Well, another Diaryland hurdle has just been...hurdled.

I had the Diaryland Dream.

When I've never seen a picture of you people, I tend to form ideas in my head about what you look like. They are no doubt wrong, based on my own prejudices and tendencies. For example, I get an idea about what a 25 year old guy in Rhode Island who likes to talk about puppies and rock n' roll looks like, and the little casting agent in my brain supplies an image. I'm always wrong. By default, everyone I read is white, unless I learn otherwise. This is probably because I'm a big ol' honky myself, and then there's the fact that everyone on TV is white unless specified otherwise. That's a whole other story.SweetTits was cast as an imposing 6' Irish brunette until I learned otherwise. For all I know, half of you could be black or latino, and I'm just making you into goofy white people because that's what my brain does automatically.

Anyway, there's a point here somewhere. That being, the people who were in my dream didn't even match the preconceived images of what I had for them in the first place. So, basically, my brain just created two extra people to represent the diarists who were in my dream. Even though I had once imagined what they looked like, subsequently seen their pictures and so knew what they really looked like, my brain still created other looks for them.

God, sometimes I hate talking about dreams.

So, anyway, I'm sitting around yesterday, waiting for someone to call me and offer me money to do stuff. The phone rings, and someone with an east coast accent says "Is Bill there?"

I'm thinking to myself 'East Coast. New York...Nickelodeon? Please, God, please, let it be Nickeleodeon.'

I say, professionally "This is Bill."

"Hi, Bill, it's James."

Pause. "OK," I say. Maybe this Nickelodeon guy is feeling the need to introduce himself.

"It's James, Bill."

"James. James who?"

"From the internet."

"Boymonkey James?" I say in disbelief.

"Yeah!"

Moral of the story: If I know you from Diaryland, that's probably how I would recognize you. It's like we all have our own codenames.

Just to clarify, James didn't call me out of the absolute blue, although he is stalking me. I gave him my number. Right now, he's on a cross country killing spree, poisoning people in between rides on the Greyhound. He should be with Sez right now, and soon, he's going to come here and sleep in my closet with only a dirty sock for a blanket.

If I suddenly stop updating, now you know why.