It always takes me a trip to the mall to remember how much I hate them.

Them being the malls, normally, but in this case also one of my companions.

My sister is, quite possible, the worst shopping partner one could possibly have (provided that 'one' in this case be me).

She is, as I like to call it, fake. She tries too hard to be just like me, and while one might be flattered by this gesture, I am not.

I try to be as different from everyone as I can handle without totally freaking out my mom. I'm not trying to threaten anybody, mind, I'm just... ehm... stressing my individuality. I take what's me, and I stress it to its limits - music, art, love of dragons, love of anime, love of random kitchen utensils. Also... I stress what isn't me. Anybody can tell you the last time I wore anything 'girly' was in 5th grade, and only because the teacher insited we wear skirts (our performance - a spanish dance - wouldn't have been possible without them).

My entire wardrobe, save for one or two rarely-worn 'dress' outfits - consists of black baggy pants, men's cargo pants, black or grey (one white) baggy tees, men's sneakers, and men's sandals.

Mind, I do need the female underwear (although I find boxers extremely comfortable)... bras and whatnot.

So all this to say that I go to great lengths to be me in a way that nobody else can duplicate.

My sister goes off and vehemetly (provided I used that word correctly) tries to undo my hard work.

While she's not very fond of my frequented stores - Hot Topic for shirts, PacSun for shirts and pants, Hollister for shorts - she finds otherways to 'copy' me.

Example.

"I just saw the most annoying shirt. It was pink and it said punk on it. Ew."

"Well, Grace, pink is considered a 'punk' color."

Hah! Foiled again! But, no...

"Well... they were playing a Lizzie McGuire game. I hate Lizzie McGuire. I hate her songs."

"Lizzie McGuire doesn't sing."

"I hate Hillary Duff, then."

... Yes, I'm sure you do you pop-lover you.

In JC Penny's, after closely examining the Pep Rally Rebel tees (what is a pep rally rebel exactly? Somebody who sells blue pom-poms instead of yellow? *gasp* For shame! You rebel, you!), Grace decides to get an intricately decorated red hoodie, complete with glittery black dragons smokily intwined around each other and a yin-yang, upon which sits an upright skateboard. In her other hand she holds a pair of sporty nylon pants, the kind where the bottom half can be taken off via zipper leaving you with a pair of running shorts.

Ah, such contrast.

At the time she was wearing red shorts that barely covered her butt without being rolled up - but of course her trademark roll-up was in place - and a red 'ROMANS' shirts, boldy advertising the team she had been on and strictly loyal to during her stay at SB2W. The shirt covered her shorts if she didn't tuck it into the front, and if you stood behind her you'd think she was wearing the shirt alone.

So here she is, my visually preppy sister, gripping tightly a pair of visually preppy pants in one hand, a visually softcore-pre-preteen-wannabe skater hoodie in the other.

Not only that, but the hoodie had come from the boy's section.

So here she is, afraid of wandering anywhere alone in the grocery store let alone the mall, and she temporarily conquered or overlooked these fears to march - alone - into the boy's section of JC Penny's to hunt down not only a boy's hoodie, but a hoodie with Dragons (a longtime passions of mine), yin-yangs (she knows what kind of asian freak I am), and a skateboard (she's seen me skate [actually I'm not too good at it... shhh]).

If that isn't proof enough that she's trying to be just like her big sister, there's more, but I'll spare you.

"So what, sis, leave the kid alone!" That's what you're thinking, isn't it? I bet.

It irks me that she's trying just so hard to copy me, when she's seen how hard I try to differentiate myself from anybody else.

Yes, there will be general similarities, and we are related so I would expect more because of that.

Whenever I mention music, she pipes up about Good Charlotte or Simple Plan, and how they're so punk, and how they rock her world.

Of course it takes much self-control on my part to prevent hauling off and knocking some sense into her (literally), and a good few minutes to explain that Good Charlotte and Simple Plan just aren't punk, and how they can rock her world so long as I don't hear them.

Weeks later, what happens, but Gracie denies ever liking either of the two bands, insisting that she'd liked Evanescence all along.

I have nothing against Evanescence. I like some of their music. But my sister denying the two bands that 'rock her world' annoys me - if you like a band, stick with them! (Hypocritical coming from me, but I'll explain something later) Also, confusing Evanescence's softcore rock with punk is an unforgivable mistake.

Confusing GC and SP's poprock for punk is also an unforgiveable mistake.

Doing her best to copy me is downright insulting.

All this said...

My trip to the mall was a constant battle with my sister's changing style.

And then of course comes my natural anti-sociality.

I can't be around too many people at once, or I get overwhelmed. I feel crowded, the noise gets to me, the smells annoy me, and it gives me a headache that feels like everyone around me has grabbed one of my hairs and begun pulling - hard.

Once I'm in that state, headache-ridden and miserable, I'm sulky and uncoopertave and no fun to be with. Once I'm in that state with a pesky sister buzzing around me, I'm pissed, mean, in pain, and an overall bitch.

I insult her when I get the chance (and sometimes even when I don't), I glare at her constantly, or else I give no notice to her very existence and trample all over her slow-moving heels in my brisk walk.

A real joy it is to go shopping with my sister.

I did pick up a few nice things...

A wonderful lunch at some irish resturaunt, camo cargo pants (men's, of course), and an AFI tee.

Needless to say, despite these few treasure I think it'll be quite a while before I step into a mall again.

---

Before the trip to hell, mom and I (Graceless, for once) stopped by a petstore. Imagine my surprise to see an African Grey peering out at me, and actually inviting me to make small chat.

I chatted with the parrot for a while, barely able to distinguish actual words from various chirps and whistles, but having fun at it nonetheless.

I talked with one of the employees for a while about where they got the birds, and she began to tell me exactly what it took to raise a bird, most of which I knew already from my weeks of research.

Then she told me what it was like to own a bird, firsthand. She showed me scars she's received from bird bites, she told me she's never been able to go to college because she couldn't stand the thought of leaving her precious Tico alone.

She taught me a good deal about birds - how hard they bite, exactly how fast they can pick up on sound effects, and how loud they can be depending on their surroundings.

I still want one.

I'll be at school for a while each day, and mom will be away a good portion of the day too, but I've heard that Greys entertain themselves easily with just about anything, provided it can be destroyed easily.

I'm not about to say we'll see. I don't want to experiment about this and find out it's a failed experiment. I want to be sure about this parrot - I'm not going to join the 8,000+ other people who've deposited their parrots in rescues nation-wide.

Gah, I stopped to post something on a message board and lost my train of thought.

Uh... Well, my comp is messing up... so I think I might just end this.

End.