For My Half Namesake

She's the J in RJP. Yeah - Dad accounts for most of the R and the J...But Mom had a lot to do with the J.

And she's so not like me. She's so pure. She's so loving. She's so good. (I'm some of those...Just not as much.)

I wish every homeless or abused or just not quite treated right kid could have a mom like my mom. She got us through so much. She got us through just being kids, through dad being sick, through poverty (maybe extreme...but not), through divorce, through death...Through it all. She never waivered, never stumbled, never even freakin wobbled.

And the cutest thing is? She's TEENY. She's 4 foot 9 at MOST. Maaaybe 100 lbs on a fat day. I don't know why that makes her so much mightier...But it does.

You all know I've been sick the last week or so. She's called me EVERY DAY. To suggest this or that. Or just listen as I burst into tears because I puked. Or tell me about the cute thing Niece H did. Or the adorable way Niece S looked at her.

So - That's it...My mother is the best human being on the face of the planet Earth. We should all strive to be as good as her. Nothing feels as good as a big, big hug from that little, bitty body. No one loves as good as she loves. She's got it down pat.

LOVE YOU MOMMY!!!

Oh Brother...Where Fart Thou?

So I was thinking today about how I proclaim to not be a girly-girl. And I think a lot of it has come about because growing up with a brother made me quite comfortable with things like burps, poop, farts, spit, and making noises with your arm pit.

Then I began thinking about the pieces of my life I would have missed had I not had a brother.

• Like the time when I was so little that I couldn't even reach the faucet so I asked him for a drink of water. And he thought it would be funny to put Tabasco in the water. And then laughing uncontrollably when my childlike solution to getting the hot feeling out of my mouth was to drink more.
• Like the time he and cousin S took me to my grandfather's carpentry shop and put my hand in the vise and closed it just until I couldn't escape and told me they'd close it all the way if I tattled (about whatever it was they had done).
• Like similar time he and cousin S put me in that giant treasure chest looking thingy, closed the lid and told me they'd lock it if I tattled (about whatever it was they had done).
• Like they time he thought it would be a great idea if I sat on his lap controlling the gas on the go cart while he controlled the steering and we promptly crashed it straight into the side of my grandfather's garage.
• Like they time we were sitting in the willow tree and I asked him what that phrase in "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" meant - "You don't spit into the wind" and he told me to try it and I did.
• Like the time he convinced me it would be a GREAT Christmas gift for Mom and Dad to take all those little sample bottles of men's AND women's fragrance (Minie worked the cosmetics counter so we had lots) and dump them all in our plastic duck and shake them all together and painstakingly pour the concoction back into the bottles. And how Christmas morning everyone but me thought it was a terrific joke.
• Like the time he decided to run out into the front yard to tell his version of the story to Mom BEFORE I could tell mine and I followed and stuck my hand out to catch the front storm door as he flew out. And then standing there with my arm stuck through the glass. Glad to report no injury. But I got in trouble for breaking the door.
• Like the time I was DYING for a Barry Manilow album for Christmas and he wrapped up my Dad's Herb Alpert and the Tiajuana Brass album and lovingly presented to me on Christmas morning.
• Like the time Mom & Dad's friend, B, was spending the night and sleeping in my brother's room. And he peed in a cup (a yellow cup of course...making it more difficult to detect the pee) and left it on the sink in his bathroom to see if B would injest it or not. I know...This one is MOST horrific. And I don't remember the outcome. I think I blocked it.

Ahhh...The fond memories. So I look back and consider what would I have had if I didn't have a brother? And decide - A chance at sanity...That's what!!

Hey Little Girl....Want A Benadryl?...........

So you all know about my horrendous ear ache. It turned out to be the sinus/ear infection combo meal #2.

The nurse told me she'd get the doc in as soon as possible...Cause my eyes looked so weak....But that my lipstick was hot.

Got some good meds. Took first decongestant. It was the size of Rhode Island...But I took it. And it got me to wondering..............

So - Two nights in a row, I begged 3 different pharmacists for SOMETHING....ANYTHING...to ease the pain. Decongestant? Antihistamine? Dynamite? Sulfuric acid? Don't care...Just help me. Two different decongestant/antimistamines, a nose spray, one ear drop, 17 bazillion ibuprophen later...NOTHING. Still in excrutiating pain.

