So it seems like every time I turn on my computer, there is a new “test” for me to take that starts with some version of “What kind of _____ are you?”
I took one – to determine my ideal career. Turns out that I am supposed to be a writer. So yeah, I was hooked. I like the idea of finding out who I am by answering 9 simple multiple-choice questions.
It’s saving me thousands in therapy, in addition to years of painful soul searching.
The thing that’s crazy is that you can find out anything you might want to know about who you are, what car you should actually be driving, what city you should live in, and if your chakras are all cattywhumpus.
And the more tests that you take, the more that are offered to you.
There is a plethora of information about me out there.
And yes, there are answers that seem absolutely perfect – like I should be writing. And then there are the ones that make me wonder if the person who just took the test was actually me.
Then, of course, some of the questions are impossible to answer or there is more than one answer that I would consider and I wonder just how much that one choice determines the outcome. And the worst is when I try to figure out what result I want (even when I don’t know what the choices are) and then, half subconsciously, choose answers that I think will lead to the desired outcome.
In other words, I cheat.
So, in my obsessive, I’ve-got-nothing-better- to-do-at-midnight-than-find-out-what-kind- of-dog-I-am manner, I have taken quite a few of these little quizzes and decided that I should share some of my results.
In no particular order:
I am a mutt. (In so many ways, but the question was, “What kind of dog are you?”) Apparently a mutt is “the rebel and the artist…( we have) real world experiences that make us great dinner party guests…”
Um, who invites a dog to a dinner party?
As a musical, I am “Phantom of the Opera.” I wanted “Rocky Horror Picture Show” (a friend of mine got that and now I have personal musical envy – and I loathe musicals.) I am hypnotizing, dramatic and brooding. Drama queen, maybe but I have never, ever been accused of being brooding.
Are women ever brooding?
I am supposed to live in San Diego because I have “a little bit of So-Cal” in me.
And I guess I have to turn in my Tacoma and replace it with a Tessla. But I don’t know what a Tessla is even though they (the all knowing “they”) say that, (I) “like sleek new things and enjoy the latest technology. You’re always updated and have mastered the art of noticing trends extremely well. You love it when you see innovation in society and technology, and unsurprisingly you like to innovate in your life as well.”
“They” have obviously never seen that I still use a flip phone and read actual books. I had to Google Tessla and I still don’t really get what it means that I should be driving one, but my kids thought it was cool, so even though I think we are actually talking about someone else, I’ll take it as a compliment.
I did find out though, that Mr. Darcy is my Jane Austen soul mate.
Duh.
And if Colin Firth takes the test, he will discover that Suzanne Strazza is his soul mate.
Then one test result informed me, “If people would only listen to you, the world would be so much better. Humanity is ever grateful for you!”
Well of course. I knew that. Didn’t have to answer what kind of weather I like to figure out that one. But, I did have to answer that one to discover that I am JFK.
What’s my “Jam”? What is a Jam? And even though I have no idea who Skrillex is, if they aren’t my “Jam” I might end up living in the streets of Calcutta. So now I am panicked that my ignorance or lack of worldliness is going to land me in a life that’s not actually the one that I am supposed to be living.
That’s scary.
I have to pick a hashtag, but there isn’t anyone explaining to me what a hashtag actually is.
I don’t drink and that’s often not an option so then I get dumped on the side of the road that leads to eternal happiness.
May even be a roadblock on the road to enlightenment.
Shitdamn.
But, the good thing is, that not drinking doesn’t necessarily mean that I won’t make it to Paris, the city in which I was supposed to have born.
Even though I am not a city person in any way, shape, or form. But I guess no one wants to find out what tiny, dirt-streeted, ranch town they are supposed to inhabit. And about the drinking, I tried to find out which television high school I should attend and they asked me about my favorite drink – uh, hello, High School, dude, only 15, we don’t drink.
Constance Billard HS? Gossip Girl?
I know nothing.
Because I drink Lattes I am reliable. What if I change to iced coffee? That makes me cool. That’s a bit weak I’d say.
So, in the realm of difficult-to-answer questions, most often because none of the answers really works for me, here is the ultimate difficult-to-choose:
Would you rather:
- Have feet for hands. (And still have feet for feet.)
- Not have hands.
- Have scissors for fingers.
- Have carrots for fingers.
- Have your own hands, but they are glued inside puppets.
- Have permanent mittens.
- Have hands stuck in the “thumbs up” sign.
- Have transplanted gorilla hands.
Are you f—ing kidding me? This is supposed to determine what my name should be?
Conclusion: The more of these that you take, the more that are offered, and the more not-right-on they get, and the more time you waste answering dumbass questions like “pick a cat toy,” to get more dumbass results like “What drunk food are you??? Falafel.”
And even though it is a total waste of time, energy and most likely, brain cells, I will now go back and take that test over again and see what other names I can produce.
I’ll try “feet for hands” instead of “carrots for fingers” and find out what that gets me. Hopefully something better than Willifred.
Suzanne Strazza is an award-winning writer in Mancos, Colo.
