Day 59: Premenopausal-Aspie-Freak-Prophet’s List of People Types

                                                              You Are Entering the Danger Zone!

I just have to say, if you read the title for this post, and are still interested enough to read, I think You are Totally Awesome! But just remember the source of the compliment. Always remember the source!

Premenopausal-Aspie-Freak-Prophet—that’s how I felt yesterday. Not sure if you picked up on that energy, or not.

No one told me there’d be days like these.

Click to see where image was found

Yes, I figured out a lot by watching my own parents and people on television, but didn’t know the heart of mood swings, until my early forties. I feel like I’m back in the pubescent period of discovering aspects of myself that would be better off buried one hundred feet underground, beneath a thousand-pound golden statue of a fierce, scary creature that everyone believes is possessed, but in actuality is a Greek God that turns into a handsome mortal warrior and visits me with passionate kisses at night…I digress.

Today is a dip-cubes-of-dark-chocolate-into-a-mug-of-hot-chocolate day.  Yum! Gone are the past few days of dieting. Dieting at certain times of the month is just plain stupidity.

Yesterday, I detoxed something terrible—emotionally and physically. The rings of sweat under the pits of my shirt were simply frightening. (That’s that whole over-sharing Asperger’s part of me that you will either find endearing or offensive.) One time, a couple years ago, I shared on Twitter that I stunk so badly my dog was licking my armpits. It was true.

No animal licked my armpits yesterday, but if given the right circumstances, who knows.

Yesterday, tears came out of me from nowhere, and I was immobilized with dread and fear. I thought for certain my time had come—that time we all as mortals must face. I thought the Gods were escorting me out of here. Yet, here I am! Still blogging. Aren’t you relieved?

Yesterday was not a good writing day. Maybe it had something to do with my literal stinky mood. My first post didn’t resonate with me, and left me all antsy and misunderstood. I do this weird thing, where if my home page of my blog doesn’t vibrate with beneficial energy, I can’t stand it, and I obsess. Dirty D’s, Don’t You Weep, didn’t do anything for me. Think of a creep of a boyfriend/girlfriend latched to your arm that you want to shake off.

Thus, I took away the title of Day 58 from the post. Then, OF COURSE, I felt guilty, like I was hurting the post’s feelings. Got that whole personification thing going on big time. I fretted about the letter D’s feelings. Felt like I’d honored him, put him in the spotlight, and then yanked away his stardom. Bad, me! And then I worried about what my blog readers would interpret by my rash behavior. Worries which led me to write another post; only Melancholic Little Me was back, and coming off of a much-needed chocolate high, and Little Me shared about a God experience, ‘cause that’s what she does when she is sad.

But sharing about God experiences in the past has always, without fail, scared people out of my life. Unless God is used in the context of OMG! Which is a highly, socially acceptable saying that has no actual connection to a higher power source: kind of like a nightlight with a broken bulb plugged into a socket. It’s there—that OMG!—but doesn’t light up or call attention to itself.

It’s so fun being ME! (Gagging myself with my finger.)

I got all wigged-out last night, about taking the title of Day 58 off of one post and applying it to another, that I delved into Escape-Ville. That’s a far away land I plunge into feet first to escape myself.

In Escape-Ville, I did what all citizens of Escape-Ville do: I researched.

Click to see source of image

No one can figure me out, professionals and spouse included, so I rely on Google-God for the answers. He is the King of Escape-Ville. His Queen is a collaboration of non-fiction books, in all forms. And I imagine the court and prince and princesses are documentaries, newspapers, blogs, websites, videos, and the like.

While in the faraway village, ruled by Google, I discovered incarnated angels, indigo children, and other life forms. I’m officially no longer from this earth—Sir Brain has decided. LV wants to remain an earthling. Crazy Frog—he doesn’t care as long as there are hot toads on the planet where he lands. Hot as in frog legs that sizzle. Wink, wink!

Little Me is convinced Sir Brain is borrowed from someone else. I figure there is some brainless creature on a distant planet wanting to curse me, but lacking the mind to do so. Either that or I’ve been possessed by some demi-god whose sole purpose is to blog and get to know you. It’s a toss up.

