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.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
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: 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*
Friday, February 25, 2011
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: 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.
Monday, February 21, 2011
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: 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.
Monday, February 14, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, August 2, 2010
TIM TALKS TO ME ABOUT MY NEW JEWELRY
ME: "Crack smoking judges"....HAHAHAHAHAH
TIM: Are you finished? Had enough?
ME: Sorry, Tim. It's just not that often I get to have a laugh because of something YOU'VE said.
TIM: Well...I explained it and I don't exactly apologize for it and by the way, a smoking crack pipe would account for most of the clothes in your closet so let's not travel down that road, agreed?
ME: Whatever...it's still funny.
TIM: So! You're back from Ohio. Is sunny California as you left it?
ME: Let's see. My daughter is due to pop at any time with her 3rd child and my house smells like a kennel.
TIM: So everything is about as expected.
ME: Pretty much.
TIM: I noticed you came home with quite a bit of jewelry. And it's big. And colorful.
ME: I know, right! I can barely type with this stuff on my fingers and wrist. I love it!
TIM: Where do you plan on wearing it?
ME: EVERYWHERE!
TIM: Edit, Deborah
ME: I thought this type of jewelry went from casual to after 5:00. That was my thought process.
TIM: YOUR thought process? The same thought process that allowed you to give birth four times in five years? Put your wedding ring on your "shopping list", next to "mop and broccoli" when you went to Walmart? That thought process?
ME: Well, when you put it that way...
TIM: Use your accessory wall thoughtfully. And by thoughtfully, I mean rarely, and not all at the same time. Those are big pieces. Okay...the bracelets you can double up on. But some of those rings-take it easy.
ME: Nice to be back Tim.
TIM: Put the pipe down...and it's nice to be heard.
TIM: Are you finished? Had enough?
ME: Sorry, Tim. It's just not that often I get to have a laugh because of something YOU'VE said.
TIM: Well...I explained it and I don't exactly apologize for it and by the way, a smoking crack pipe would account for most of the clothes in your closet so let's not travel down that road, agreed?
ME: Whatever...it's still funny.
TIM: So! You're back from Ohio. Is sunny California as you left it?
ME: Let's see. My daughter is due to pop at any time with her 3rd child and my house smells like a kennel.
TIM: So everything is about as expected.
ME: Pretty much.
TIM: I noticed you came home with quite a bit of jewelry. And it's big. And colorful.
ME: I know, right! I can barely type with this stuff on my fingers and wrist. I love it!
TIM: Where do you plan on wearing it?
ME: EVERYWHERE!
TIM: Edit, Deborah
ME: I thought this type of jewelry went from casual to after 5:00. That was my thought process.
TIM: YOUR thought process? The same thought process that allowed you to give birth four times in five years? Put your wedding ring on your "shopping list", next to "mop and broccoli" when you went to Walmart? That thought process?
ME: Well, when you put it that way...
TIM: Use your accessory wall thoughtfully. And by thoughtfully, I mean rarely, and not all at the same time. Those are big pieces. Okay...the bracelets you can double up on. But some of those rings-take it easy.
ME: Nice to be back Tim.
TIM: Put the pipe down...and it's nice to be heard.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH MY STUPID MASTERS...
ME: Hey! I'm on my way, you know.
TIM: It's me. You should just stop now.
ME: Well, I'm trying to generate enthusiasm. You know, I've completed the Master's portion and I'm officially in the doctoral program. IN IT TO WIN IT!!!!
TIM: Again. It's me. You should just stop now.
ME: Really. You're right. I don't even feel excited. It's just another day isn't it? No big deal. I don't know why I'm not more "up" about this. It's an accomplishment.
TIM: Deborah, you're never "up" about anything. It's just your nature. Why should it be different for this? When you're genuinely enthusiastic about something, it shows. If you don't feel enthusiasm, don't sweat it. Why are you even concerned?
ME: Well, I get congratulated and people ask me what my plans are and if I'm excited and I have no answers for them. I can't work yet...I have more schooling...It just seems like I'm more in the middle of my journey than at the end, or even at a mile stone.
TIM: So...what do you need me for?
ME: I don't know. Don't you have something pithy to add to the conversation? Maybe about how I should dress the part? Fake-it-till-I-make-it kind of thing?
TIM: Are you questioning the road you've chosen?
ME: ?
TIM: You semi-heard me. Are you? Are you wondering if you're taking the correct path? If you should stop now or continue with your current trajectory, or even change to a different track?
ME: Well, I'm always looking at other "things" and how I can use what I know in other applications. Does that count?
TIM: Do you have to find a job tomorrow?
ME: No. I have awhile.
TIM: What on your immediate agenda?
ME: Going to Ohio to see my mother, kids, the whole shebang.
TIM: Are they going to demand these kinds of answers from you regarding your future?
ME: Oh no. We're just going to hang, eat, and laugh.
TIM: Exactly. What don't you just take that brain of yours out of overdrive and relax for a few weeks. We can revisit all of this in the fall when school starts again. Stop "trying" to feel emotions that you're not feeling. That's called being "authentic". Not unlike that crazy color of nail polish I've been all over you about. And don't get me started on the synthetic leopard print in your closet. Repeat after me, "There are no synthetic leopards".
ME: See you in Ohio....
TIM: It's me. You should just stop now.
ME: Well, I'm trying to generate enthusiasm. You know, I've completed the Master's portion and I'm officially in the doctoral program. IN IT TO WIN IT!!!!
TIM: Again. It's me. You should just stop now.
ME: Really. You're right. I don't even feel excited. It's just another day isn't it? No big deal. I don't know why I'm not more "up" about this. It's an accomplishment.
TIM: Deborah, you're never "up" about anything. It's just your nature. Why should it be different for this? When you're genuinely enthusiastic about something, it shows. If you don't feel enthusiasm, don't sweat it. Why are you even concerned?
ME: Well, I get congratulated and people ask me what my plans are and if I'm excited and I have no answers for them. I can't work yet...I have more schooling...It just seems like I'm more in the middle of my journey than at the end, or even at a mile stone.
TIM: So...what do you need me for?
ME: I don't know. Don't you have something pithy to add to the conversation? Maybe about how I should dress the part? Fake-it-till-I-make-it kind of thing?
TIM: Are you questioning the road you've chosen?
ME: ?
TIM: You semi-heard me. Are you? Are you wondering if you're taking the correct path? If you should stop now or continue with your current trajectory, or even change to a different track?
ME: Well, I'm always looking at other "things" and how I can use what I know in other applications. Does that count?
TIM: Do you have to find a job tomorrow?
ME: No. I have awhile.
TIM: What on your immediate agenda?
ME: Going to Ohio to see my mother, kids, the whole shebang.
TIM: Are they going to demand these kinds of answers from you regarding your future?
ME: Oh no. We're just going to hang, eat, and laugh.
TIM: Exactly. What don't you just take that brain of yours out of overdrive and relax for a few weeks. We can revisit all of this in the fall when school starts again. Stop "trying" to feel emotions that you're not feeling. That's called being "authentic". Not unlike that crazy color of nail polish I've been all over you about. And don't get me started on the synthetic leopard print in your closet. Repeat after me, "There are no synthetic leopards".
ME: See you in Ohio....
Saturday, May 22, 2010
TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH A RADICAL HAIR CUT.
TIM: Nice.
ME: You likey?
TIM: Well, it's certainly bold. It could get costumey, but I'm really not getting that vibe right now.
ME: Oh good! It was kind of spur of the moment?
TIM: Really, Deborah? You obsess over your hair continually. You're constantly dragging your fingers through it and cursing it. Do you ever really do anything "spur of the moment" to your hair?
ME: Well, apparently not.
TIM: It's a good cut. It's quite different. A little "Adam Lambert-ish", but in a good way. It works with the shape of your face. It redirects attention toward your eyes and away from your lower face.
ME: Wait. What's wrong with my lower face?
