As some of you may or may not know,
eight hundred and sixty seven years ago, instead of making an appearance on the Maury Povich show, I spit in a vial and sent it to Ireland. While normally I am perfectly at home in the spotlight, I have to say that I’m pretty relieved to have gotten the results in the privacy of my own home because it turns out that not only is my mother my mother and my father my father, but my daughter might actually be my parent or other immediate family member and I’m not sure how I would have taken that news in front of a live studio audience.
Now, you maybe be asking why? Why would you spent $18,789e234eafsde33 on a DNA test when
a) You are not an orphan without an identity or any connection to your heritage and simply only needed to ask you crepe making, beret wearing, pasta loving French + Italian/German/English parents what your ethnic background is.
And
b) Law enforcement knows these companies have your DNA, and they may want it. They’re already asking for it.
And, most importantly
c) You know that these test results aren’t always accurate. When your girlfriend DNAd her dog they told her that this giant beast:
was a Basenji
And my answer to all of your questions is. I have the mental capacity of a 12 year old girl. And not the kind of 12 year old that people say “she’s so mature for her age” about.
Also
a) My parents can’t be trusted. They told me I wasn’t a bastard child born out of wedlock yet, when I had to produce their marriage certificate to the US consulate in order to get my passport, it was the agent working who pointed (and laughed) out that my birth occurred 9 months before their wedding day.
b) “The Law” caught the Golden State Killer suspect by using DNA from relatives. and since over 120 of my “4th cousins or closer” have already submitted their DNA samples I figure “The Law” can already find me if they need me. Plus if that’s how I’m going to get caught for all those murders I committed, I might as well get VIP access to the documentation of my great grandfather Vito riding Madonna from Italy to Ellis Island out of the deal.
c) I’d love to find out I’m secretly smaller, prettier and more African than I thought I was! Bring on the Basenji!
All of that having been said, drum roll please.
budahbudhabudabudabudahbudahbuda…..
So now what? Now you know your ethnic origin is real. What does it change? What are you going to do?
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO???
I am going to fully, and completely and unapologetically start living my truth!!
“Jen…” You might be thinking, “this pretty much looks exactly like how you already live you life now”. To which I would respond, “WRONG! I do not own an Italian Greyhound! Yet…”
I’m looking at life through a new lens people, and I am going to live it, love it and share it with each and every one of you!
Stay tuned for upcoming entries such as
“I knew I was Swedish and here’s why – A moving tome exploring cultural obligation to exercise passive aggressive behaviours and eat food out of tubes”,
“I have to eat Pasta, it’s the law – and by law I mean – I know a guy…”,
“Il n’y a pas plus sourd que celui qui ne veut pas entendre, and other signs of early onset tinnitus”
and more!