Yesterday’s funk—got me thinking

I was contemplating why I felt drained of all my beneficial energy and spunk. Essentially why spunk had transformed to funk. Hormones and lack of sunlight came up first. Then my iron and vitamin deficiency came up second. There are always my disabilities to consider.

But primarily, what came to mind, were all these school events I’ve had to attend of late. There’s been a bundle: violin concerts, choir, plays, etc.  Events with crowds are hard on me. Which is sort of funny, because and event without a crowd would likely be a big flop or burnout, a no-show.

But a room full of people is not my cup of tea (said with a British accent/or should I say UK accent?).

I am overly affected by others’ energy—in person, online, or across the states. Who knows, I’m probably affected by energy across the nations, planets, and quantum physic’s multiple dimensions. That would be just like me, to be affected by another dimension’s being, like some balding barber in Transylvania fretting over an infestation of cockroaches.

A wise friend of mine said it is best to try to raise the energy of another person who is vibrating at a low level. I have tried this by using positive words, support, asking about positive events in someone’s life. But certain types—I’m not pointing any fingers—but certain types of folk, they will continually try to pull me down.

With those types, I find it is best to bolt away at high speed!

I’m pulling this list out of my head as I type. It’s how I’m feeling at the moment. Please don’t hold me accountable. Blame the list on some brainless alien on a distant planet or the whole possession thing. I do hope, if I have to be possessed, it’s a beneficial source of light, and gorgeous, too.  Here is my list, straight out of another life form’s mind-source.

People-Types (Sometimes referred to as Energy Vampires)

Lonely Lillys: These are people who lack proper nourishment of the soul. They haven’t acquired all the love needed in life to flourish. They are seekers of others’ light because they are lacking their own light. They have yet to realize that what they seek is already inside of them. Lonely Lillys will cause a person to feel weak and helpless. A person will feel a need to want to help but want to run away at the same time.

Willow Droppers: These are enormous energy takers. They are so filled with others’ energy that they can’t distinguish their energy from others. They take and take without realizing they are doing so. They droop like the willow tree and partially block others’ paths. Much of the energy they collect is not beneficial, and is a combination of rage, anger, disrespect, eagerness, and injustice. They are protesting against something or someone all the time, unable to love themselves, and equally unable to love others. They have stopped realizing they have something beneficial to offer the world beyond their feelings of anger. There is a disproportionate amount of non-beneficial power that causes another person who comes in contact with a Willow Dropper to feel overwhelmed, frightened, and nervous.

Angel Bears: These are people who act like angels but have raging bears inside. They pretend by saying what the other person probably wants to hear, but have a hidden motive at all times. They are not self-conscious and worried; they are not over-compensating; they are not in contact with their inner essence enough to know that they can be themselves and not a model or idea of what others want them to be. The energy of an angel bear is not threatening but odd. There is something amiss and not quite right that one cannot put their finger on. Angel Bears need love and take love, but they do not mean to take. They see themselves as givers.

Juggling Jacks: The energy of a juggler is always changing because the juggler is involved in too much. He or she has too much on their plate and is constantly trying to empty some of their load onto another. The juggler is an energy stealer because the juggler takes the beneficial energy from one and leaves instead a heavy residue of what another does not want or need energy-wise.

Dramatic Diva: Dramatic Divas did not get enough love. They are still seeking love through every action and word. They are very defensive and subjective. They analyze what others say, and wonder if it is directed at them. They are in the spotlight, and if someone else steps in, they drain the person so they cannot shine. Dramatic Divas offer unsolicited advice to make themselves feel better, create drama, and believe their problems are everyone else’s problems. Dramatic Divas are the hardest energy to deal with because they are so busy focusing on themselves and zapping others’ energy they cannot hear what you are saying.

Rapid Rovers: Rapid Rovers steamroll over people, and they enjoy doing it. They know exactly what they are doing and they set out to hurt others and steal their light. Rapid Rovers have been hurt repeatedly in their lives and believe they have no other recourse but to hurt others. They think because they are different that they have a right to be themselves no matter the consequence to others’ feelings. They hide behind titles and names, believing they have a right to do what they please. They do not understand rules and context because they choose not to understand. They are the first to blame others for their wrong doings and the first to lash out. Their energy causes others to want to run, hide, or charge forward and fight. You will know you have been caught in a Rapid Rover’s energy if you find yourself saying or doing things that go against your character and belief system.