Get to doc today, and after falling asleep on the exam table, get my prescriptions. Prescription nose spray, prescription decongestant, and antibiotic. Take/spray first round....BETTER. Within 30 minutes BETTER. Not great...not cured...but sooooooooooooooooo much better.

So what I'm wondering is....Are there REALLY that many people pacing, scratching their heads, biting their fingernails, and chewing on pencils saying "Decongestants! Decongestants! Very strong decongestants!! GOTTA HAVE 'EM NOW!!" Similar to how in college we used to say "Need a bag....Need a bag...Need a bag!!" Or how the hooker on Stewart Avenue says "Hey buddy...This can be yours for a rock."?????

It must be some giant scheme dreamt up by the drug companies....And Republicans. I coulda felt better three days ago!!!

Random Conversations In My Head

R - Good god this ear ache hurts...Surely to god it and that incessant dog whistle will be gone soon.
T - Doctor? I don't need no stinkin' doctor!!
R - Good god this ear ache hurts.....Doctor will surely take me in today.
Dr's Office - We're sorry, Ms T. Two days.
T - TWO DAYS?!?!?
T - OK - Two days...Let's tough this out. Go to pharmicist. Pharmicst - Sorry ma'am...You've done all you can do without antibiotics. R - But antibiotics are TWO DAYS away!! Please, help!! Please, Please!!!
R - Tough it out. Ibuprophen....Sudafed Sinus...Some odd Homeopathic Eardrops. Good to go.
R - GOOD GOD THIS HURTS!! Please, my darlin sister, please call your best friend the Pharmicist. Dad Gummit!!!! Not home! Please....Let this hell stop. Jack Kervorkian?!?!?
T - Shuddup...Doesn't hurt...Not sick.
R- This f-in HURTS!!!!!!!!!!!!
T - Shuddup...Doesn't hurt.
R - Sweet Jesus Christ...Let this hell end. I'm a virgin, never smoked pot, never did coke...Please, let this hell end. OOOOOWWWWWW!!!!!!!
T - Pretty sure I'm giving birth through my aural canal....................
T - Is that a eustation tube in your pocket/on the floor - or are you happy to see me???

Things

I'm not big on 'things'. My car is crap, my TV is 19 inch, my cd player is circa 1990, and don't even ask about my speakers. But my favorite 'thing' in the whole entire world is my grandmother's antique salt jar. It is clear with a verticle stripe pattern and says, simply, "SALT". If the place were to be burning down, the one thing I'd be holding shivering naked amidst the firemen is my salt jar.

I cannot quite pinpoint just what it means to me. But it mostly brings back memories of Minie's kitchen. That's right...Minie. Her name was Wilmina and my brother couldn't quite pronounce that. Minie just oozed with love for us. My dad was an only child, so the three of us were her only grandchildren. And make that just two for the first seven years of my life.

The salt jar lived beneath her stove top, which was built into the cabinetry. It stayed on a shelf that pulled out on hinges. It now lives on my faux marble cabinet top next to the knives and the pepper grinder.

She'd pull it out when frying up an amazing batch of chicken, putting a roast in for Sunday dinner, or making the ever sacred....Noodles. Not a lot of people know about noodles. It has something to do with midwest farm hand cooking and Germanic relatives. (Although I'm not even sure I've got any of these.) In the south I suppose you'd call them dumplins, in the northeast pasta. And I'm pretty sure they just don't exist west of the Rockies. But noodles are basically flour, egg, milk and salt (from the salt jar) kneaded together into a ball..Rolled out very thin..And cut into thin strips. Then, you dunk them into some yummy chicken or turkey stock..And VOILA...NOODLES.

My cousins beg me for them every Thanksgiving and Christmas. (My cousins from my mom's side know noodles too...Remember? I don't have any on my dad's side.) And every Thanksgiving and Christmas...I produce them.

And every Thanksgiving and Christmas I think about Minie and how very much she loved us. And how she made plain rolls and cinnimon rolls for every nice dinner. And how she always made a chocoloate meringue pie for my brother. How she made 'floppy bacon' for me and 'crispy bacon' for my brother. And how she let me play with the sugar in the sugar bowl...and get it all over the table. And how she would play Old Maid and Pig with us for hours....And was always the Old Maid or the Pig. How she submitted to my grandfather's tyrannical ruling of a household.