TIM: It's getting lower.
ME: Wow. How long have you been sitting on THAT one?
TIM: I'm a patient person.
ME: This really might be my best opportunity to let my silver and white grow in...you know, because it's so short.
TIM: Really! Because that worked so well for you before?
ME: I'll be in Ohio for most of the summer so my influences will be different. I'll be home. I can be myself. I can deconstruct and reconstruct!
TIM: Do you believe for one moment that your mother will sit by and watch while you age in front of her?
ME: Oh.
TIM: Buy your color there. It'll be cheaper.
ME: Got it.
ME: You likey?
TIM: Well, it's certainly bold. It could get costumey, but I'm really not getting that vibe right now.
ME: Oh good! It was kind of spur of the moment?
TIM: Really, Deborah? You obsess over your hair continually. You're constantly dragging your fingers through it and cursing it. Do you ever really do anything "spur of the moment" to your hair?
ME: Well, apparently not.
TIM: It's a good cut. It's quite different. A little "Adam Lambert-ish", but in a good way. It works with the shape of your face. It redirects attention toward your eyes and away from your lower face.
ME: Wait. What's wrong with my lower face?
TIM: It's getting lower.
ME: Wow. How long have you been sitting on THAT one?
TIM: I'm a patient person.
ME: This really might be my best opportunity to let my silver and white grow in...you know, because it's so short.
TIM: Really! Because that worked so well for you before?
ME: I'll be in Ohio for most of the summer so my influences will be different. I'll be home. I can be myself. I can deconstruct and reconstruct!
TIM: Do you believe for one moment that your mother will sit by and watch while you age in front of her?
ME: Oh.
TIM: Buy your color there. It'll be cheaper.
ME: Got it.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH THE 1ST ANNIVERSARY OF THE KIDS' DAD'S DEATH
TIM: I know, it's been an entire year.
ME: What gave it away?
TIM: All of your Facebook statuses and blog reports saying that "It's been a year". You'll never be accused of being subtle.
ME: That's a long time, but it seems like it just happened.
TIM: Well, a lot HAS happened, don't you think? *chin down, eyebrows up*
ME: Oh yea....one daughter miraculously survived a hideous car accident because an 18-year-old fool was texting...
TIM: That was awful, just awful. She looks amazing, by the way.
ME: I KNOW! Broken neck, broken ribs, dozens of staples in her head...and then to find out she was pregnant at the time of the accident...yeesh...
TIM: Exactly. And I mean, SHE LOOKS AMAZING, I'm still waiting for YOUR excuse.
ME: I am SO not going there with you right now...
TIM: Fine. The other kids had big challenges this year as well, am I right?
ME: Oh yea! Our youngest son lost his job on the day he was supposed to sign for his first house. THAT was crazy. Then he rebounds, gets a job, loses that, gets ANOTHER job, finds a killer deal on a house and moves his adorable little wife and twins into it. Through it all, they never lost their faith, continued to pay their tithes, go to church, the whole nine yards. They're troopers.
TIM: Yes. And his wife is a stunner. She never threw in the towel. Kept that great All-American look of hers up.
ME: Oh yea. That's just the kind of person she is. Pretty inside, pretty outside. And then our older son had all kinds of health challenges. True, he makes odd choices, but even HE seems to be on board with the whole moving forward thing. He is more deeply in love with his wife...
TIM: Well who WOULDN'T be?
ME: Oh, I know! They are perfection together. And he's no walk in the park.
TIM: Well, the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.
ME: ?
TIM: And you have another daughter. She's doing well?
ME: Yes. She may have made the biggest strides of all. She's at a healthy weight. She's in charge of her thoughts and reactions. She's making beautiful progress in good-decision-making.
TIM: And how are you?
ME: I'm going to be fine. I didn't think I could parent this group alone, but I don't believe I am alone. I feel that their dad is an even better parent now and in fact, more present in their lives than he was before he died. Our parenting partnership is more improved. I know there have been far fewer arguments since he died.
TIM: Only because you got the last word....
ME: Well! That's what he gets for going first.
TIM: Well played.
ME: What gave it away?
TIM: All of your Facebook statuses and blog reports saying that "It's been a year". You'll never be accused of being subtle.
ME: That's a long time, but it seems like it just happened.
TIM: Well, a lot HAS happened, don't you think? *chin down, eyebrows up*
ME: Oh yea....one daughter miraculously survived a hideous car accident because an 18-year-old fool was texting...
TIM: That was awful, just awful. She looks amazing, by the way.
ME: I KNOW! Broken neck, broken ribs, dozens of staples in her head...and then to find out she was pregnant at the time of the accident...yeesh...
TIM: Exactly. And I mean, SHE LOOKS AMAZING, I'm still waiting for YOUR excuse.
ME: I am SO not going there with you right now...
TIM: Fine. The other kids had big challenges this year as well, am I right?
ME: Oh yea! Our youngest son lost his job on the day he was supposed to sign for his first house. THAT was crazy. Then he rebounds, gets a job, loses that, gets ANOTHER job, finds a killer deal on a house and moves his adorable little wife and twins into it. Through it all, they never lost their faith, continued to pay their tithes, go to church, the whole nine yards. They're troopers.
TIM: Yes. And his wife is a stunner. She never threw in the towel. Kept that great All-American look of hers up.
ME: Oh yea. That's just the kind of person she is. Pretty inside, pretty outside. And then our older son had all kinds of health challenges. True, he makes odd choices, but even HE seems to be on board with the whole moving forward thing. He is more deeply in love with his wife...
TIM: Well who WOULDN'T be?
ME: Oh, I know! They are perfection together. And he's no walk in the park.
TIM: Well, the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.
ME: ?
TIM: And you have another daughter. She's doing well?
ME: Yes. She may have made the biggest strides of all. She's at a healthy weight. She's in charge of her thoughts and reactions. She's making beautiful progress in good-decision-making.
TIM: And how are you?
ME: I'm going to be fine. I didn't think I could parent this group alone, but I don't believe I am alone. I feel that their dad is an even better parent now and in fact, more present in their lives than he was before he died. Our parenting partnership is more improved. I know there have been far fewer arguments since he died.
TIM: Only because you got the last word....
ME: Well! That's what he gets for going first.
TIM: Well played.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH HAIR COLOR
TIM: Oh! For crying out loud, why are you sitting in the dark?
ME: I'm too lazy to get up.
TIM: You're lazy, true. But you know you have to turn the light on eventually. Are you hiding? Oh no. Did you color your hair yourself? Deborah...
ME: I couldn't do the gray thing. I said I would go completely gray and white, but I didn't do it.
TIM: Okay. Would you like to talk about it?
ME: Tim, if you're showing up, then apparently I need to work on it, right?
TIM: Well said. Here *flips on light* let's have a look. *scrunches up face* That's not TOO bad.
ME: Oh my gosh. I said that when my kids baked their first cake. They were 2 and 3.
TIM: I think "pastry" would be a good description of your hair right now.
ME: Tim...
TIM: I'm thinking, white cake, white icing, with some white piping along the edges. It would be almost elegant if it wasn't on you. You know, a "signature style". Are you ready to pull that off?
ME: Don't make me smile.
TIM: I was serious about the pastry. And now I'm hungry.
ME: I had every intention of growing out my hair. It was kind of gun metal gray, with some groovy white streaks and some lighter gray.
TIM: Oh! I know! I saw it.
ME: Yea, I suppose you did.
TIM: So then, why did you back down? You were very determined.
ME: I was at my daughter's house and she really appeared to be having a difficult time with it. I mean, the poor thing is pregnant, she recently broke her neck and her back, she has these kids, you know....a lot of stress.
TIM: So, your daughter made you do it?
ME: Well, not when you put it like that.
TIM: How would you put it?
ME: I would say it like this, "My daughter made me do it."
TIM: Uh huh.
