I have hot guy legs, soccer player tree trunk legs filled with the promise of power, provided you only look to just above the knee. Shortly after that, my leg resumes its fat-ass like flabbiness, but with continued effort, that hotness will continue to stretch up my thighs.
ten more pounds before I hit the next weight loss goal, but I need to buckle down, because I need to hit this goal by Halloween, when I leave for Arizona. My weight will not start with a three when I am dancing with my sister at her wedding.
Which reminds me, I need to get my hotel(s) booked. I think I'm staying near their house for the first part of the week, and then moving to the hotel in Gilbert where they are staying the night of the wedding. I need to find out which highway will be the least pain in the ass, getting to Sky Harbor at 5am on a Monday morning. Why did I choose to fly out with all of business-class America?