If anyone knows how to answer this question, I'll give 'em a cookie.

So the test was horribly, horribly bad. Rather, I was horribly, horribly bad on the test. The first math question kicked my ass and I could not answer it. I wasted seven precious minutes of my 75 minutes on that piece o' crap question.

The writing essays were easy, like butta. The computer locked up on me twice during the first essay. Luckily I hadn't gotten far into typing when it happened. I still finished both essays with plenty of time to spare. In the remaining time, I doodled what would be useless formulas on my scratch pad. Useless, because none of the math questions covered any of the formulas I memorized.

The verbal part (different from the essays) was easier, but I was so flustered from the math hell that I only scored in the 58% percentile for the verbal. I know I can do better than that. All my practice tests were in the 78-90% percentile. Bitches.

I knew I was doing poorly on the math when I got this question:
"If # means multiplication, then is a#b addition, subtraction, division or multiplication? "

Basically: "if you are too dumb to realize that we are giving you the answer, you need to leave now and never return. Try applying at Starbucks. They use computers for everything, assuming you are bright enough to operate one unassisted."

The question that kicked my ass, and continues to flabbergast me, is this:

"If square root of x = 25, then what is x^3-x^2?"
(I don't know how to make it look like a sr sign. The ^ is the power sign, so x-cubed minus x-squared)

Normally I could have found the answer, but none of the choices was an actual answer. They were all other formulas. Formulas like 6(5^3-1), and 1/x, and 5^6+Paris Hilton.

So after 6.67 minutes of trying to figure it out, I guessed and moved on. I guessed wrong, because the next question was easy. When they give you an easy question, it means you got the previous one wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Technically, I'm not supposed to be talking about this to any living soul. But technically, they were supposed to ask me questions about shit I'd studied, so I figure we're even. Bitches.

I may end up taking it again. I don't know. I have to talk to Kenny (yes, his real name) in the admissions office to see what my options are. I'm guessing (but I could be wrong, since I am so good at guessing incorrectly) that my piss-poor score couldn't get me into Asrama's Belly Dancing Academy right now.

Bitches.