ME: Ummmm...yea.... That doesn't make a lot of sense does it? I mean, when I say it like that. It sounds weak and it sounds like I'm shifting accountability for my decision to someone else. Ick. Self-realization and truth give me a headache.
TIM: Wow. Keep this up and one day someone will blog about Deborah Katz's Voice. Wait. Probably not.
ME: Hey. I can be wise.
TIM: Maybe someday...when you're old and gray.
ME: Nice....
TIM: Let's bake a cake!
ME: I'm too lazy to get up.
TIM: You're lazy, true. But you know you have to turn the light on eventually. Are you hiding? Oh no. Did you color your hair yourself? Deborah...
ME: I couldn't do the gray thing. I said I would go completely gray and white, but I didn't do it.
TIM: Okay. Would you like to talk about it?
ME: Tim, if you're showing up, then apparently I need to work on it, right?
TIM: Well said. Here *flips on light* let's have a look. *scrunches up face* That's not TOO bad.
ME: Oh my gosh. I said that when my kids baked their first cake. They were 2 and 3.
TIM: I think "pastry" would be a good description of your hair right now.
ME: Tim...
TIM: I'm thinking, white cake, white icing, with some white piping along the edges. It would be almost elegant if it wasn't on you. You know, a "signature style". Are you ready to pull that off?
ME: Don't make me smile.
TIM: I was serious about the pastry. And now I'm hungry.
ME: I had every intention of growing out my hair. It was kind of gun metal gray, with some groovy white streaks and some lighter gray.
TIM: Oh! I know! I saw it.
ME: Yea, I suppose you did.
TIM: So then, why did you back down? You were very determined.
ME: I was at my daughter's house and she really appeared to be having a difficult time with it. I mean, the poor thing is pregnant, she recently broke her neck and her back, she has these kids, you know....a lot of stress.
TIM: So, your daughter made you do it?
ME: Well, not when you put it like that.
TIM: How would you put it?
ME: I would say it like this, "My daughter made me do it."
TIM: Uh huh.
ME: Ummmm...yea.... That doesn't make a lot of sense does it? I mean, when I say it like that. It sounds weak and it sounds like I'm shifting accountability for my decision to someone else. Ick. Self-realization and truth give me a headache.
TIM: Wow. Keep this up and one day someone will blog about Deborah Katz's Voice. Wait. Probably not.
ME: Hey. I can be wise.
TIM: Maybe someday...when you're old and gray.
ME: Nice....
TIM: Let's bake a cake!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
TIM LETS ME KNOW WHO IS "IN"
TIM: Hmmmmm. The suitcase is out. Where are you going?
ME: Ohio!
TIM: Again? When are you leaving?
ME: On Christmas afternoon.
TIM: My. Why so sentimental?
ME: I know, right? Smack dab in the middle of the day. I wonder if it will be crowded at the airport?
TIM: I wonder if you considered your husband's day in any of this?
ME: Tim, he said to buy the ticket because it was so inexpensive. I have to go to Ohio for my mom's 90th birthday. You know that.
TIM: Well. Use the accessory wall thoughtfully. And I don't mean yours, I mean your mothers'. You know how tastefully she accessorizes. Just listen to her when you dress for her party.
ME: You know, Tim, Mother isn't exactly hitting on all cylinders these days.
TIM: And?
ME: Do you still trust her to dress me? Or even accessorize me?
TIM: Let me put it this way, Deborah. Are you sitting down? Even in your fifth decade, with your education and demeanor, I would prefer you to be accessorized by your 90-year-old, slightly senile, fragile mother whose sense of fashion clearly out-ranks yours and, in fact, whose 90-year-old bones are even thicker and stronger than yours. She is clearly "in".
ME: *quietly* I can take her in a race.
TIM: Of course you can, Deborah. Of course.
ME: Ohio!
TIM: Again? When are you leaving?
ME: On Christmas afternoon.
TIM: My. Why so sentimental?
ME: I know, right? Smack dab in the middle of the day. I wonder if it will be crowded at the airport?
TIM: I wonder if you considered your husband's day in any of this?
ME: Tim, he said to buy the ticket because it was so inexpensive. I have to go to Ohio for my mom's 90th birthday. You know that.
TIM: Well. Use the accessory wall thoughtfully. And I don't mean yours, I mean your mothers'. You know how tastefully she accessorizes. Just listen to her when you dress for her party.
ME: You know, Tim, Mother isn't exactly hitting on all cylinders these days.
TIM: And?
ME: Do you still trust her to dress me? Or even accessorize me?
TIM: Let me put it this way, Deborah. Are you sitting down? Even in your fifth decade, with your education and demeanor, I would prefer you to be accessorized by your 90-year-old, slightly senile, fragile mother whose sense of fashion clearly out-ranks yours and, in fact, whose 90-year-old bones are even thicker and stronger than yours. She is clearly "in".
ME: *quietly* I can take her in a race.
TIM: Of course you can, Deborah. Of course.
Monday, December 7, 2009
TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH "RAIN WEAR".
TIM: I saw everything.
ME: It was raining.
TIM: As if that is anywhere close to a legitimate excuse.
ME: I didn't want to get wet.
TIM: There's a handy appliance called an "umbrella"...cheap and effective, not unlike that gaudy nail polish you're fond of.
ME: Look, it rains so seldom here and our sidewalk goes downhill and gets very slippery. It's extraordinarily treacherous. Truly dangerous. And I had to walk the dog!
TIM: Don't you have an 18-year-old that can do that FOR you? Someone who can dress as a clown...as proxy?
ME: OH MY GOSH, TIM, it wasn't that bad!
TIM: Sure it was.
ME: They're my boots. They may be multicolored, but...
TIM: They're striped. That's different than "multicolored". Striped.
ME: And they might be a little high...
TIM: They go to your knees.
ME: But they're waterproof...
TIM: Because they're rubber. You're wearing stripped, knee-high rubber boots. Were you booked for some birthday party or something? You forgot your red rubber nose.
ME: Oh my gosh. All I cared about today was staying warm and dry. The boots worked. Wonderfully, I might add. And the coat? It was an old, hooded, army-type jacked that was perhaps a bit bulky, but did the trick.
TIM: Ahhhh yes, the trick. Was the trick making balloon animals?
ME: That's it. This conversation is over.
TIM: Why? Have the ponies arrived or is the cake being cut?
ME: Oh my gosh. I did not look like a clown!!!
TIM: No, you looked like a clown's assassin. The army coat? With those gaily colored rubber boots? Did children run from you? Did puppies yip? Were you followed by the police?
ME: I see how it is. Project Runway's season is over and you have no one to pick on, it that it?
TIM: No. You just give me so much to work with. Lose the coat. Better to catch pneumonia than be considered a suspect on the grassy knoll. Keep the boots. Take off that polish. Use an umbrella so you don't have that hunched over appearance. Make it work.
ME: Thank goodness I live in southern California. I couldn't take living somewhere where there's "real" weather. We'd kill each other.
TIM: Lord knows you're dressed for it.
ME: It was raining.
TIM: As if that is anywhere close to a legitimate excuse.
ME: I didn't want to get wet.
TIM: There's a handy appliance called an "umbrella"...cheap and effective, not unlike that gaudy nail polish you're fond of.
ME: Look, it rains so seldom here and our sidewalk goes downhill and gets very slippery. It's extraordinarily treacherous. Truly dangerous. And I had to walk the dog!
TIM: Don't you have an 18-year-old that can do that FOR you? Someone who can dress as a clown...as proxy?
ME: OH MY GOSH, TIM, it wasn't that bad!
TIM: Sure it was.
ME: They're my boots. They may be multicolored, but...
TIM: They're striped. That's different than "multicolored". Striped.
ME: And they might be a little high...
TIM: They go to your knees.
ME: But they're waterproof...
TIM: Because they're rubber. You're wearing stripped, knee-high rubber boots. Were you booked for some birthday party or something? You forgot your red rubber nose.
