Lulu’s Loose Screw

 I have been told I look like Martha Plimpton.  And I guess I do. But I think I am starting to look a little bit more like myself—more than ever before! B ut if we are talking doppelgängers, and I guess we are, then here is a list of people I have been told I look like. Martha Plimpton (hint: River Phoenix is the shadow beside me) I saw Martha once, in person, in the revival of Pal Joey, off Broadway. And she was fabulous! Sitting in the audience, looking up at her, center stage, I really saw it then, really felt it for the first time. I was looking into a real-life future mirror.  Kate Hudson I will never forget when my sister told me I looked like Kate Hudson. It was just after Almost Famous hit the theaters, and they were talking about Kate on the radio when my sister said, "You know, you kind of look like Kate Hudson." And I was thrilled! She was my very first doppelgänger. Drew Barrymore The other day I walked into the bank. As I

*dedicated to the Rugrats, without whom I would have never been able to hold it in as a child.  When I was a kid if I wanted a toy from the store I would ask my parents to buy it for me, and they would either say, “No,” and I would toss a tantrum, or they would say, “Sure, but get a new box, that one looks dented.” I guess I threw a tantrum either way because I never wanted to pick a new box. Those boxes, with that toy, was the box I chose, and if I put it down the toy would feel badly. And just think of how many other kids did the same thing! It is basically the Corduroy story.  I actually still do that, but not to the same degree. I have learnt to let go. But I always feel bad for the box I leave behind. The other day a coworker of mine said that conical hats are only appropriate when dressing as a unicorn. To that I said, NAY! Conical hats are only appropriate if one is trying to be a Princess. When I was a kid, I wanted nothing more than to be a Princess when I grew u

*This is a very unique circumstance, so I want to preface this piece by saying that I created this story last year in January and finished it shortly after. A few days ago I stumbled upon a  deep dark fear  that bore quite a striking resemblance to my story. The fear and my story, Innie Infection, respectively, are as follows:  If Jill had to pick her biggest pet peeve it would be people poking her midriff like the Pillsbury doughboy. She was pudgy; she got it. She was lying on her bed watching TV and spinning the cogs of her sweatpants’ drawstring, running her fingers along the insides of the rope. Her anti-idle hands gravitated upward, squeezing the fatty flesh of her obliques, and her fingers marched down around the barrel of her belly. Ten-hut! The procession halted. She dipped one soldier down, her index finger, down into the crevice and felt something sharp in the tiny pit of her stomach. A booby trap! Your bellybutton is full of bacteria, her sister said before

One of the very first dreams I remember having was a bird’s-eye view descending from up in the clouds. The closer I got to the ground, the more the clouds dissipated. And there was a carnival waiting, underneath the fog.    Bird’s-eye View                                                                     Clouds. Descending into clouds, foggy clouds. Gray Clouds  in background frozen light. Floating deeper down, flying through black and white. Clouds break apart closer to the ground. There  the air is still cloudy. Ahead there is a clearing, a soft spot of sun. Early morning sun, shinning on a carousel,  and a Ferris wheel shouting out a salutation. A soaring wind from a sudden flap of wings shifts the breeze, cheeping in the distance. Carnival colors blink awake, and wipe away the clouds.