I’ve spent a lot of time getting to know myself recently, but not through therapy (been there, done that), a diary (there’s not enough space in the Library of Congress to store my extensive body of work so I’ve temporarily stopped journaling until they build an annex) or meditation. I’m addicted to Facebook quizzes.
There are roughly 31,128 quizzes available on the social networking site, most of which I’ve taken in the past six weeks or so.
It all started when I noticed that several of my Facebook friends had taken a quiz called “Where should you live?” For most people the results were pretty straightforward — the city, country or beach. But when I took it, Italy was revealed as my domestic destiny. With visions of good food, good wine and George Clooney’s villa on Lake Como dancing in my head, I wanted to see how much more insight I could gain into the past, present, future and hypothetically absurd by answering a few simple questions.
The results have been nothing short of astounding. Where else would I have learned that I’m Goodie 2 Shoes Barbie (“What Barbie are you”), Clare Huxtable (“Which TV mom are you”), the Queen from Snow White (“Which Disney villain are you”) and a martini (“What alcoholic beverage are you”) — not to be confused with the “What beer are you” quiz — at the same time? For free!
The “What early ‘80s wrestler are you” quiz revealed I am Mr. Wrestling II. Whoever he is, evidently we both have “a driving inner sense of justice” and we “do not suffer fools.” After that little gem, I took the “Which crazy bitch are you?” quiz. I didn’t know I was one (well, maybe a little), but it turns out I am Sinead O’Connor, otherwise known as “one fierce bitch.” That led me to take the “What swear word are you” quiz. I was hoping for something juicy, like the “MF” bomb. But all I got was crap. (No, that was my word.) Still, it’s good to know.
There are a few quizzes I didn’t take, like, “What’s your porn name,” because everyone knows that your porn name is the name of your first pet (Bubble Gum) paired with the street you grew up on (Sylvan). Also, the “What type of paramedic are you” quiz is laughable since I’m so clearly the kind who’d go screaming in the opposite direction at the first hint of blood.
Some of the quiz results were so obvious. Like the “Which movie are you” quiz revealed that I’m “The Notebook.” Well, of course. Why else would I regularly weep while passionately embracing my soul mate in the pouring rain as we canoe amid a flock of swans? All signs pointed toward chocolate (duh) even before I took the “What cake are you” quiz. And the findings of the “Are you as awesome as I am” and “What kind of drunk are you” (yes and yes) quizzes were just as plain to see.
The results of some quizzes were blatantly wrong. Like the “What ‘90s sitcom are you?” quiz tried to tell me I was “Full House” when clearly I’m so much more “Hangin’ with Mr. Cooper.” Also inaccurate were the results of “What Marvel super hero are you” quiz. It said I was Mr. Fantastic. I don’t know who he is, but I do know that I’m no super hero if not Jayna, the girl Wonder Twin (never mind that she’s Hanna-Barbera, not Marvel) with the power to transform into the bucket that holds my twin brother when he’s morphed into just enough water to fit inside a bucket.
Quizzes I’m on the fence about taking include, “Are you a Michigander” (I’m pretty sure the answer is no since I’ve never been, but it can’t hurt to have 100 percent clarity), “How Kentuckian are you” (not at all, I think), “What’s your Bible IQ” (Old Testament or New?), “What type of drug dealer am I” (while it seems wrong, it’s also strangely intriguing) and “Which moo cow are you” (ditto).
And then there are the quizzes I can’t wait to take, such as “What kind of mermaid are you” (because who isn’t dying to know if she’s an Ariel or a Madison). There’s also “What kind of make up are you,” “What’s your second name” (presumably created for people with short-term memory loss and/or those with just one, i.e. Bono, Cher, Madonna, Jacko), “What are you wearing” (it’ll be just like having my own personal stalker!) and “What kind of bread are you.”
I’ll be shocked if I’m anything but rye, but maybe finding out that I’m focaccia is exactly what this journey of self-discovery has been all about.
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