A quick update in the "Holy Shitballs, Anderson (not really my name?) Is Such White Trash Saga...
My father’s sister, Patricia, has DNA on file with 23andMe. Her daughter, Jamie, has worked all morning to try to link these accounts. I was about ready to murder her for the suspense. First she was horrified to find that I share no DNA... with her husband. Finally, she got the correct accounts linked, and the official verdict is that I'm not an Anderson. No fucking clue WHAT I am, but not an Anderson. Perhaps it's for the best; Jamie is supposed to be one of the smart ones.
I've got a few relatives in 23andMe, but the closest is a 2nd or 3rd cousin. I didn't recognize names of anyone. I guess the first step is to make sure that my declaration of my mother as a hobag is indeed appropriate, so I asked my younger brother to test for fun. I didn't want to push him too hard into it or he'd run straight to my "dad", and I wasn't ready for that. He wasn't very enthusiastic and said he may get around to it. That probably won't happen, so I asked a maternal second cousin, John, (most of that side of the family are dead) if he would take a DNA test to verify he's my family, and he had a confession to make. On his death bed, his father Buddy confessed that I was the actual daughter of his best friend Ronnie. This seems plausible, considering my mother ran and partied with Buddy and that crew, and they were close. Supposedly Ronnie and my mother dated for a while too. Ronnie apparently had two sons, but one died in high school. Not dissimilar to the father I know, Ronnie was also a drunk, but killed a handicapped kid while driving under the influence. Fan-fucking-tastic. My greatest fear here is that I find out that I've been upgraded from 50% white trash to a damn purebred.
BUT that side of the family is definitely on the crazy side, and, well, trust but verify. Conveniently, anyone that can confirm or deny the story is dead except my mother. And I have a strong suspicion she's not going to be very forthcoming about this....
I contacted a few close family friends that have known my mother for decades. Two votes there for a guy named Robert, who apparently got around. I knew him growing up. His daughter has DNA on ancestry’s registry, which is supposed to be a bigger database anyway. I guess I’m going to do that test to see what I can find.
I finally texted my mother, with the conversation as follows:
Me: Do you know who my biological father is? The DNA test results came in and I'm more than a little surprised to find that I share no DNA with members of the Anderson family.
Cuntasaurus: Seriously...you look just like the Anderson's [sic]. I am highly offended!!!!!!
Ah, yes. Her unwavering ability to always become the victim. It's almost impressive. I sent her a screenshot of the site stating I shared no DNA with Patricia. I'm not optimistic I'll get a response. As you may have gathered from the name, my mother and I are not close. She's kinda been this uppity, appearances are everything, puritanical, uptight bitch my whole life. We had a major falling out in December 2016 after I paid her friend, a licensed massage therapist, for a massage (my back is awful), and the bitch spent nearly the entire hour oscillating between proselytizing and telling me how great and amazing Donald Trump is. Obviously, she's a moron. I ultimately professionally told her to shut the fuck up by challenging her poor atrophied brain, and she couldn't handle it. Apparently, she cried to my mother, saying who the hell knows what, my mother took her side and judged me accordingly without ever asking me what really happened. So, final nail in that coffin.
At this point, I may as well laugh at all this shit, because it's better than crying, and I can't change any of it anyway. All day, my fiancĂ© has been looking at me, giggling, and saying one of the following: who’s your daddy?, this is some serious white trash bullshit, or you’re a bastard! More recently, he came up with this: On Game of Thrones, all the bastards get a regional last name. Maybe you should change yours to Boobsweat.
I really could do better. It wouldn’t be difficult.
My father’s sister, Patricia, has DNA on file with 23andMe. Her daughter, Jamie, has worked all morning to try to link these accounts. I was about ready to murder her for the suspense. First she was horrified to find that I share no DNA... with her husband. Finally, she got the correct accounts linked, and the official verdict is that I'm not an Anderson. No fucking clue WHAT I am, but not an Anderson. Perhaps it's for the best; Jamie is supposed to be one of the smart ones.
I've got a few relatives in 23andMe, but the closest is a 2nd or 3rd cousin. I didn't recognize names of anyone. I guess the first step is to make sure that my declaration of my mother as a hobag is indeed appropriate, so I asked my younger brother to test for fun. I didn't want to push him too hard into it or he'd run straight to my "dad", and I wasn't ready for that. He wasn't very enthusiastic and said he may get around to it. That probably won't happen, so I asked a maternal second cousin, John, (most of that side of the family are dead) if he would take a DNA test to verify he's my family, and he had a confession to make. On his death bed, his father Buddy confessed that I was the actual daughter of his best friend Ronnie. This seems plausible, considering my mother ran and partied with Buddy and that crew, and they were close. Supposedly Ronnie and my mother dated for a while too. Ronnie apparently had two sons, but one died in high school. Not dissimilar to the father I know, Ronnie was also a drunk, but killed a handicapped kid while driving under the influence. Fan-fucking-tastic. My greatest fear here is that I find out that I've been upgraded from 50% white trash to a damn purebred.
BUT that side of the family is definitely on the crazy side, and, well, trust but verify. Conveniently, anyone that can confirm or deny the story is dead except my mother. And I have a strong suspicion she's not going to be very forthcoming about this....
I contacted a few close family friends that have known my mother for decades. Two votes there for a guy named Robert, who apparently got around. I knew him growing up. His daughter has DNA on ancestry’s registry, which is supposed to be a bigger database anyway. I guess I’m going to do that test to see what I can find.
I finally texted my mother, with the conversation as follows:
Me: Do you know who my biological father is? The DNA test results came in and I'm more than a little surprised to find that I share no DNA with members of the Anderson family.
Cuntasaurus: Seriously...you look just like the Anderson's [sic]. I am highly offended!!!!!!
Ah, yes. Her unwavering ability to always become the victim. It's almost impressive. I sent her a screenshot of the site stating I shared no DNA with Patricia. I'm not optimistic I'll get a response. As you may have gathered from the name, my mother and I are not close. She's kinda been this uppity, appearances are everything, puritanical, uptight bitch my whole life. We had a major falling out in December 2016 after I paid her friend, a licensed massage therapist, for a massage (my back is awful), and the bitch spent nearly the entire hour oscillating between proselytizing and telling me how great and amazing Donald Trump is. Obviously, she's a moron. I ultimately professionally told her to shut the fuck up by challenging her poor atrophied brain, and she couldn't handle it. Apparently, she cried to my mother, saying who the hell knows what, my mother took her side and judged me accordingly without ever asking me what really happened. So, final nail in that coffin.
At this point, I may as well laugh at all this shit, because it's better than crying, and I can't change any of it anyway. All day, my fiancĂ© has been looking at me, giggling, and saying one of the following: who’s your daddy?, this is some serious white trash bullshit, or you’re a bastard! More recently, he came up with this: On Game of Thrones, all the bastards get a regional last name. Maybe you should change yours to Boobsweat.
I really could do better. It wouldn’t be difficult.
Comments
Post a Comment