She taught us well. She taught us self sacrifice for others. She taught us how joyous it is do to something nice for someone else. She taught us to enjoy the simple things. She taught us love.

So, I guess that's why my favorite 'thing' on the whole entire planet is my beloved Minie's salt jar. Cause it is just so infused with love that it has become something different altogether. Please bury me with it. Oh yeah - I want to be creamated and glass doesn't burn. Oh well, you guys figure it out.

Brushes With Greatness

(Dates are approximate due to the destruction of several brain cells over the years.)

1971 - Memorial Stadium - Kansas City, MO
First off, yes, I am old enough to remember pre-Arrowhead Stadium. But anyway, Chiefs vs Jets and we're in THE first row...In folding chairs. It was during that time when Joe Willy was out with a broken leg. But Joe Willy is still there, and he is going to do a lap around the field on crutches. Which means he'll go right by us. He comes out sporting his fablous full length white some kinda fur coat, on crutches, casted leg stuck out and starts the lap. Lady in seat directly behind me starts going WILD. Joe! Joe! Joe!...Now, my dad knew a football fan when he saw one..So he kindly scooped me onto his lap and let bonkers (and I now realize very drunk) lady have my seat for Joe Willy's trip by...Within 2 feet of us.

1986 - Manhattan
T - Look, xbf J...It is that yeller guy!
J - Who?
T - That yeller guy...You know....The comedian...The one who yells.
J - Oh...You're right. Gilbert Gottfried...That is him.
T - I can't stand him. He yells too much.
J - Yeah...But he's famous...And we've now seen him.

1986 - Manhattan....Same trip
T - Look, xbf J.....Sid....Sid....Sid...Sid Someone.
J - Vicious? Sid Vicious? Where is Sid Vicious?!?!
T - Nooooooooo....The old Sid...The comedian.
J - Oh....Sid Charisse.
T - No - Sid Caesar. Sid Charisse is a skater...Or a dancer...or something.
J - Pretty sure it is Sid Charisse.
T - It is Sid Caesar. But whichever...He sucks too.
J - But he's famous.
T - And we've now seen him.

1994 - Delta Flight from Kansas City to Atlanta
Standing by...hoo hoo...I get first class. Aisle...2C. Nice gentleman takes window seat beside me. I'm a polite flier...So I smile and nod. He smiles and nods. We both get drinks. He gets out paper...I get out book.

A(nonymous) - You live in Kansas City?
T - No - Atlanta. And you?
A - Kansas City.
T & A (heehee) - Are we going for business or pleasure? Where do respective families live? How is Atlanta? We both like the weather there...Yadda.

Meal comes (again...I remember meals)...Meal goes. Nice flight. Exiting flight:

T - You have a nice time in Atlanta!
A - And you...Welcome back home. Drive safe.

How proud am I that I made it through an entire two hour flight with this man and resisted the urge to say or even acknowldge, "Tom Watson! You're Tom Watson! Tom...Can I have your autograph??? Here..On this cloth Delta napkin!!"

1996 - Another Delta Flight - Atlanta/New York
Please god....Please don't make me get on this plane. It isn't possible they're making me make my fourth day trip to New York in five days...Is it? Please don't make me get on this plane.

On plane...Middle seat. Hip looking, muscle bound guy in window seat. Hip looking, grungy dude in black in aisle. Children from hell in row behind...And mother who doesn't discipline child. Again being a polite traveler...I generally don't talk. But this trip was different. Hip looking, muscle bound guy and I hit it off...And bond over the ill behaved children. He's in security. And guy in aisle is, apparently his acquaintance. They're headed to NYC for an MTV Unplugged.

T - Huh? MTV Unplugged? What kind of security are you in???

HLMBG (see above) - Well....I'm Tori Amos's body guard. And that guy there is her guitarist. Tori is upfront with her b/f. We can't all sit in the same cabin.

So we talk...And talk...And talk...And I end up with free tickets to Tori's show the next day in Atlanta. And spend the next day with the body guard tooling around Atlanta. And a night in the Buckhead Ritz Carlton.

2004 - LaGuardia Airport
Furf - Hey..Trix...Look at the counter. That's Ty Pennington.
T - Nooo. It isn't.
Furf - It is. Trust me. His mom is a children's therapist..And we take my kid to her. I've seen pictures. I know Ty when I see him.
T - Noooo. It isn't.
Furf - Trust me..It is.

