extra pounds I've put on?

TIM: Oh dear, that's another post entirely.

ME: Wait, don't go! Come back here and talk to me!!!

TIM: Another day dear....get rid of the cheesecake....

ME: I wasn't eating any....

TIM: I was addressing your thighs.