I feel that I may have mentioned this before…

I’ve been told a few times in my life that I look like an actor named Joshua Jackson. This me looking fellow made a name for himself playing the role of Pacey on Dawson’s Creek, and according to my friend Jenn, is now on the show Fringe.

When I say, “I’ve been told a few times,” I mean – I’ve had about 1,000 people ask me “do you know who you look JUST like?” (They’re always so disappointed when I guess right.) I’ll say I’ve had an equal number of people skip the question and just tell me I look like him. Some people have cautiously asked me if I am him – and then, well – there have been a small but glorious handful of people who have been certain I am him. Those ones are the most fun. One of those is the story I think I may have told before – and if I haven’t… well, I’ll tell it in the future… maybe

It’s usually full grown humans making this mistake. Almost exclusively women – and as of today, that gender demographic hasn’t changed. But full grown women? You have some competition.

I was in Trader Joe’s today getting some food. I was doing my normal A.D.D. shopping thing and wandering back and fourth from one side of the store to the other grabbing things as they caught my attention.

I saw the look in her green eyes the first time I walked by.

I kind of smiled at her, but tried to not to get her hopes up. So I grabbed some bagels, grabbed some carrots, grabbed some mustard: by the third time I walked passed – it was too late.

This little girl couldn’t keep her cool anymore. She was probably 7. She grabbed her mom’s arm, yanked on it and S-C-R-E-A-M-E-D, “Mommy, that’s the boy from Dawson’s Creek!”

Why a 7 year old is watching re-runs of Dawson’s Creek is a thing I’d like to know, but no less – this was fucking adorable. I’m not sure what the mom said to her, but it probably included both, “keep your voice down,” and, “no, that’s not.”

I’ve always been a little bit jealous of people who have admirable celebrity doppelgangers. Someone confusing me for Jason Varitek or Tom Selleck would be awesome. I have, however, no such luck.

Granted, I’d probably have a much higher chance of finding an admirable celebrity doppelganger if I watched more television. I have a hard time getting into TV shows –will usually only give them a shot if I know they’ve got a couple of good seasons to fall into, and will throw a show to the wolves if the writing becomes lackluster for even a moment. I’ve never actually watched a single episode of Dawson’s Creek, even though I feel like I should, given the resemblance.

The most recent show I’ve fallen into – and am madly in love with is a show called… well, I’ll get there…

My new job, which I’m starting on the 19th, required me to be fingerprinted at the police station at the beginning of the week. I was escorted into a back room by a petite woman with short brown hair who looked a little bit younger than me who was wearing a large, “CRIME SCENE UNIT” jacket.

“Do you really work crime scenes, or are you just wearing the jacket?” I asked as she dipped my hand into ink.

There’s something about being fingerprinted that really just sparks conversation – maybe it’s that you wind up holding hands with a stranger for 10 minutes… or maybe that’s just me.

“Yeah, I work crime scenes,” she said softly as she pressed my index finger to a piece of cardstock.

“How is someone your age already a cop?” I asked.

“Not a cop,” she said, as she pulled back her jacket to show me her waist. “See, no gun.”

“Ah,” I said – nodding my head as she pulled my ring finger up to her face to try and see if there was something on it causing the print to smudge.

“So what exactly do you do… other than fingerprint money changers like myself?” I asked.

“I go to crime scenes – murders and stuff. I take pictures of pools of blood, I collect DNA off of weapons, stuff like that,” she says.

“Are you into any of the crime TV shows?” I ask.

“CSI is the dumbest show on the planet… but, have you heard of that show called Dexter?”

Ah yes – Dexter. That would be the show I’ve recently fallen in love with.

“I sure have,” I tell her, coolly. “That’s my favorite show right now.”

“Oh my god, mine too and I practically have his job!” she said, squeezing my hand with excitement, getting some ink on her palm.

“How far are you into the series?” I asked.

“I’ve seen every episode. Twice. What about you?”

“I’m working my way through season two.”

She nodded and said, “you’re all done. Come with me and I’ll show you how to get this ink off your hands… I’ve got some on mine too,” she pointed out.

As we stood together at a special sink equipped with special de-inking soap, she asked if I buy the seasons on DVD or just watch them when they’re on TV.

“I probably shouldn’t admit this in a police station,” I said, “but I just download them.”

She wagged an inky finger at me and said, “Well – if you end up getting arrested for piracy, I’ll make sure I’m the one to finger print you again.”

I’d have asked for her number if she’d told me that Michael C. Hall, the actor who plays Dexter, was my look alike. I had, however, no such luck.




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