It is Ty! It is! It is! But he's so little. And so not tough looking. But he's sitting down 4 seats from me! With no one between. Shall I approach? Oh dammit...He took out his book and is buried in it. That is sign to stay away.

Boarding plane:

T - OK, Furf and two other guys with me. You must promise that if Ty sits next to you? We switch!
All Three -- You Bet, Trix!

On flight....On before Ty. Two friends in front of me...Furf behind. Ty walks down the aisle past my seat. Ok - 3 Chances gone..One left that he might sit by Furf. Look at Furf...who gives me the crossed fingers sign.

DAMMIT....He's headed for the back of the bus (plane). Sigh....


2005 - Atlanta GA - Home - Saturday Night
Phone rings.

B - Hey, it's your Bro. I'm doing a Wizard's game, and there's someone here you might know.
T - Kkkkkkkkkkkk.
B - He's kinda famous. And he's from Cali. And he knows a lot about soccer.
T - Kkkkkkkk.
B - He's one of your favorites!
T - Kkkkkkkk.
B - Still not getting it? Here....Let me have him say hi.
T - Hey T...This is Ethan - From Survivor.

ETHAN from SURVIVOR?!?!? 'Scuse me while I pee my pants...........!!!!

Care to share? How 'bout yours?

Ever So Clever

At Chinese place after presented with that bowl of crunchy things that go in your soup:

T - So, these things taste like absolutely nothing. Yet, we are absolutely compelled to eat them.
B - And they're not even the good ones that look like Fritos.
T - Right - At least those are greasy. These aren't even salty like pretzels.
B - But when they plop this bowl of chipped up cardboard in front of me, all my brain says "Oh goody! Something to chew on!"

===========================================

While at the "No Right Turn Without A Green Arrow":

B - OK - Screw this, I'm going through.
T - Don't worry. People do it all the time.
T - I, however, never do it.
T - Instead? I sit and look smug while feeling far superior to everyone else.
B - THAT......will get you far.

===========================================

Random:

L - So I'm in a meeting today...
L - And I don't remember what we were talking about...Maybe a specific city.
L - And Flaming Gay Queen says -- "Well as my ex-wife always said..."
L - And all I can think is....EX-WIFE?!?!??!
T - HOLY SMOKES! Please tell me you just made that up!
L - If I'm lyin'? I'm dyin'!
T - So what you're telling me is....
T - That there exists on this planet...Or, at least did at one time, a female who actually let herself believe...That that might be STRAIGHT????"
L - I'm just tellin' ya what he said..................

Holy Smokes....................

The Perfect VDay Reminder....A Continuation

It is VDay and I'm single...So I give myself permission to wax sappy and gush a bit.

Called the nieces to make sure they got their gifts. And H and I play the game again. You know how it goes:

T - I love you more than rainbows.
H - I love you more than everything in the world together.
T - Oh, H, you win!!
H - What, Aunt T?
T - You win.
H - What do you mean - I win?
T - You win! You did the best "I love you"....So you win.
H (Now for the admonition) - Aunt Trixie, it isn't a race. There's no winning. It's just love.

So, I stand dumbfounded, humbled, chastised, corrected, and reminded by a four year old. You're so right, H. It is just love and there is no winning. Just having it is more than enough.

She's going to be something amazing someday.....She already is.

I Love You More Than

On the phone with the most adorable 4 year old niece in the world, H, the other day. Playing the game we always play to wrap up the phone call. Sometimes she's clever...Sometimes she just looks around the room and names stuff. It went something like this:

T - I love you more than marshmallows.
H - I love you more than pickles.
T - I love you more than Snickers Bars.
H - I love you more than chair. (Hilarious, H......)
T - I love you more than puppies.
H - I love you more than Mommy. (I had to interrupt here and explain that we can't include people...Because she can love me the same as Mommy, but not more than Mommy.)
T - I love you more than the stars.
H - I love you more than......love!

Wow, H, You Win!!!

And Here I Thought I Was Average.....

A friend unveiled recently that she thinks I have an unnatural obsession with my boobs. I'm not sure what is unnatural about it...Because isn't that like telling a guy he is unnaturally obsessed with his johnson? And isn't the the answer: "Well......YEEEAAAH."?

