I got back the results for my mom’s ancestry DNA kit today. She’s 47% Irish. So. I’m like, a quarter Irish-ish. Isn’t that hilarious? I always knew I was fucking lucky. I asked Cindy the other day if she thinks I have good luck and she said, “I don’t know.” And then she started on a typical Cindy spiel about how she’s a combination of good luck and hard work. I said, “Okay, well maybe it’s how I tend to look at things in a positive light that makes me feel like I have good luck.” And then I talked to Esther about how things were working out for me and she was all, BRO, HOW? And I told her about feeling lucky. AND NOW IT ALL MAKES SENSE. I AM FUCKING IRISH.
I know it’s a stereotype but by golly I will make all the “luck of dee Irish” “top o da morning to ya” jokes for the rest of my life. I’m going to start celebrating St. Paddy’s Day. I’m going to hate Ed Sheeran tenfold because I bet Irish people hate him, too. I’ve already referenced Kendrick Lamar’s DNA once today. Nothing can stop me now.