I weighed in this morning for a two pound loss from last week. Yay! Aaaaand . . . there was a number in that middle digit on my scale that I had not seen in a long, long, long time. Try, oh, five freaking years.
I never realized how much I like the number five. It looks so much more appealing than seeing a six followed by whatever number. 159. I kinda likey.
It also means I have just ten pounds to go before I meet my goal. Ten pounds! TEN! As in, I lose just a pound next week and I'll be in the single digits left to lose. Holla!
And it feels so good . . .
A progress pic for the day. Ignore the hair. Por favor!
Not to be vain, but I see a hot chick in that picture. Yuh-huh.
Just a few hours until the Testosterone Team and I load up and get the hell outta dodge. I managed to pack everything (well, everything clothes-and-shoes wise) for the boys and I in two suitcases and one oversized diaper bag. I thought - still think - that was pretty awesome. Especially considering the fact that I only brought THREE (yes, THREE) pairs of shoes for myself. Hubs wasn't too impressed. "Can't you just take a few things and do laundry?" Boy, does this man know the way to a gal's heart. I mean, that's exactly what a woman wants to do when she's on a quasi-vacation. I'm about to orgasm at the sheer thought of it. Laundry! Laundry! Yes, yes, yes! Maybe if I'm lucky enough he'll suggest we take our own dishes when we go to Vegas so that I can wash them in the hotel bathroom sink and scrape little food pieces off with my fingernails. *Rolls eyes* Men . . .
My goal is to come back from this FAKE-ation two pounds lighter. I'd be happy with maintaining. I know my grandmother feels that old lady duty to fatten anyone up the minute they walk through the door. Take mercy on me, Grams, I haven't had fried food in months!
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