Said friend was with me on a boob obsessed trip to swanky mall for a strapless bra. See, I had my *ouch*-th birthday coming up and I was going to spend it in Vegas...With a bunch of girls. Which means potential for boys. Which means market the twins.

I've had the twins since twelve...And they've pretty much been this size the whole time. Not huge, but definitely not small. And on a 90 lb 12 year old, pretty whopping enormous. (That's a guess...I have no idea how much I weighed when I was 12.) So - I've been in supportive undergarments now for 28 years. Those one piece small bands of paper thin stretchy material that dinky girls wear worked maybe until maybe 15. Haven't worn a strapless top/dress/anything since.

But I'm hitting 40...Time to celebrate right? Let's bring out the strapless booby tops.

So there's this store in swanky mall that is endorsed by the annoying female half of the morning show on the beebop station. (I almost never listen...But have often enough to catch her endorsement.) Apparently these ladies know something about boobs and bras that your normal department store and Victoria's Secret do not. Friends L and K have been, and purchased, and highly approve.

So off to swanky mall for a fabulous, strapless bra. It is kind of a blur..But I'll attempt to reconstruct the story.

I am told by the girl behind the counter that I must wait for The Fitter. There is only one and she is with another customer. Okey doke...I'll browse. The Fitter becomes free and perkily engages me. I don't remember her name...But I swear it must have been Dixie or Bitsy or something similar. So Dixie/Bitsy takes me into the fitting room calling me Sugar at every chance, has me strip nekkid from the waist up (thank god I'm one of the least modest people on the planet), and proceeds to size me up. But she doesn't touch me...Or measure me with anything...She just looks at me, cocks her head this way and that, has me turn to the side, and back to the front, and perks out of the dressing room to retrieve the armor.

Dixie/Bitsy brings one back and I am thinking: HOLY HELL....Dolly Parton could wear that thing. But, alas, it seems it is too small. So she heads back out. Brings back another that leaves my mouth gaping open, and here we go with actually donning the thing.

And that, you would not believe. It takes the two of us to get into it. So first she instructs me that I must bend over so the girls are hanging as vertically as possible. Now mind you, I can pass the pencil test on a really cold day, but she insists we must bend. Then, I position each girl in place separately...Stand back up while holding the cups in place...While she wrangles seven feet of really tight elastic to get hooked. Little voice in head is saying: "How am I going to do this on my own. Must I ask friend, B, if she can help everytime I wear it?"

Now Dixie/Bitsy begins the instructional portion of the fitting. And I'm a bit concerned with a bra that needs instructions. She comes around in front of me and reaches inside right cup. "Oh Sugar....All your cleavage is in your armpits!" Um - What does THAT mean??? So she reaches all the way to my back and pulls every bit of skin into the cup. And does the same with left girl.

Dixie/Bitsy points out the latex strips around the top band that make it stick to your skin when combined with body heat. And she tells me that American women wear their bras much too loose. Apparently so....Because this thing is squeezing me like a boa constrictor.

Finally, I ask the question. "What size is this, anyway?" And her happy ass answers, "Thirty-two E." "Wait - What?" "Yes Sugar, you're petite but quite full. You're a 32E." Stunned silence....Looks of confusion. And through my head is running: "First off...I don't think anything on me...Even my waist...Is 32. And - E?? E???? as in E-nourmous? E-xtreme? E-lephant?"

Dixie/Bitsy says I look quite stunning in all my 32E glory...And that this is just the one for me. Well, she must be right...Because she is the professional. And she could size me up just by looking at me. And she knows that trick to turn back fat into boob.

So I somewhat stumble to the checkout, and purchase my $65, 32E, strapless bra.

I've not worn it once. I'll forever remain 36C in my head.

Ash Wednesday = Chinese New Year

Spiffin' things up a bit around here. Added some links to some cool friends and seemingly cool strangers. And put that cool counter thingy on...I'll leave it a mystery as to what I started the counter at.

I hardly ever make it home in time for the national news, but luckily today Peter Jennings let me know I risk losing my job should I blog wrecklessly. I will try to heed Peter's advice. I still need the job for now. And I shall make a point to get home to watch the national news. I love Peter. Surely he cannot be as old as he is....But he began with ABC News the year I was born.

