Is anyone else addicted to Facebook quizzes?!
Today I discovered my hippy name would be Willow. I discovered that the era that I am best suited to is the 20’s. I discovered my “Feminine Archetype” is a fashionista. And finally, I discovered my IQ is 122.
I can live with being a Willow, and actually “I will you” to call me Willow from now on. (Any die hard Buffy fans here?!)
I guess I can live with my era being the 20’s. I like pearls and red lippy. And dancing. And smoking. And drinking. Ok… I get this result now I have talked it out!
I am not sure that I am a fashionista on any level, but it said nice things that I don’t believe but soothed my bruised ego somewhat.
But my IQ being 122? I call bullshit! No other way to say it. Rubbish.
See… I can prove I scored that…
Having made my best friend do the test, and scoring unnaturally close to him (he’s a bloody computer genius so way clever!), it further proved my point that my results were utter rubbish, or a complete fluke. As the discussion continued, we decided we would take a new test. He did the research and I waited patiently for my new challenge.
I wish I had just accepted that I had a 122 score and walked away. This new test was HARD. Way harder than the first.
The first test was a mix of language, math and visuals. You may have guessed by now that I like words. Words make me happy. Words are easy. Math is the devil. Numbers are Satan’s toys. I really do not do well with numbers.
The new test was purely pattern sequencing. 39 questions timed to a max of 40 mins. Turns out, I am not awesome at these either.
By the time I had gotten through the first 34 questions, I couldn’t give a rats ass about my score. The last 5 were guessed. I did finish it in 15 mins of the 40 allocated, so yay for me at least.
Then there is the nerve wracking minute or so when it calculates your score.
My new IQ score was 118.
So, lets say my average IQ is now 120 according to today’s tests. This means I am “of superior intellect”. This means I am not as dumb as I thought. This is a major disappointment. I like not being pressed, or pushed, or anyone expecting great things from me.
So can we please make a pact, readers? Can you promise not to tell anyone my secret?!
Also… someone book me in to get re-blonded. I am blaming the new hair for the new clever.