People Peezer: These people piss on you. They come across at first as someone who wants to be your best friend, comrade, or buddy. They appear trustworthy, sound-minded, honest, and sincere. But they have a history of backstabbing and serving their own best interest. They will surprise you with their charm, and equally surprise you with their ability to turn against you and throw you to the wolves. Their energy feels comfortable with a strange tinge of discomfort. They have an energy that makes one say: There is just something about them I’m unsure about.

Moody Mac: This person’s energy makes one feel like that ate one too many hamburgers (or veggie burgers). They are heavy in energy, over-compensate, over-eat, over-worry, over-obsess, over-state, over-step, and do pretty much anything you can add over to. They are out of balance and typically without direction or goals. They are seeking help and direction. They are energy takers. They suck up the beneficial moods of others through their actions, words, and presence. They are confused, baffled, and sometimes boring. A Moody Mac needs a hobby or something that enables him/her to shine. If they aren’t shining, they are doom and gloom, coming down on another’s parade. They may appear crazy or out of their mind.

Cinderella Cindy/Charlie: Cinderella Cindy/Charlie is happy all the time. Nothing gets him/her down. She doesn’t understand when others are sad or disheartened, and is the first to say so. He says things like: Cheer up; Things will get better; Don’t worry about it; Focus on the positive. Cinderellas will refer back to a time when they had a rough patch, and explain how they got out of it just fine. Their energy feels heartless and self-centered. They take without meaning to do so. They have beneficial intention, but forget how to empathize. They find it easier to smooth things over than to deal with emotions.

Reactive Reapers: They pull everything apart, analyze, dissect, and worry that what they have discovered somehow affects them as a person. They are convinced someone or something is always out to get them, to find their flaws, to embarrass them, or to point them out of a crowd. They are hyper-defensive and hyperactive. Their energy wears a person down and makes one feel like they are gasping for air. Reactive Reapers can clear out a room. They don’t understand how they are not the center of the universe. They are closely related to Dramatic Divas, but don’t long for the spotlight. They are very much trapped in a cycle of looking for oppression and feeling oppressed as a result.

That’s all alien-brain wrote, folks. Tune into tomorrow for more adventures in Sam’s-Head!

Day 57: Losing Your Mind? Here’s What You Don’t Want to Do!

Image found on morgueFile

Losing Your Mind? Here is What You Don’t Want to Do! 

1. Don’t rely on phobias for diagnosis. At one time or another, you probably had: 1) Nomophobia: fear of being without your cellphone; 2) Soteriophobia: the fear of having a dependence on others; 3) Syngenesophobia: the fear of relatives; 4) Ecclesiophobia: the fear of churches.

2. Do not rely on the projective personality test where you are asked to draw a house-tree-person picture, unless you are prepared to know your overall brain damage, your possible rejection of home life, your need for satisfaction, and how you present yourself in society; and, if indeed, you are feasibly psychotic.

3. Don’t read A Course in Miracles quite yet; you might think you are a present-day prophet.

4. Don’t list all of your psychological symptoms on your blog; only the ones that make you seem interesting, quirky, and fun. In other words, avoid discussing the paranoia you sometimes feel when you believe your computer camera has been hacked, and others are watching you pick your nose.

5. Don’t check yourself into a psych-ward, unless you have a high tolerance level for patients who go by the first name of Jack-Off, nurses with bushy eyebrows who scowl and shush you for laughing, and cheesy television shows from the late 70’s like The Chipmunks of North America.

6. Don’t peruse the DSM-IV (diagnosis code book); you’ll likely determine you are narcissistic with rapid-cycling bouts of depression and mania or have the earmarks of oppositional defiant disorder.

7. Don’t see a therapist in training (intern); she’s more confused than you, and still trying to shake off her last frightful bout of DSM-IV, mental-health self-analysis.

8. Don’t trust a psychiatrist, if after fifteen minutes and a short multiple-choice test, he casually says, “Hmmmm. It doesn’t seem like you qualify for this condition. But here’s a prescription I want you to take, just incase.” He’s likely closing in on earning those pharmaceutical credits needed for that trip to the Bahamas.

