I don’t think I’m ready for this jelly. I don’t think I’m ready for this jelly. I don’t think I’m ready for this jelly. Is my body to bootilicious for ya baby?...
This is the song I sing as I check out what’s going on these days in booty/thighville. Or going down, rather… Is it possible for your ass to drip down your thigh? From the looks of all those GD dimples and ripples it’s hard to tell exactly what’s happening. But know this much. It aint pretty.
I can hear my mirror screaming “OMG! IT’S MELTING!” as I race to the shower, ripping my eyes away from the horror. (Clenching your butt cheeks or performing the Chicken dance naked in front of the mirror are both really HORRIBLE ideas. Just trust me on this one.)
But not for long bitches! Day 5 of P90X has been another success. The dogs are on board and being quite helpful and I won’t let my inner fat kid sabotage my efforts (not counting the cheese burger and fries she made me eat last night).
This year I wave adios to my twenties and my thigh dimples. (If that’s possible to do without having Lypo. And now I have another excellent item to add to my Christmas list for next year! Does anyone know if Santa does Lypo?)
So what if I can’t dress myself because my arms are frozen in pain? (I was trapped inside my shirt for only moments before JS came to my rescue.) This pain can’t possibly last forever can it?
Prada says, "Only 300 more to go! Move it fatty!"
"Seriously? When Tony says "Bring It," do you think he meant the
5# hand weights? Nope. Me neither."
"Can you cry with less noise? I'm trying to nap over here."