Anyone over 30 in here? Ill tell you how an age management clinic made me 25 again.

[belgareth]

By extending the same

argument, you could round my age to 100. Don't let a silly number bother you. It doesn't make all that much

difference if you take care of yourself.

[gaf]

Don't let a

silly number bother you. It doesn't make all that much difference if you take care of

yourself.

Exactly.

I can still shake my booty and feed myself without a straw so I'm

happy!

[Bruce]

I think I hit my peak physically in

my early 50s. I'm 57 now and still feeling great, but not quite as strong as when I was a few years ago. Anyway,

when I was in my 40s I didn't consider myself any older (or more mature probably) than anyone of any age I might

have run into. Lots of exercise, good food, stuff like that helps.

[Chai Tea]

Over 30? What's 30, I forget.

. .?

Ditto about numbers. I am just as confused and fascinated as I was at 20, but I'm having a lot more

absolute pleasure being it.

I get younger as I get older in numbers. I suspect, also, that this is

immaturity out of the closet.

But if I hang out with anyone, it's with middle aged juvenile delinquents

who like a good laugh, don't feel guilty about much anymore, don't "communicate our feelings," don't blame our

parents for anything, think the Beatles' Let It Be is a church hymn, live for double entendres [but don't have a

clue what "entendre" is], share stupid porn phone downloads, are highly intelligent but committed to hiding it in

order to pass at bowling alleys and taverns, have children and stepchildren who fail to launch, enjoy sex fully, are

loyal, wear seatbelts, don't take themselves too seriously, no longer have a clue about who to vote fore, and a

bunch of other stuff I can't remember right now. . .

As for me, I'm stuck in a Fellini satire [the old

Kirosawa] and often simply stare into space for a moment wondering if anyone is about to yell "cut." They never

do.

Oh, and Our Wonderful House is called: How I Came to Live In an Archeological Dig. It's wonderfully

alive with all the people I love who have danced in my kitchen, left hidden gifts, worked their art, threw a nerf

brick at an NFL referee, drank too much beer or whisky, not drank enough beer or whisky, searched for that scrap of

paper with my screen names and passwords for sites I don't remember being on, are paranoid that someone will

discover that the screen names are me, sang songs, hugged seriously, butt bumped, picked up the phone and spent

150$US buying the Flower Power CD collection during an infomercial, watched the cat barf up a hairball during

breakfast coffee, laughed until we cried all summer at the next door dog going dog-wild wanting to taste sticks,

shoes, beer, peanut butter, bananas, your cell phone, watched 347 documentaries on the History channel on Hitler, or

done 87 loads of laundry until we had to buy a new dryer [hi, Mom!].

And, note I didn't even mention the

sex. That would just be TMI.

For this purely amazing life I gave up living in Houston and Atlanta where

there is great food and great music. And moved to Erie PA.

Oh, sorry. . .just a moment of reverie. I

don't seriously think any soul is interested in hearing anything about me. But I'm a good listener until it comes

to descriptions of physical ailments, stories about dogs or grandchildren, cookie recipes, or the latest colonoscopy

preparation procedures.

See what you have to look forward to? Did I mention the sex is

great?

[idesign]

You don't want to hear about my

corny corns? I thought you'd be a good member here....

I do like your emphasis on sex and beer.

Chuckle...

I'm stuck between an "8 1/2" cafe and a "Ran" mask. Cut, cut... CUT! But wait, open your eyes and there are

cherry blossoms covering your path.

Don't be fooled anyone, 50 is the new 50, and there's no archaeologically

better place to be.