9. Don’t rely on a fetish search. Depending on your state-of-mind, (and your alcohol intake), you might believe you have: 1) Dacryphilia: an attraction to tears and sobbing; 2) Flatulophilia: an attraction to farts; 3) Liquidophilia: an intense need to submerge your private parts in water; 4) Scatologia: a desire to make obscene prank calls to strangers.

10. Don’t look for signs from beyond. Two hundred blog hits, a sunny day, and a good bowel movement are not signs of sanity.

11. Don’t pull a Tarot Card. You will likely misinterpret the tower of inferno, the fool, and the card with all the daggers.

12. Don’t rely on numerology. It’s the only numerical field where the meaning of the numbers change, depending on context, culture, and interpretation.

13. Don’t think about thinking about thinking, or write about writing about writing, or talk about talking about talking. Just don’t.

14. Don’t Google: I’m nuts. For some reason Justin Bieber shows up.

15. Don’t over analyze that dream about the flying banana slugs attacking the golden-winged big toes.

16. Don’t rely on your mother, your mate, or you mutt. Your mother is your maker, your mate your mirror, and your mutt a mini-you.

17. And lastly, if you had a particular type of brownie, don’t call the emergency room. Wait ten hours, the room WILL stop spinning, your heart will not explode, and you are not crazy.

Disclaimer: If you took this seriously, seek professional help immediately.

Seeking a way out of insanity: Get a good night’s sleep, study the great minds of our time, and read a few pages of someone else’s blog. You’ll soon discover your less insane than you imagined.

© Everyday Aspergers, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com

My mom sent me this today. Couldn’t resist. Thinking of you Scooby Angel.

Online Draw a House Test

Words to Read After You Draw Your House

Weird Disorders to Obsess About

Day 51: 4 Play

Play

I just discovered the word fore-play can only be used in one way!

In California slang: Oh, My Gosh!

And here I was thinking I could use the word to mean: the time before I played or the time leading up to play.

(I’m hyphenating the word fore-play, in hopes of avoiding the p-er-v-s that might use the search term. No offense if you used that search term and were just looking for tips with your Honey. I don’t mean you. But maybe I do. Can’t be too sure, these days…now I’m realizing I just typed p-e-r-v-. I give up.)

Writing is an act I generally enjoy. Not so much yesterday’s post, but overall, writing is like PLAY to me. I believe I ought to be able to write fore-play to imply the play time leading up to my writing. But it looks like I’m out of luck!

I am picturing myself in a crowded room (heart beating fast) and having a small-chat-chat with a stranger (heart beating faster), and casually offering, “My writing involves a lot of foreplay.”

At this time, I would probably start obsessing about my heart beating so very fast, and start hypothesizing all the ways in which I could be dying, e.g., heart attack brought on by genetic mutation, clogged arteries, and my favorite, that Sir Brain continually obsesses about—heart suddenly explodes for unknown reason!

As I was obsessing, I’d likely miss the nonverbal clues of the person standing next to me, who was processing my statement.

I’d miss the person raise a brow or I’d miss him/her attempt to raise a brow. (I can raise my right eyebrow super high, and forget others don’t have my same skill set.) I’d miss the quizzical-who-the-heck-are-you-smile. I’d not realize a tape (CD for younger generation) was playing in the stranger’s mind.

Perhaps something like this: “Is she naïve, uneducated, bold, or just plain stupid? Or maybe trying to pick me up?”

I’d miss the follow-up smirk or wink—dependent upon interpretation. And I’d mosey along towards the food table, entirely oblivious of the person’s response to my utterance, while gorging myself on prawns and crab-cakes, in an attempt to subside Sir Brain’s rapid thinking on death.

They know what I'm talking about!

 Words like fore-play get tangled in my mind.

I love words. I am fascinated by words. They are brilliant and beautiful. And I love to paint pictures with words. Words are my primary colors blended into soothing pastels, when they merge with the white of my computer screen.

Words are my friends. And they are also my enemies. I keep words close. I watch them carefully and with awe. The slightest change, just one little letter, alters the whole meaning. Just a slight dab of painted word, a speck in the corner of the canvas, transforms the entire picture.

