I cling to the 9%!

Last fall I purchased a DNA kit from Ancestry.com, hoping to shed some light on my international genetic makeup.  I spit awkwardly into a plastic test tube, made a  video to commemorate the occasion [bonus points for Adam referencing John Cena], and dropped my specimen in the mail, silently pleading with the gods to let my saliva validate what I already knew deep within my soul:  I am Russian. 

In my haste to cement my status as a maiden of the motherland I forgot to activate the kit.  Oops.  The friendly folks at Ancestry DNA impressed me with their willingness to fix the situation– best believe I scrutinize the customer service I receive over the phone– and sent out a new kit that same day.  Round two went without a hitch.  Come November the results were in, delivered to the corresponding app on my iPhone.

s2

dna

A basic Anglo-Saxon with 49% British DNA?!  85% Western European?!  Can I get my money back?  My aesthetician [that would be Teri Lewis of Spectacular Skin] was convinced I was black Irish because of my coloring and skin.  She called that one long before I ever provided a sample.  Thanks to her professional opinion I was able to prepare myself to accept that my forebearers might not be washing down their borsch with a double shot of vodka.  Instead I chose to cling to the glorious 9% Eastern European that comprises my genetic makeup.

curious

Operation Biological Information follows my quest to obtain records involving my adoption.  Since I submitted the required documentation in December 2015, nary a peep has been heard from the powers that be residing in the Cordell Hull Building.  I knew this wasn’t going to be a quick process– yet over a year has passed with zero communication?  That seems a bit excessive.  I need to contact Nashville first thing on Tuesday [tomorrow being MLK Day, a federal holiday] and remind them I’m still here.  Still waiting.  Is it supposed to take this long?  Obviously I have nothing to compare it to but I feel like thirteen months of radio silence is abnormal.  Did I get lost in the shuffle?  Misplaced file perhaps?  Or maybe there was no information and I just wasn’t told?  I’ve gone 31 years without knowing anything about the biologicals.  It’s not as if I’m chomping at the bit, sprinting to the mailbox every day or frantically scrolling through the caller ID on our landline.  I purposely kept my expectations low and prepared for a snail’s pace.  Something about those DNA results invigorated my curiosity…

hair

I may not know my family but I do know my hair looks fierce!  Massive kudos to Matt McAtee [a.k.a. My Boyfran] for transforming my all but destroyed from years of drugstore box color in half a dozen shades damaged, multicolored coif into a bold, fiery red.  I feel like a rock star!  Feisty, funky, and fun…my luscious locks finally match my personality.  Call Stella Reed Salon to book your appointment with my mane man.

With infinite love, gratitude, and respect,

Sloane

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About Cocktails With Hemingway

I'm blunt and opinionated. Virtually everything I say or do is a contradiction but I'm not a hypocrite. I never hesitate to speak my mind and never fail to leave an impression wherever I go. You love me, you hate me, but you'll never forget me.
This entry was posted in Adam, Adoption, Birdie, Da Real Homiez, Family, Kids, Matt Boyfran, Megan Childers- favorite roomie, Memphis, Mother Russia, My Parents, Tennessee, YouTube and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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