ME: Oh my gosh. All I cared about today was staying warm and dry. The boots worked. Wonderfully, I might add. And the coat? It was an old, hooded, army-type jacked that was perhaps a bit bulky, but did the trick.
TIM: Ahhhh yes, the trick. Was the trick making balloon animals?
ME: That's it. This conversation is over.
TIM: Why? Have the ponies arrived or is the cake being cut?
ME: Oh my gosh. I did not look like a clown!!!
TIM: No, you looked like a clown's assassin. The army coat? With those gaily colored rubber boots? Did children run from you? Did puppies yip? Were you followed by the police?
ME: I see how it is. Project Runway's season is over and you have no one to pick on, it that it?
TIM: No. You just give me so much to work with. Lose the coat. Better to catch pneumonia than be considered a suspect on the grassy knoll. Keep the boots. Take off that polish. Use an umbrella so you don't have that hunched over appearance. Make it work.
ME: Thank goodness I live in southern California. I couldn't take living somewhere where there's "real" weather. We'd kill each other.
TIM: Lord knows you're dressed for it.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
TIM TALKS ME THROUGH MY FIRST PAIR OF JEANS IN (POSSIBLY) YEARS.
TIM: What's that humming sound?
ME: Me. I'm humming.
TIM: Oh! I thought it was an appliance gone awry.
ME: Thanks. I'm fine. Yourself?
TIM: What are you so relatively content about? That's when you typically hum.
ME: Relatively content? What happened to "happy"? A girl can't be "happy" anymore?
TIM: It's charming that you still refer to yourself as a "girl". And the answer to your question, as far as you personally, is "not so much". You, Deborah, are a "relative"-type of person. You continually weigh balances, ponder circumstances, look at various sides of the issues. So, what may be "happy" to one person is "relatively content" on you. So. Spill. What are you relatively content about.
ME: Fine. Look at my legs.
TIM: OH! They're covered in denim!
ME: Bingo. New pair of jeans, buddy. I broke down and bought them.
TIM: No no no Deborah. You couldn't have done this on your own. Someone helped you. Those jeans fit.
ME: Hey!
TIM: What I mean is, you've never been able to purchase a pair of jeans that actually fit your body. You don't exactly have jean-friendly curves. So...what's the rest of the story. And remember, if you're not forthcoming, I'll know it....
ME: Fine! I was shopping for leggings.
TIM: Oh Deborah. Haven't we had this conversation before. Puhleese. Edit edit edit.
ME: I need something warm to cover my legs when I go to Ohio. It's cold there.
TIM: You're whining. Continue.
ME: Anyway, the manager of the store...
TIM: A woman's store?
ME: Charlotte Russe.
TIM: Oh, thank goodness....I thought you went to Epidemic or something.
ME: Nice.
TIM: Go on.
ME: Anyway, the manager asked if she could get me some jeans. I explained my difficulty in sizing them to me and she accepted it as a challenge. She reminded me of my niece, Tiffany, so I had an immediate comfort level with her. She took me to the jeans section and explained all the different styles and things. She said, "just go to the dressing room and I'll bring some back". I agreed and this is what we came up with. You likey?
TIM: They're fine. Nothing can fix that gluteus minimus, but you've worked around it. Are they comfortable?
ME: Well, they're cut a little low so when I sit down they dip a little lower in the back than I would like. I think girls wear thongs with these things. And at the end of the day, sometimes I can slip them off without unbuttoning them.
TIM: Maybe because they're designed for young girls who haven't given birth yet and are waiting to be asked on their first date.
ME: Hey, I was just excited to find jeans that fit me. Hence, my humming but I think that's over for now.
TIM: *sigh* Fine. Next time bring a more critical eye to your purchase and wear a long, layering tee with these. Turn around. hmmmmm. Did you get a pair that you can dress up a bit? Maybe wear with some heels?
ME: Yes. Yes I did.
TIM: Okay. Use the accessory wall thoughtfully.
ME: Tim. I don't have an accessory wall.
TIM: You will. You'll be in Ohio. Don't get me started on your sister's and mother's eye for fashion. I can't wait!
ME: Which means I'll be hearing from you more in the near future?
TIM: Are you kidding. I wouldn't miss this trip for the world!
ME: Lucky me!
TIM: The drama alone is going to be the entertainment factor. The fashion and artistry is just the bonus! Pack those jeans, we'll take care of the rest of you when you get to the Midwest. Holla!
ME: Holla Tim.
ME: Me. I'm humming.
TIM: Oh! I thought it was an appliance gone awry.
ME: Thanks. I'm fine. Yourself?
TIM: What are you so relatively content about? That's when you typically hum.
ME: Relatively content? What happened to "happy"? A girl can't be "happy" anymore?
TIM: It's charming that you still refer to yourself as a "girl". And the answer to your question, as far as you personally, is "not so much". You, Deborah, are a "relative"-type of person. You continually weigh balances, ponder circumstances, look at various sides of the issues. So, what may be "happy" to one person is "relatively content" on you. So. Spill. What are you relatively content about.
ME: Fine. Look at my legs.
TIM: OH! They're covered in denim!
ME: Bingo. New pair of jeans, buddy. I broke down and bought them.
TIM: No no no Deborah. You couldn't have done this on your own. Someone helped you. Those jeans fit.
ME: Hey!
TIM: What I mean is, you've never been able to purchase a pair of jeans that actually fit your body. You don't exactly have jean-friendly curves. So...what's the rest of the story. And remember, if you're not forthcoming, I'll know it....
ME: Fine! I was shopping for leggings.
TIM: Oh Deborah. Haven't we had this conversation before. Puhleese. Edit edit edit.
ME: I need something warm to cover my legs when I go to Ohio. It's cold there.
TIM: You're whining. Continue.
ME: Anyway, the manager of the store...
TIM: A woman's store?
ME: Charlotte Russe.
TIM: Oh, thank goodness....I thought you went to Epidemic or something.
ME: Nice.
TIM: Go on.
ME: Anyway, the manager asked if she could get me some jeans. I explained my difficulty in sizing them to me and she accepted it as a challenge. She reminded me of my niece, Tiffany, so I had an immediate comfort level with her. She took me to the jeans section and explained all the different styles and things. She said, "just go to the dressing room and I'll bring some back". I agreed and this is what we came up with. You likey?
TIM: They're fine. Nothing can fix that gluteus minimus, but you've worked around it. Are they comfortable?
ME: Well, they're cut a little low so when I sit down they dip a little lower in the back than I would like. I think girls wear thongs with these things. And at the end of the day, sometimes I can slip them off without unbuttoning them.
TIM: Maybe because they're designed for young girls who haven't given birth yet and are waiting to be asked on their first date.
ME: Hey, I was just excited to find jeans that fit me. Hence, my humming but I think that's over for now.
TIM: *sigh* Fine. Next time bring a more critical eye to your purchase and wear a long, layering tee with these. Turn around. hmmmmm. Did you get a pair that you can dress up a bit? Maybe wear with some heels?
ME: Yes. Yes I did.
TIM: Okay. Use the accessory wall thoughtfully.
ME: Tim. I don't have an accessory wall.
TIM: You will. You'll be in Ohio. Don't get me started on your sister's and mother's eye for fashion. I can't wait!
ME: Which means I'll be hearing from you more in the near future?
TIM: Are you kidding. I wouldn't miss this trip for the world!
ME: Lucky me!
TIM: The drama alone is going to be the entertainment factor. The fashion and artistry is just the bonus! Pack those jeans, we'll take care of the rest of you when you get to the Midwest. Holla!
ME: Holla Tim.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH LETTING MY SILVER HAIR SHINE!!!
TIM: Talk to me.
ME: It's just a haircut, Tim.
TIM: Well! I should think it's more than "just a haircut". You don't "just" do anything regarding your looks. Something as huge as this involves hours of pondering. Nothing is "just" anything when it comes to your appearance. It's all part of some big psychological breakdown.