I still don’t comprehend why the word fore-play can’t be used in other ways.

The word fore can mean: the front, that which is in front; the future. A method of proceeding. Before. Previously.

 The word Play means: Engage in activity for enjoyment or recreation rather than practical purpose. Usually involving children.

But when I combine the two together, they don’t mean: the play you do before the play. This is confusing.

Why can’t the word combo mean the play writing I do before the writing? I love to play write before I write. I usually write a half page or more, before I find my voice and know what I want to write about. Then I delete, and begin again.

Some people, reading this post, are thinking, really? This is the best you got after you played and deleted?

Yep. This is ME!

I wanted to call this post the Origin of Fore-play. But I didn’t want to attract creeps.

Just putting that out there.

It is a funny and intriguing title, after all.

Be forewarned, don’t go digging into the word origin of fore-play, unless you want an eye-full. Neither do you want to search for images or search for examples of what p-e-r-v means. And YouTube—you know how Crazy Frog likes to find associated videos for my posts. In relation to this post, AVOID YouTube searches. LV is still hiding in shame. 

You might be wondering about the point of this here post. How this could possibly relate to Asperger’s Syndrome.

Let me point out what this post demonstrates:

  1. Words mean a lot to me.
  2. Words are confusing, especially when they have multiple meanings, or when society has combined two words to mean something different than expected and/or that don’t make logical sense.
  3. I confuse words.
  4. Confusing words can cause embarrassment.
  5. I am often unaware I ought to maybe be embarrassed.
  6. My actions confuse others.
  7. Confusing others can ostracize me (or make people like me even more).
  8. I can pretty much write about anything given a particular topic.
  9. I’m a risk taker and have a hidden talent for finding cool videos.
  10. The combo of Green Tea, chocolate cookies, and the supplement Gaba make me even more interesting.

You Tube Links You Might Enjoy

Sometimes certain words leave me feeling unsettled. If you’re like me, this is to relax you.

For those of you who were really hoping for more out of this post, here’s a frisky dolphin. 

And music, we have to have music!

Now I’m wondering about the words play toy! And thinking about when I was 18 years of age, a college freshman, and how one of my first college courses was all juniors and seniors, an upper division class, that I had no idea I ought not to have signed up for. And I’m thinking about the videos in that class, and the topic, and how my face was always beet-red.

Day 48: Death by Saliva

I awoke in the early hours of the morn hacking like a hairball-ridden feline with my throat aflame. I’d apparently choked on my own saliva and was still mostly asleep, pacing the bedroom floor while gasping for air. My throat was parched from what had to have been an up chuck of bile.

Out of breath and slit-eyed, I made my way upstairs, and sat in the cold living room under the light of a singular lamp, contemplating my death. LV (see my lingo button) was wide awake, panting and pacing in a pure state of panic, entirely convinced that at any moment the co-conspirators of spit and throat would rebel and squeeze the last breath from me.  Sir Brain refused to ever sleep again. Crazy Frog started counting on his webbed digits all the ways a human could feasible expire. Elephant headed out to the forest. Phantom was weeping in the dark. And OCFlea was in his element, strumming on his ukulele and serenading Death.

Little Me, I passed out on the couch while bargaining with the gods.

Saliva Choking Info. Found Online: “I would be interested to know if you are Overweight. The symptoms that you are describing sound very much like obstructive sleep apnea, which is more common in people who are overweight. In this increasingly common disorder, the soft tissue in the back of your throat relaxes while you sleep, and then it falls into the airway.”   

Oh! JOY! Time to find me a muzzle. 

This morning, I looked in the bathroom mirror, and I swear my chin is gone. Vanished. Took off with the night. And I have a taste in my mouth like some Keebler elves were up late lacquering my teeth with pond slime. My chest hurts from choking, and still from that nut that caught in my throat from that frozen-cheesecake incident a couple of weeks back. My legs, and basically every part of my body, ache from starting back up with my evil (Eeee-V-aalll) exercise regime. Oh, yes, and my headache came back like black magic, right when the Dean of Education called me last night.

