fake it til you make it

I had to take a math test this morning. And then I got a flu shot. BEST. DAY. EVER. There was also an aptitude test (not attitude, unfortunately) and that part was fine. "What letter comes next in this sequence?" they asked. "Q!" I shouted. The test administrator asked me not to shout during the testing process. Then during the math portion, he asked me to stop crying and throwing things.

I was in all the smart math classes in school, but I never really understood what I was doing. I have a good memory so I'd memorize how all the homework problems were done, and then I'd skate through the tests with my sweet memorization skills. But I had no idea WHY you multiplied the square root of your butt by X. It's sort of like when you teach a little kid to swear. Sure, they can pronounce the words correctly but they don't know what they're doing. And unless you show them how, they'll never know how to combine those swear words for maximum hilarity (see: poohead buttshits).

Last night, I missed watching James Bond (in Blu Ray, which is apparently better than HD, but I wouldn't know, wah wah) because I needed to go over the test math problems they'd provided. These are the text messages I sent as I tried to work the problems:

I can't do math and I'm getting frustrated! (this was to Joe, who edits math textbooks, and who came over to help me when I threatened to cry)

I HAVE TO TAKE A MATH TEST TOMORROW AND I CAN'T REMEMBER ALGEBRA.

Math is a fuckstick.

And as I sat there with my head in my hands, trying to set the fake test on fire with my eyes, I was reminded of all those weeknights my dad would sit with me and help me with my math homework. I'd get frustrated then, too. I get frustrated with anything I can't do perfectly right away THEREFORE I get frustrated a lot. Here is how most of those evenings would go:

Me: UUUGGHHHH! THIS IS STUPID.
Dad: What's wrong?
Me: I can't do this problem!
Dad: Let me show you how to do it.
Me: I don't need help!
Dad: Jennie . . .
Me: Fine.
Dad: See, you do this and this and blah blah blah the answer is 6.
Me: I don't get it AND I'M NEVER GOING TO USE THIS.
Dad: Yes, you will.
Me: Math sucks.
Dad: I know.
Me: Waaaaaaaaaah.
Dad: Try this one.
Me: OK.
Dad: There, see, you did it.

And then I'd try another one and start crying when I couldn't figure it out. I felt confident that I'd never, ever need algebra again and I would yell and yell about that instead of actually doing the problem, while my dad would explain that YES, YES I WOULD NEED ALGEBRA STOP BEING SUCH A WHINY BRAT. It turns out we were both right (about the math part, only my dad was right about the whiny brat part). I haven't really needed math since college. Until now, when I needed it this morning AND IT WASN'T THERE. Plus, they wouldn't let me use a calculator. What kind of fucked up shit is that?