ME: Through, Tim. Break-THROUGH, not down.
TIM: No. I was right the first time. I'll stand by that. But talk to me.
ME: Okay. You're right. I've been doing some thinking.
TIM: Which explains me showing up.
ME: Oh yea...and hello, by the way.
TIM: Thank you.
ME: Well, you know my hair. It's so thin...so dreadfully and comically thin.
TIM: Deborah, there's nothing funny about your hair except the creative ways it attempts to escape from your scalp. I've found it in the most creative places.
ME: What???
TIM: Your hair is on the dog. That's usually reversed.
ME: Ewwwww.
TIM: It's in the lint catcher on the dryer and it's threatening all of us with a house fire. The gagging sounds you hear at night is the shower hacking up a fur ball in the shape of a "D" for desperately shedding Deborah. Did you really think your husband only had allergies at night? In bed? Next to you? Your hair flies up his nose as you toss and turn! He sneezes and coughs trying to avoid inhaling your head!
ME: OKAY! I've got it. You've painted the picture. The graphics are clear.
TIM: You don't even want to know what the neighbors below are saying when you sit on the balcony and there's a slight breeze. Don't you ever hear that choking sound?
ME: Tim!!! I have feelings!!!
TIM: Sorry. Carry on.
ME: Anyway....gosh!...it's thin and frankly, it's silver. AND white. Most of the white is around my face, which is kind of cool. And the silver hair is the exact same color and texture of my Dad's hair, which is also kind of cool. So, I decided to make a big leap and just let it go. I'm got my final weave to help let the silver grow out; it's almost an inch now, and I cut off the long, strangly parts. So! I'm going tribal.
TIM: Tribal?
ME: Yep! I'm going to let it get healthy and silver and embrace my older, wise woman.
TIM: This should be interesting.
ME: Meaning?...
TIM: Exactly that.
ME: So....what do I do now?
TIM: We wait...and do exactly what your is going to do....grow.
ME: It's just a haircut, Tim.
TIM: Well! I should think it's more than "just a haircut". You don't "just" do anything regarding your looks. Something as huge as this involves hours of pondering. Nothing is "just" anything when it comes to your appearance. It's all part of some big psychological breakdown.
ME: Through, Tim. Break-THROUGH, not down.
TIM: No. I was right the first time. I'll stand by that. But talk to me.
ME: Okay. You're right. I've been doing some thinking.
TIM: Which explains me showing up.
ME: Oh yea...and hello, by the way.
TIM: Thank you.
ME: Well, you know my hair. It's so thin...so dreadfully and comically thin.
TIM: Deborah, there's nothing funny about your hair except the creative ways it attempts to escape from your scalp. I've found it in the most creative places.
ME: What???
TIM: Your hair is on the dog. That's usually reversed.
ME: Ewwwww.
TIM: It's in the lint catcher on the dryer and it's threatening all of us with a house fire. The gagging sounds you hear at night is the shower hacking up a fur ball in the shape of a "D" for desperately shedding Deborah. Did you really think your husband only had allergies at night? In bed? Next to you? Your hair flies up his nose as you toss and turn! He sneezes and coughs trying to avoid inhaling your head!
ME: OKAY! I've got it. You've painted the picture. The graphics are clear.
TIM: You don't even want to know what the neighbors below are saying when you sit on the balcony and there's a slight breeze. Don't you ever hear that choking sound?
ME: Tim!!! I have feelings!!!
TIM: Sorry. Carry on.
ME: Anyway....gosh!...it's thin and frankly, it's silver. AND white. Most of the white is around my face, which is kind of cool. And the silver hair is the exact same color and texture of my Dad's hair, which is also kind of cool. So, I decided to make a big leap and just let it go. I'm got my final weave to help let the silver grow out; it's almost an inch now, and I cut off the long, strangly parts. So! I'm going tribal.
TIM: Tribal?
ME: Yep! I'm going to let it get healthy and silver and embrace my older, wise woman.
TIM: This should be interesting.
ME: Meaning?...
TIM: Exactly that.
ME: So....what do I do now?
TIM: We wait...and do exactly what your is going to do....grow.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH THE INEVITABLE LOSS OF MY PET
TIM: I'm sorry Deborah.
ME: Thank you. It hurts.
TIM: He's old. You had him during his best years. You made each other very happy.
ME: I think so. It still hurts.
TIM: I can see that. What are your immediate plans?
ME: Well. It's difficult. He's still so very much "with" us. He smiles. He wags his tail. His hearing has improved. He barks at people that walk under our balcony to "protect" us. He does this adorable thing with his paw when I'm petting him. If I pull away too soon, he puts his paw on my arm so that I have to keep petting him. It's heart-breakingly sweet. And his eyes. That's the hardest thing. They're so soulful. They communicate everything. I think he knows he's on the way out. He knows how much he's loved. He knows we're constantly here for him. He's never ever alone. He sleeps on our beds with us. He's always in front of one of us. He watches me do the dishes, the laundry, and work on the computer. He watches Eli play the piano. We carry him downstairs to be outside. Peter sits with him on the balcony to get fresh air. I prepare his food twice a day. He gets fresh rice and turkey. I cook one or two eggs. I give him two baby aspirins a day and I put a Xanax in his food bowl twice a day as well.
TIM: So, his food has a street value?
ME: Basically, yea. I've made "the call" and found a place that will help us out when the time comes to take him in. I think that's going to be pretty soon. I'm comforted by the knowledge that he knows that we love him. He really knows it. We've been privileged to care for him and demonstrate to him our love. We've been blessed to be able to serve him. Really blessed. So...do you have anything to say?...any advice?...any words?...
TIM: This was a tough challenge. He's a masterpiece. He's ready for the runway.
ME: Thank you. It hurts.
TIM: He's old. You had him during his best years. You made each other very happy.
ME: I think so. It still hurts.
TIM: I can see that. What are your immediate plans?
ME: Well. It's difficult. He's still so very much "with" us. He smiles. He wags his tail. His hearing has improved. He barks at people that walk under our balcony to "protect" us. He does this adorable thing with his paw when I'm petting him. If I pull away too soon, he puts his paw on my arm so that I have to keep petting him. It's heart-breakingly sweet. And his eyes. That's the hardest thing. They're so soulful. They communicate everything. I think he knows he's on the way out. He knows how much he's loved. He knows we're constantly here for him. He's never ever alone. He sleeps on our beds with us. He's always in front of one of us. He watches me do the dishes, the laundry, and work on the computer. He watches Eli play the piano. We carry him downstairs to be outside. Peter sits with him on the balcony to get fresh air. I prepare his food twice a day. He gets fresh rice and turkey. I cook one or two eggs. I give him two baby aspirins a day and I put a Xanax in his food bowl twice a day as well.
TIM: So, his food has a street value?
ME: Basically, yea. I've made "the call" and found a place that will help us out when the time comes to take him in. I think that's going to be pretty soon. I'm comforted by the knowledge that he knows that we love him. He really knows it. We've been privileged to care for him and demonstrate to him our love. We've been blessed to be able to serve him. Really blessed. So...do you have anything to say?...any advice?...any words?...
TIM: This was a tough challenge. He's a masterpiece. He's ready for the runway.
Friday, October 16, 2009
TIM GUNN TALKS ME THROUGH MY RECENT MOVE.
TIM: Designers? Gather round please.
ME: Tim? It's just me.
TIM: I realize that. I just wanted to make you feel like you were a part of something. Did it work?
ME: Not so much. But thanks for the effort.
TIM: Well...that's what I'm here for.
ME: What's the deal? Am I appearing extra needy? Extra lonely? Extra something?
TIM: Well Deborah, you're always a little "extra" something, but that something is seldom good. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you know better than anyone that if I'M showing up, the "needy factor" is extra high. So...talk to me...