The Dean is heading to China. She gave me a quick ring-a-ding before she left her office for the week. I will get reimbursed thousands of dollars, it seems. Her advice, to set the final part of the plan in motion, was to write a very short, ambiguous email explaining to the VP of the university that I had to withdraw from the college because of my disability. (For university auditing purposes)

Oh boy, did Elephant barge out from nowhere. All of the sudden anger, which I can only assume had been held hostage in the dark of the haunted woods with Phantom, came barging out full-force, trumpets and all.

Elephant had a thing or two to say to the dean. And Elephant actually sounded quite intelligent during the process.  First off Elephant reminded the dean, who I have to say was kind in her manner, that I would not lie, that I was not leaving the university because I had Aspergers! In truth I was leaving because of the way the professors treated me. And that in my last Master’s Program, I had had no trouble whatsoever with the professors, and was in fact supported! (What a concept.)

After Elephant’s romp, the dean was rather quiet. When she spoke again, she still said the same thing: A brief email would be best.

Within a few more minutes, Elephant got to the bottom of the situation. (Now I’m picturing butts. Sorry. Can’t help myself. But I’m stopping Crazy Frog from posting cute butt photos.)

Elephant discovered that the dean had no qualms about anything that Elephant had said. In fact she agreed. With some careful questioning, Elephant came to realize the dean wanted me to write a brief email to assure I’d receive my tuition back. The brevity would avoid the potential of my tuition reimbursement request going into the long, drawn out appeal process. The dean also concurred, quite nicely, that after I had the money in hand, I might consider sending a letter to the VP explaining the truth of the events.

Bravo! One step closer to putting this university behind me! (Butt images again…)

Crazy Frog is ever so thankful to have his precious i-Mac computer back today. Seems he’s become quite the computer snob.

My post was super short yesterday, by my standards. Wouldn’t you know, it turns out that people who read blogs like short posts! Now I have to go back to review my Blog 101 Rules again, and develop a working list of the unspoken norms and etiquette of blogging. It appears, through the act of blogging, I have stumbled upon a cyber society with its own set of virtual rules and expectations.

I’ll be hosting a sit down with the Geek Posse at high noon, to acknowledge our quirky-cute, uniqueness and our right to be however we wish to be in any society, cybernetic or not. Though, I predict the whole meeting will turn into a Matrix  (virtual reality) debate, where Crazy Frog searches out the boundaries of his existence, and theorizes he is existing in some simulated world anyhow. Regarding their existence, I imagine I’ll have to console LV and Sir Brain with dark organic truffle chocolate, yet again.

And then by sundown, I’ll inevitably find myself gasping in the night with no chin. Such is the story of my life.

The Muppet Matrix. For all my fellow Geek Posse Folks

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQrotZDDsTE


Happy St. Patrick’s Day

Day Forty-One: To Blog or Blob? That is the Question.

The Blob Lives!

People with Aspergers incorporate different coping strategies in order to feel more comfortable. This post, I am pleased to report, is a fine example of such coping strategies, including:

  1. Humor
  2. Data Organization
  3. Tangents
  4. Analysis of Self
  5. Correction/Editing of Self
  6. Analysis of Others
  7. Research
  8. Interconnection of Data
  9. Data transformed into New Information

My original intention today was to report on how my blog has become a mind- and time-devouring entity, closely resembling the indistinct, formless entity from the movie The BLOB.


But, instead I deleted an entire, page-long list that had words such as: obsession, fixation, ice pack for shoulder pain, eyestrain, fear, and extreme anxiety. And replaced this here posting with the land of the blob. Which I know, and you know, has a much higher fascination-factor than a post about obsessive blogging.

Unfortunately, I planned on writing for only 30 minutes today, and instead I am further made blurry-eyed and pain-ridden. Once again, I was sucked in and consumed by my BLOG! The HORROR!

At this moment as I am typing, I have my computer in split-screen mode, and I’m watching the 1958 horror flick The Blob. If you are in the X Generation, there is a high probability that The Blob, (which was originally titled the Glob), rates in the top ten of all time horror flicks.  In the movie, an alien life form consumes everything in its path. As the blob devours, it continues to grow in size, until it resembles one massive lump of blood-red Jell-O. When the movie ends, the blob is dropped into the Arctic. Then a big question mark (?) appears on the screen, leaving little kids from the 1960’s and 1970’s to wonder forever, if the blog is in fact living in bedroom closets, streets, under beds, and in toilets.

