Your house is an ego killer. Your lifestyle is an ego killer. Your personal power and success are ego killers. GAH. I just moved to a new home in Eugenge, five bedrooms, all mine, bought and paid for. I travel the world as an adventure athlete. Forty seven years as a body builder. I am tired to death of two things: that this plus all else that recommends me shrivels the tiny penis of the men on line, and that those legitimate, hard-won accomplishments get me attacks and derision from itty bitty penises dressed up as adult males. I have a guy in my life now who is intrigued, but still a touch put off- but he has learned that you do not ever ever ever ever EVER tell me that it’s time to come home from a trip to Borneo because of a bad tummy, or "you don’t need to be doing that any more." Really? Just because YOU don’t climb mountains, kayak oceans, river raft the Nile and ride horses in the world’s wild spaces doesn’t mean that I need to quit. Honestly. At this point, people wonder why I have utterly lost interest. I will not hide who I am under a barrel and simper about a busted nail when I can haul, manuever and safely store huge pieces of furniture in my house solo at 68. Because, frankly, there’s nobody around to help. I love this life. I love being strong and accomplished. I love having a beauty queen body at 68. If that intimidates guys that I can do 100 men’s pushups (every other day, like clockwork) then Hit. The. Fucking. Gym, Billybob. And put the dead fish and beer down on the way out the door. Just saying. Thanks for calling it out, Carlyn.