ME: Oh...yea...well...let's see. Actually, things are pretty good. I moved, which you probably know, right? And my new town is really nice. I live close to my youngest daughter and that's nice.
TIM: Yes, I've looked through her closet. Listen to her when she talks about fashion. Please.
ME: Got it.
TIM: No really. I mean it. Really LISTEN to her.
ME: I got it Tim. I hear you.
TIM: And the hair thing...listen to her about your hair...all twelve of them...
ME: OKAY TIM!
TIM: Carry on.
ME: School's going okay. As always, there are papers to write, and research to conduct. *sigh* I'm trying to fit into my new ward at church, but there's so many people and it's tough to remember names. You know, just moving stuff...I guess that's it...
TIM: Edit.
ME: What?
TIM: Edit, Deborah. You have all of these "issues" on your table. Handle each one. Get a feel for each one. Does one seem more problematic than another? Your school work, has that really changed from quarter to quarter or does that seem consistent? Your church. Same consistency, but new faces? Is that the challenge there? What's the really good part? Your daughter's proximity, which was quite lacking in your last location? Am I right about that?
ME: Well, yea! All of those things. School is school, no matter where I live. Church is really the same, it's more just learning the people's names and faces, and that's really a matter of time and patience. Living closer to my daughter is a real bonus, so that's a good thing.
TIM: So....you can make this work, am I right? Hmmmm?
ME: Of course you're right. That's why you're here. Hey! Holla at cha girl!
TIM: Holla at your daughter's closet!
ME: Whatever.
ME: Tim? It's just me.
TIM: I realize that. I just wanted to make you feel like you were a part of something. Did it work?
ME: Not so much. But thanks for the effort.
TIM: Well...that's what I'm here for.
ME: What's the deal? Am I appearing extra needy? Extra lonely? Extra something?
TIM: Well Deborah, you're always a little "extra" something, but that something is seldom good. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you know better than anyone that if I'M showing up, the "needy factor" is extra high. So...talk to me...
ME: Oh...yea...well...let's see. Actually, things are pretty good. I moved, which you probably know, right? And my new town is really nice. I live close to my youngest daughter and that's nice.
TIM: Yes, I've looked through her closet. Listen to her when she talks about fashion. Please.
ME: Got it.
TIM: No really. I mean it. Really LISTEN to her.
ME: I got it Tim. I hear you.
TIM: And the hair thing...listen to her about your hair...all twelve of them...
ME: OKAY TIM!
TIM: Carry on.
ME: School's going okay. As always, there are papers to write, and research to conduct. *sigh* I'm trying to fit into my new ward at church, but there's so many people and it's tough to remember names. You know, just moving stuff...I guess that's it...
TIM: Edit.
ME: What?
TIM: Edit, Deborah. You have all of these "issues" on your table. Handle each one. Get a feel for each one. Does one seem more problematic than another? Your school work, has that really changed from quarter to quarter or does that seem consistent? Your church. Same consistency, but new faces? Is that the challenge there? What's the really good part? Your daughter's proximity, which was quite lacking in your last location? Am I right about that?
ME: Well, yea! All of those things. School is school, no matter where I live. Church is really the same, it's more just learning the people's names and faces, and that's really a matter of time and patience. Living closer to my daughter is a real bonus, so that's a good thing.
TIM: So....you can make this work, am I right? Hmmmm?
ME: Of course you're right. That's why you're here. Hey! Holla at cha girl!
TIM: Holla at your daughter's closet!
ME: Whatever.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
TIM SAID, "CARRY ON, ONLY DON'T"
TIM: You look.....interesting.
ME: I know, right?
TIM: What is that? What's that dialect? Why are you responding to me with a question?
ME: I know, right? *cough* What?
TIM: I just mentioned that you look "interesting". Obviously you're thinking of something and that means I show up. But then you turned into Jessica Simpson or something...
ME: Oh, yea. They've been showing commercials for that movie she did with Dane Cook and it stuck in my brain....
TIM: Shake it off. That's not good for anyone. And don't even think about a tank top with high-waisted jeans. You might be able to get away with the jeans but that belt, puhleese, edit edit edit.
ME: No Tim, this isn't a fashion crisis.
TIM: Deborah, you're always in a fashion crisis, you just don't want to face it. I'm a walking intervention practicing restraint. I'm earning all kinds of patience awards being with you! I am a veritable Mother Theresa of the fashion-impoverished when I walk through your closet.
ME: Why Tim? Why does it devolve to this when you and I start a conversation? I have much bigger issues.
TIM: Do you Deborah? Do you really?
ME: Wow.
TIM: Fine. We will once again turn away from the BIG PROBLEM and deal with your crisis du jour. Here. Let me get comfy and put on my interested countenance. There. Spill.
ME: Gee, I'm all warm and fuzzy now Tim.
TIM: Those are your legs Deborah. Shave. Just tell me your "issue".
ME: I don't feel the need to "act up" anymore.
TIM: uh huh....
ME: That's it.
TIM: Really. Define "act up".
ME: Well, if I'm in a crowd of people, well gosh, first off, I typically now avoid crowds of people. Isn't that weird? But unless I'm with people I know pretty well, intimately even, I just don't carry on like I used to. Is that a bad thing?
TIM: By "carry on" do you mean, like, put a lamp shade on your head? That type of thing?
ME: Well no! I've never done that?
TIM: Really? Should I ask around? Because who admits to that?
ME: *gulp*
TIM: Yea.
ME: That would be terrible! But no, I don't think I was ever THAT weird. Let's just move forward. I think that I just wish to BE entertained as opposed to BEING the entertainer. Does that make more sense? I mean, I enjoy being a part of a good, lively conversation and I love to laugh, and I love surrounding myself with funny, witty people, but I guess that's the thing. I love being SURROUNDED by them. It feels like I'm passing the torch, so to speak. I'm kind of done with the entertaining part.
TIM: And you think people are going to pick up on this? That there's going to be some kind of mass mourning?
ME: Well, no, not exactly. Especially not when you put it like that.
TIM: What about this...what if no one notices?
ME: ?
TIM: See all this pressure you're creating for yourself? What if it's all for naught? What if everyone has always been having a good time and you weren't responsible for any of it? What then? What if you were never ever expected to be the one to "carry the burden" of every one's good mood, hearty laugh, or "best night ever"? What if that piece was just your own personal fiction? You don't even read fiction that much...what would you compose it for your own life?
ME: I...I...I...
TIM: Well said. Let's try this. Go home, enjoy your family, and relax. Here's an interesting thought; when you're not in Ohio, they're still having fun. Laughter continues, giggles still erupt, and good times are had. You are NOT expected to carry on.
ME: I suppose not. That's a lot of unnecessary pressure to put myself under isn't it?
TIM: I know, right?
ME: Stop it.
TIM: Go home. Carry on, only don't.
ME: I know, right?
TIM: What is that? What's that dialect? Why are you responding to me with a question?
ME: I know, right? *cough* What?
TIM: I just mentioned that you look "interesting". Obviously you're thinking of something and that means I show up. But then you turned into Jessica Simpson or something...
ME: Oh, yea. They've been showing commercials for that movie she did with Dane Cook and it stuck in my brain....
TIM: Shake it off. That's not good for anyone. And don't even think about a tank top with high-waisted jeans. You might be able to get away with the jeans but that belt, puhleese, edit edit edit.
ME: No Tim, this isn't a fashion crisis.
TIM: Deborah, you're always in a fashion crisis, you just don't want to face it. I'm a walking intervention practicing restraint. I'm earning all kinds of patience awards being with you! I am a veritable Mother Theresa of the fashion-impoverished when I walk through your closet.
ME: Why Tim? Why does it devolve to this when you and I start a conversation? I have much bigger issues.
TIM: Do you Deborah? Do you really?
ME: Wow.