Just think: if those Generation Xers had been told the blob was only a modified weather balloon and colored silicone gel, we’d have saved a lot of money on mental health therapy.

The movie makes me think of the words heebie-jeebies and jeepers-creepers, both words that Louis Armstrong has perfected, by the way.

I’m still watching the movie, and finding the scenes rather dull. Waiting for the blob to show up.

 

Here are some conclusions I reached from the data I collected from BLOB research.  

1. People who saw the Blob were scared shi*less!

I’ll need to buy tons of ice and fire extinguishers before I’ll ever feel safe again.

I saw this movie about 30 years ago, but was so scared that I ran out of the cinema before I could see the end!

I used to wonder about the question mark. I saw tons of horror movies when I was a kid, but seriously, not one of them scared me half as much as this one.

I wouldn’t call myself lucky. This movie scared the crap out of me so bad that I had to sleep with my mommy!

I was 5 years old and it knocked me out. I had nightmares for two weeks.

I saw this movie when I was a child and alone with my brother. I was so scared. I’m still having nightmares.

Saw it on TV way back in 1975 ,scared the crap outta me too! What can kill it?

I remember this movie scaring the crap out of me when I was a kid. And it was almost 30 years old by the time I saw it.

Omg, I remember this movie used to scare the hell out of me.

This movie scared me to death when I was a kid. After seeing it I couldn’t eat cherry Jell-O for weeks.

Well, for people back then, it was creepy as hell.

I think if it were real those people would run away and crap their pants.

When I saw this movie on the tv as a kid, it literally scared the piss out! of me. I woke up screaming and peed my nightgown.

2. People don’t like older men playing teenagers, even if the guy is sexy.

Looks like he’s pushing 30 and he has to sneak out of his parent’s house?

Yeah, Steve McQueen is the oldest looking ‘teenager’ I’ve ever seen.

Steve McQueen is supposed to be 17 in this movie and he was 27!

He hangs around with these teenage boys and he looks like their uncle!

McQueen is the sexiest man in history of men.

He’s supposed to play a teenager in this movie? They could have chosen someone who didn’t look 50 years old.

I like way they keep calling Steve a crazy Kid!!!.Shit he is as old as the old.

Steve McQueen was and still is ‘The Man’!

The old guy is so damn cute.

Are there nude photos of Steve?

3. People reminisce when they see old movies from the 1950’s.

In those days boys had good manners and girls behaved like well children.

Back then, when you missed something on TV that was it, until you caught it again.

Wow, 1950’s, I wish to see that day and die in the 50’s.

Remember when there was a vibrant healthy middle class and anyone notice the COLORFUL clothing and cars? Look at how many people wear black today and drive gray cars. And go down any Main Street USA today and see the poverty and boarded up windows…

4. People side with or personify Blob.

If I were an alien from another planet and I had an ignorant old piece of white trash poking me with a stick, I’d devour him, too!!

What kind of an idiot goes outside and pokes at a lugee?

This music leaves me with the impression that the Blob’s a suave, fun-loving guy who’d stop eating towns if you just got him a cigarette and a nice cocktail.

That Blob sure is a cool cat!

My sister had a girl friend she called the blob.

5. People theorize about the future of the Blob.

“As long as the arctic stays cold,,,” Ha ha, it’s like they we’re already setting up a sequel to be released whenever global warming thawed the arctic.

I still wonder why there was a question mark at the end.

Well, even if the ice caps were to melt, the arctic would still remain too cold.Then again, the blob could just float like a big ice-cube and drift out towards warmer waters in the sea.

Imagine that thing in the water eating whales and big, big things in the sea. It will be unstoppable.

Shit! Global warming is gonna set the blob free and it’ll either start with the Scandinavians, the Russians or the Canadians…

(These are all quotes I found under comments beneath the video clips on YouTube.)

Last thought. My Giant Question Mark:

1. I’m wondering if the search term crap will bring people to my blog now. And I’m thinking: Oh, Crap!