TIM GUNN EXPLAINS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN FRIENDSHIP AND APPEARANCES

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.

ME: STOP IT!

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.

TIM GUNN GIVES "VOICE" LESSONS...

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.

TIM GUNN ON AGING ISSUES

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 no...you're not technically "old"...you'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.

TIM GUNN TACKLES TOXIC TALK

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!

TIM GUNN GETS REAL ABOUT TEENAGERS

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 and...and...um....probably won't go to college...probably won't hold down a job....ehhh....um....

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 you....you grew up so fast. *sniff*

TIM GUNN ROCKS THE CONVERSATION...

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: Well...no...but 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.

TIM GUNN DOES AN IPOD INTERVENTION

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 you...you know...the volume is up on my IPod thingy....WHAT?

*back of Tim's head*