TIM: Fine. We will once again turn away from the BIG PROBLEM and deal with your crisis du jour. Here. Let me get comfy and put on my interested countenance. There. Spill.
ME: Gee, I'm all warm and fuzzy now Tim.
TIM: Those are your legs Deborah. Shave. Just tell me your "issue".
ME: I don't feel the need to "act up" anymore.
TIM: uh huh....
ME: That's it.
TIM: Really. Define "act up".
ME: Well, if I'm in a crowd of people, well gosh, first off, I typically now avoid crowds of people. Isn't that weird? But unless I'm with people I know pretty well, intimately even, I just don't carry on like I used to. Is that a bad thing?
TIM: By "carry on" do you mean, like, put a lamp shade on your head? That type of thing?
ME: Well no! I've never done that?
TIM: Really? Should I ask around? Because who admits to that?
ME: *gulp*
TIM: Yea.
ME: That would be terrible! But no, I don't think I was ever THAT weird. Let's just move forward. I think that I just wish to BE entertained as opposed to BEING the entertainer. Does that make more sense? I mean, I enjoy being a part of a good, lively conversation and I love to laugh, and I love surrounding myself with funny, witty people, but I guess that's the thing. I love being SURROUNDED by them. It feels like I'm passing the torch, so to speak. I'm kind of done with the entertaining part.
TIM: And you think people are going to pick up on this? That there's going to be some kind of mass mourning?
ME: Well, no, not exactly. Especially not when you put it like that.
TIM: What about this...what if no one notices?
ME: ?
TIM: See all this pressure you're creating for yourself? What if it's all for naught? What if everyone has always been having a good time and you weren't responsible for any of it? What then? What if you were never ever expected to be the one to "carry the burden" of every one's good mood, hearty laugh, or "best night ever"? What if that piece was just your own personal fiction? You don't even read fiction that much...what would you compose it for your own life?
ME: I...I...I...
TIM: Well said. Let's try this. Go home, enjoy your family, and relax. Here's an interesting thought; when you're not in Ohio, they're still having fun. Laughter continues, giggles still erupt, and good times are had. You are NOT expected to carry on.
ME: I suppose not. That's a lot of unnecessary pressure to put myself under isn't it?
TIM: I know, right?
ME: Stop it.
TIM: Go home. Carry on, only don't.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
TIM GUNN BACKS UP A HOT-TO-TROT MOMMA
TIM: Nice face...
ME: Wow. It shows that much?
TIM: Yes. Unfortunately, I know you THAT well. You are pondering something and that means I step into the picture. What is going through that relatively cluttered and yet strangely vacant head of yours?
ME: My widowed, 89-year-old mother is interested in someone and I think he's interested in her also.
TIM: How old is the gentleman? It's a gentleman, right?
ME: Yea. He's 93.
TIM: All right. Your first concern?
ME: First? Tim, there are so many concerns, I don't know how to get them to line up in an orderly fashion to number them. They're like crazed, rabid cats on acid...Jackie Chan cats...
TIM: Some one's been reading Laurie Notaro...
ME: You betcha buddy...We Idiot Girls had better stick together. But anyway, there are WAY too many issues to figure out on this one.
TIM: Well, I can't help you if you aren't willing to organize your thoughts...all I have to work with are your thoughts, Ms. Braniac...
ME: What happened to "Carry on" and "Make it work"
TIM: You stopped watching television...
ME: Sorry. My bad. Okay, first, I'm totally weirded out by "date talk" coming out of my mother's mouth.
TIM: Okay. Next.
ME: She's confused. She likes the "idea" of dating but not the "mechanics" of dating. I think she is remembering being swept off her feet by my big, theatrical Dad and I don't think this situation is even remotely like that so I'm worried that my Mom is setting herself up for a big emotional disappointment kind of thing.
TIM: Well, thank goodness.
ME: What?
TIM: You redeemed yourself. For a minute, after that first concern, I almost walked. I thought it was all about YOU. YOU being "weirded out" by your mother allowing herself the indulgence of date-speak. She should be allowed to let that fly without any judgment. How many 89-year-old women get that opportunity? Rock that show, Mom!
ME: Point made, sir.
TIM: Yes. She could very well be setting herself up for a disappointment. She probably is. He's 93, for Heaven's sake. He's setting himself up also, truth be told. Your mother needs to have the risks laid out, quite clearly, before her. Write them down if you have to. Put it out there in black and white. There are problems with simply driving, interference/involvement with each of the children, either one of them may consider it "meddling" and to some extent it may feel that way. How do you juggle privacy and "I'm looking after you for your own good" and still make everyone feel adult? That would be tough, for BOTH of them. And then there is the very sensitive subject of death as the ultimate deal breaker...But they're both adults, they've both lost spouses and peers to death, they know these risks...
ME: Yea...there's that.
TIM: Deborah. That's the ultimate deal breaker for all of us, any day, any time. None of us have ANY guarantees. Not one. When was the last time you looked at your birth certificate?
ME: Yeesh, I don't know.
TIM: Well, I can guarantee you it did not come with an expiration date. We all have the inalienable right to happiness and your mother wants one last shot at that fluttery joy that comes with new romance. Are you going to take that from her? I don't think so. And as for disappointment, yes, she may experience it. In fact, she probably will, to some degree. But as her daughter, you're going to support her, and love her, and be a resource for her as she struggles through it.
ME: So what do I do?
TIM: Exactly what you're doing right now. You're going to listen. You're going to laugh when she laughs. You're going to tell her she's pretty when she gets dressed up, mainly because she is; I've seen your mother and she's sharp! And you're going to be with her when she gets down. You're just going to be present. All the way through. All. The. Way.
ME: I am, aren't I.
TIM: You will help her carry on...while she carries on.
ME: Wow. It shows that much?
TIM: Yes. Unfortunately, I know you THAT well. You are pondering something and that means I step into the picture. What is going through that relatively cluttered and yet strangely vacant head of yours?
ME: My widowed, 89-year-old mother is interested in someone and I think he's interested in her also.
TIM: How old is the gentleman? It's a gentleman, right?
ME: Yea. He's 93.
TIM: All right. Your first concern?
ME: First? Tim, there are so many concerns, I don't know how to get them to line up in an orderly fashion to number them. They're like crazed, rabid cats on acid...Jackie Chan cats...
TIM: Some one's been reading Laurie Notaro...
ME: You betcha buddy...We Idiot Girls had better stick together. But anyway, there are WAY too many issues to figure out on this one.
TIM: Well, I can't help you if you aren't willing to organize your thoughts...all I have to work with are your thoughts, Ms. Braniac...
ME: What happened to "Carry on" and "Make it work"
TIM: You stopped watching television...
ME: Sorry. My bad. Okay, first, I'm totally weirded out by "date talk" coming out of my mother's mouth.
TIM: Okay. Next.
ME: She's confused. She likes the "idea" of dating but not the "mechanics" of dating. I think she is remembering being swept off her feet by my big, theatrical Dad and I don't think this situation is even remotely like that so I'm worried that my Mom is setting herself up for a big emotional disappointment kind of thing.
TIM: Well, thank goodness.
ME: What?
TIM: You redeemed yourself. For a minute, after that first concern, I almost walked. I thought it was all about YOU. YOU being "weirded out" by your mother allowing herself the indulgence of date-speak. She should be allowed to let that fly without any judgment. How many 89-year-old women get that opportunity? Rock that show, Mom!
ME: Point made, sir.
TIM: Yes. She could very well be setting herself up for a disappointment. She probably is. He's 93, for Heaven's sake. He's setting himself up also, truth be told. Your mother needs to have the risks laid out, quite clearly, before her. Write them down if you have to. Put it out there in black and white. There are problems with simply driving, interference/involvement with each of the children, either one of them may consider it "meddling" and to some extent it may feel that way. How do you juggle privacy and "I'm looking after you for your own good" and still make everyone feel adult? That would be tough, for BOTH of them. And then there is the very sensitive subject of death as the ultimate deal breaker...But they're both adults, they've both lost spouses and peers to death, they know these risks...