Did you know today is both Chinese New Year and Ash Wednesday? What happens with Christians in China? Ash Wednesday is the day Lent begins. Lent lasts for six and a half weeks. During Lent you're supposed to relinquish something you really love. Problem -- Chinese New Year lasts for fifteen days. They celebrate by doing fireworks shows, eating like potbellied pigs, and ends with a Lantern Festival. One can only assume drinking is also involved. So for those fifteen days Chinese Christians are forced to still celebrate but give up something they love but can do without. Like...What? Tater Tots? Snow Angels? Rubbing your eyes when you're really, really tired? Maybe singing Prince's Darling Nikki as loud as you can in the shower. (And was she using the magazine as an instrument? Or reading material? I've always wondered.....)

Wasted Away Again In Johnny Walkerville

I have a friend who is tragically, miserably, disgustingly, and I'm afraid unstoppably an alcoholic. And I don't mean "Oh my goodness...Three glasses of wine a night!" alcoholic. I mean "Can you please go for one hour without drinking?" "No - I don't think so." alcoholic. Aside from Nick Cage in Leaving Las Vegas; I've never seen anything like it. It simultaneously disgusts me and rips at my heartstrings.

I thought he drank like people who drink drink. But now I realize, he's been way past the edge for a long time. He lost his job here in my fine city and moved back to infamous small town, but here unnamed, Texas and moved in with his mother. He's in his late 40s. That's ok...We all come upon hard times and have to do these things. But that was two years ago. And he's been drinking Johnny Walker Black 24x7 ever since.

I understand not wanting to say "I'll never drink again." I like my cocktails...Anyone who knows me will tell you that. But I have to think when they say "You've got 2-3 years left."....I'd hang it up in a second.

This is the person who used to travel more than anyone I knew, drove to rural destinations to sit and watch trains because they were his passion, knew everything about the latest happenings in the Democratic Party, knew what Morrisey's latest gallivants were, and could spit out a witty zinger that would put you in the floor in a second. That person - Is gone. Johnny Walker has taken him away. And none of us know how to get Johnny to move out, and L to move back in.

2-3 years. He says he's eased up on the juice, but I don't believe him. He sounded wasted last time I talked to him. They've got him on 12 different medications...One that's supposed to help ease the drinking. Isn't working.

I've tried being nice, I've tried being mean. I know all the rhetoric...I can't say anything to make it different. And he has to decide for himself. But does that mean I should stop trying?

I told him yesterday that if we were having this same conversation in a month, I'd cut him off. And I told him he might as well put a 45 in his mouth, cause it'd be quicker. And I asked him if he wanted his mother to have to put him in a nursing home...Because she won't be able to take care of him. I asked him if it would help if I broke down and cried...Cause I can do that too. Obviously, yesterday was one of the more 'being mean' days.

What if I AM the one who has that one little thing to say that will light some spark in his head? I can't just give up on a human life....Can I?

Cooooooooooooooomfy Clothes

Ask my brother about me and my comfy (as in 'comfortable') clothes. I'm big on them and he gets quite a kick out of it. If I speak to him after 5pm (which I generally do), he always asks if I'm in my comfy clothes yet.

If you find me past, say, 7pm central - 8 eastern (and that's stretching it)...I'm in them. Mornings - No question. 10pm and watching the news? - Comfy clothes. I spend most of my holidays at home IN comfy clothes. It causes a problem with my friend, L. You see...I like drinks right after work. She prefers to go home, rest up, and go back out. Well - I guess I could go out after 8p if the establishment would be ok with my leopard print jammies.

9-5 normal clothes are just fiiine. And I can do anything..Suits - Yep. Skirts and blouses - Works. Dress pants - OK. Jeans/sweaters - I can do that. Hit 8pm...COMFY.

Which means...Strip off whatever you have on...As you walk in the door. Shirt here, bra there, boots in the corner, jeans on the couch. And head for the big, giant CJ's sweatshirt and nothing else. Or - Leopard print jammies mentioned above? (Pants and spaghetti strap tank.) What could be better?? Old Navy grey pants and shirt with some inane logo? YUUUUUUUP - Bring It On! The possibilities are endless.

Nothing constrictive. Nothing that holds anything in...Or might make the slightest dent in my skin. It is the next best thing to naked. (Which I also love... But we'll go over that later.)

COM-FY. Comfy clothes...That's part of Trixie. Mmmmm -- In the leopard print jammies now...