You know what a cold hard dose of reality is?  When you look at the mirror and realize that you’ve lived more than half of your life.  They call it middle-age, the golden years, retirement, etc.  But the truth is, on most days it should be called the Life’s a Bitch years.

When did the Woodstock Generation turn into the Fiber Generation?!  Inside the deep recesses of my brain, I’m still putting flowers in my hair and doing the boogaloo.  Or wearing spandex and doing the hustle.  (Yeah, I liked disco.  What of it?) In four-inch heels.  Until 2 a.m.  And still going to work the next morning.   (If I tried that now, I would be on life support by midnight.)

We used to burn our bras. Now we would be love to be the proud owner of an undergarment with a hydraulic lift.

I looked in the mirror recently and the whole aging thing hit me like a ton of bricks.  When did my hobby go from dancing to googling terminal diseases?  Discussions about hot sex have now been replaced with discussions about cholesterol and blood pressure.  (I remember a time when a negative pregnancy test made for a fantastic day.  Now a cause for celebration is when my colonoscopy, CT-scan and blood work come back normal.)

So why Rantopolis?  If you haven’t gotten the message from the previous paragraphs, it’s because I have a lot to rant about. Frankly, I think all of us who are 50-plus, do!

Life, work, sagging skin, greyer hair, discontinued products, tiny dots of mold that grow in the corner of the shower, the guy from college who said he would call me still hasn’t .  Dude…there is no statute of limitations on that.  (Yeah, I use the word dude.  My body may be aging, but I’m still trying to fake being hip. )

Anyway, you get the idea.  Generally anything and everything that intersects with me and my attitude at any given moment is fair game.

So with that, I welcome you to Rantopolis.


P.S.  Eating and drinking is not recommended during your visit because the Heimlich maneuver is not WiFi enabled.