ME: Yea...there's that.
TIM: Deborah. That's the ultimate deal breaker for all of us, any day, any time. None of us have ANY guarantees. Not one. When was the last time you looked at your birth certificate?
ME: Yeesh, I don't know.
TIM: Well, I can guarantee you it did not come with an expiration date. We all have the inalienable right to happiness and your mother wants one last shot at that fluttery joy that comes with new romance. Are you going to take that from her? I don't think so. And as for disappointment, yes, she may experience it. In fact, she probably will, to some degree. But as her daughter, you're going to support her, and love her, and be a resource for her as she struggles through it.
ME: So what do I do?
TIM: Exactly what you're doing right now. You're going to listen. You're going to laugh when she laughs. You're going to tell her she's pretty when she gets dressed up, mainly because she is; I've seen your mother and she's sharp! And you're going to be with her when she gets down. You're just going to be present. All the way through. All. The. Way.
ME: I am, aren't I.
TIM: You will help her carry on...while she carries on.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
TIM GUNN TALKS ME DOWN FROM A METAPHORICAL LEDGE...
ME: Aha! There it is. Look!
TIM: Where?
ME: There. See it now?
TIM: Let ME hold the magnifying mirror. Try shining the flashlight from this angle.
ME: See it?
TIM: Ohhhhh...there it is.
ME: I know, right? It's huge! The San Andreas Fault could hide in there.
TIM: Deborah, it's a line. Yes. But unless you go without moisturizer and go full on sunbathing for six months, no one is going to see it unless you duct tape a magnifying glass to your face with a cardboard arrow pointing to it!
ME: So you're admitting I have another line.
TIM: I don't think I can take another birthday with you.
ME: I don't think I can take another birthday with me.
TIM: Look, you're over 50. You have to choose between your butt or your face-that's the reality of it my dear. You're thin, you chose your butt. Your butt won. Your face lost. *pause* I've never seen eyeballs shake like that.
ME: Are you serious? That's it! You're going to say something like that to me and think it's OVER? I don't do GLIB! I may SPEAK glib. But I don't PROCESS glib. Oh ho ho ho no Mr. Gunn...no no no no no...I did NOT choose my butt. This is not a butt. This is a battering ram for bones trying to escape through my gluteus minimus. Jennifer Lopez has a butt. Girls with some meat have a butt. What I have is a lower back which somehow immediately becomes my thighs. This, I did NOT choose. This is a lose/lose situation, sir. I have an aging face and NO butt. It hurts to sit on a hard chair because of the bony nature of my lack of butt and it hurts to look in a mirror.
TIM: Has your husband said anything to you about the lines on your face?
ME: Really Tim? Really? My husband hasn't seen me in natural light in 5 years. Have you ever wondered why I have so many candles in my house?
TIM: Well, there does seem to be a lot of wax on the walls, now that you mention it.
ME: We are the mole people Tim. MOLE PEOPLE!!! It's not that I look especially alluring in candle light! Heck! Charles Manson looks alluring in candle light! I light candles because he can't see the fine details of the lines on my face!!! IT'S A STRATEGY!
TIM: *backing up* Okaaaayyyyyyy
ME: Get back here. You'd better talk me down from this ledge I'm getting ready to metaphorically jump off of buddy. I CANNOT afford a face lift. This had better come from within buddy boy and that is YOUR job!
TIM: I see. So, you just had a birthday and now you're having aging issues, am I getting that right?
ME: Yea Tim. Yea, aging issues. Bingo. Lines on face. Loose skin. Achy joints. The whole nine yards.
TIM: And you want to be young again?
ME: Well, I don't think it's possible to be young again. I just don't want people to judge me based on my age or appearance.
TIM: Oh! Like you do to yourself when you hold a magnifying mirror to your own face?
ME: *gulp* Is that judging?
TIM: Well, let's see. I'll hold the magnifying mirror and the flashlight. You grab the box of haircolor, the anti-wrinkle cream and the tape measure, and we'll recreate what you do in here all the time and then you tell me what you see.
ME: I'm the one doing the judging?
TIM: Looks that way to me. What would happen if your stopped judging yourself?
ME: I'd save money? Time? Sanity?
TIM: Those last two are mine.
ME: I'm the one doing the judging...
TIM: Now you're repeating yourself, old people do that.
ME: Stop it Tim.
TIM: Go outside with your husband. Have a picnic.
ME: Don't push it.
TIM: Where?
ME: There. See it now?
TIM: Let ME hold the magnifying mirror. Try shining the flashlight from this angle.
ME: See it?
TIM: Ohhhhh...there it is.
ME: I know, right? It's huge! The San Andreas Fault could hide in there.
TIM: Deborah, it's a line. Yes. But unless you go without moisturizer and go full on sunbathing for six months, no one is going to see it unless you duct tape a magnifying glass to your face with a cardboard arrow pointing to it!
ME: So you're admitting I have another line.
TIM: I don't think I can take another birthday with you.
ME: I don't think I can take another birthday with me.
TIM: Look, you're over 50. You have to choose between your butt or your face-that's the reality of it my dear. You're thin, you chose your butt. Your butt won. Your face lost. *pause* I've never seen eyeballs shake like that.
ME: Are you serious? That's it! You're going to say something like that to me and think it's OVER? I don't do GLIB! I may SPEAK glib. But I don't PROCESS glib. Oh ho ho ho no Mr. Gunn...no no no no no...I did NOT choose my butt. This is not a butt. This is a battering ram for bones trying to escape through my gluteus minimus. Jennifer Lopez has a butt. Girls with some meat have a butt. What I have is a lower back which somehow immediately becomes my thighs. This, I did NOT choose. This is a lose/lose situation, sir. I have an aging face and NO butt. It hurts to sit on a hard chair because of the bony nature of my lack of butt and it hurts to look in a mirror.
TIM: Has your husband said anything to you about the lines on your face?
ME: Really Tim? Really? My husband hasn't seen me in natural light in 5 years. Have you ever wondered why I have so many candles in my house?
TIM: Well, there does seem to be a lot of wax on the walls, now that you mention it.
ME: We are the mole people Tim. MOLE PEOPLE!!! It's not that I look especially alluring in candle light! Heck! Charles Manson looks alluring in candle light! I light candles because he can't see the fine details of the lines on my face!!! IT'S A STRATEGY!
TIM: *backing up* Okaaaayyyyyyy
ME: Get back here. You'd better talk me down from this ledge I'm getting ready to metaphorically jump off of buddy. I CANNOT afford a face lift. This had better come from within buddy boy and that is YOUR job!
TIM: I see. So, you just had a birthday and now you're having aging issues, am I getting that right?
ME: Yea Tim. Yea, aging issues. Bingo. Lines on face. Loose skin. Achy joints. The whole nine yards.
TIM: And you want to be young again?
ME: Well, I don't think it's possible to be young again. I just don't want people to judge me based on my age or appearance.
TIM: Oh! Like you do to yourself when you hold a magnifying mirror to your own face?
ME: *gulp* Is that judging?
TIM: Well, let's see. I'll hold the magnifying mirror and the flashlight. You grab the box of haircolor, the anti-wrinkle cream and the tape measure, and we'll recreate what you do in here all the time and then you tell me what you see.
ME: I'm the one doing the judging?
TIM: Looks that way to me. What would happen if your stopped judging yourself?
ME: I'd save money? Time? Sanity?
TIM: Those last two are mine.
ME: I'm the one doing the judging...
TIM: Now you're repeating yourself, old people do that.
ME: Stop it Tim.
TIM: Go outside with your husband. Have a picnic.
ME: Don't push it.
Friday, November 14, 2008
TIM GUNN TALKS MENTAL HEALTH
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!"
ME: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH....oh......
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!"
ME: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH....oh......
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