In tribute of a monkey...
Fact: On November 5, 1984, my mother successfully ejected one kateracka out into the world, the second (and final) installment of the Dean offspring. Naming privileges were entrusted to my care; however - while winning points for delivering my proposal in song - "Katie Strawberry" was ultimately discarded in favor of the more respectable(/less stripper-esque) "Katherine Marie", an unauthorized revision that torments me to this very day. Said Katherine was an unexpected accident (or "unholy mistake", as I am so fond of reminding her) that - in the years since her arrival - we've all grown to tolerate. And occasionally even love.All bullshittery aside: My sister rocks and the truth is that we get along amazingly, which - at times - defies logical explanation, as the two of us are polar opposites. She's the dark-skinned brunette hailed as gorgeous - that little shit was already well into a C-cup by the time that I finally advanced into B - while I - blue-eyed, oftentimes blonde and eternally incapable of styling my hair - was always applauded for my intelligence. So, Kat had to teach me how to apply eyeshadow, and - in turn - I helped stock her college bookshelf with Ayn Rand and Kurt Vonnegut. She played sports in high school and later coached them, whereas I loathed gym and primarily stuck to the choir and marching band. Kat dances; I flail with no natural sense of rhythm. She's more socially adept than I - cynical hater of mankind - could ever aspire to be. She is a college student, pursuing Photography as her career of choice; I dismissed formal education in favor of working my ass off at a computer. Kat is DJs, strobe lights and girlie cocktails (all conquered with minimum one hour of bathroom preparation), whereas I'm all dive bars, thrift store attire and whiskey on the rocks. Even so, put the two of us together and good times abound. We are bonded by the same weird and generally incomprehensible mentality, and can entertain ourselves for hours (even if surrounding parties don't get us...and they seldom do). She makes me laugh. She makes me proud. I couldn't even imagine what my life - or my eyeshadow application - would be like without the brat. That said, Saturday evening will find me and the sibling - accompanied by a posse of her friends - wandering the bars of Adams Morgan, celebrating my little sister's 21-years of existence. Any and all D.C. residents are encouraged to come and keep me - the sole adult in this party (pending release of Jon from work around 9:45p) - company(/sane). Come Sunday morning, the two of us will be returning to the homestead for parental indulgence and Mom-made birthday cake. Mmm.Happy Birthday, Kat! That I'm subjecting myself to a social scene that I loathe and detest - for you, baby, for you - should be testament enough to how much I love your crazy ass.