'Bye Geeks

Today was GermanGuy's birthday, so we all went out to ice cream (usually we do lunch, but we had gone for breakfast at 10 this morning, so we weren't exactly hungry). While at lunch GoteeBoy's wife, Rachel, called. She calls him a lot, and he always answers, "Hey Ray." Generally when his phone rings someone in the vicinity will say, "Hey Ray." Today was no exception, but we all called it out when he answered. He took the call and stepped outside. Eventually we all finished up and had piled back in MyBoss' van. GoteeBoy was finishing up his conversation, and someone said, "Let's say goodbye." So we all called out, "Bye Ray!" To which she replied, "Bye Geeks!" Then she told him that she was including me in the geeks part, since I work with a bunch of geeks I must be one, myself. Uh, duh?

RAID

I was sleeping a wonderfully peaceful slumber when my bedroom door opened and PuppyDogsAndBows tentatively called out, "Granola. Granola."

"What?" I groggily grumbled as I glanced at the clock. 2 freaking o'clock in the morning. This had better be a matter of life and death or Police action. Frankly, I didn't care which.

"I need you to kill a spider. Please." What do I look like? The Orkin Man?? In her defense, we made an agreement the first day we moved in together. That agreement goes thusly: they don't scream and in return I will kill any bug, spider, random living that that makes its way into our house. I don't mind killing things, I do mind, however, screaming. It seems like a very fair trade-off to me. My roommates all seem to agree, since I haven't heard screaming and I have had to kill a variety of spiders. With this in mind, I got up and followed her to her room.

"Where is it?"

"Some where in that pile of shoes. I don't know where." It should be mentioned that she has about a billion shoes. Where by "billion" I mean approximately 30-40 pairs, and every shoe was in this pile on her floor. I sat down and commenced the super-fun process of picking up every shoe, shaking it out, and moving it into a new pile. When I was about half finished she started hyperventilating. "It's on the wall behind you!"

I turned and sure enough, there was a fairly large spider (about the size of a penny) crawling up the wall behind me. I grabbed the RAID and started spraying. The stupid bugger kept crawling up the wall. Then I picked up the toilet tissue I had brought for the event and attempted to squash him. When I picked up the paper he was not only alive he was trying to get away. Eventually I squashed him and flushed him down the toilet.

After the deed was done (and my hands washed) I headed back to my waiting bed. "Are you sure it's dead?"

"Yeah. His guts were evidence that he was pretty much dead."

Note to self, don't mention that spiders have guts. Why? you ask. Simple. Right after I said this she started jumping around, "Ewwweee! It was big enough to have guts!? Spiders have guts?" I had to remind her that the people who live in the basement apartment sleep right under where she was jumping. "Will you put me to bed?" You have got to be kidding me?

"Sure."

We went to her room, where I had to check her bed sheets, under her bed, and generally around her room. Thankfully, she didn't ask me to read her a bed-time story. I don't think I could have kept a straight face.

Send My Kid Sister On A Mission

Well, it's not exactly what the guys had in mind, but I have talked my kid sister into keeping a blog. Her plan (as outlined by moi) is to update it now with pre-mission stuff, then when the time comes, she'll write a "blog letter" which Mumsy will update weekly. I'm excited to see what she writes, and how it works out for her. In case you want to check it out she can be found here.

Medicinal Use

Of all of the wonderful things I got from my parents—low cholesterol, low blood pressure, graceful aging—I somehow managed to also get a fair amount of the crappy bits. One such crappy bit I got from my lovely mother was migraines. I've been getting them for years, usually once every 6 weeks or so. When asked I usually tell people, "frequently" or "persistent". It sucks, but you learn to adjust and just deal with them.

Unfortunately, there is little that can be done for migraines, and depending on the doctor, they'll just throw pain medications at you and tell you to live with it. The last doctor I went to gave me some stuff that is part barbituate and part caffeine. As you can guess sometimes I'm rather high, and other times I just fall asleep. The problem is, I never know how I'm going to react, so I like to avoid taking them as much as possible, unless I can just lie in bed.

I have found that the medication helps a bit, but what really helps the most is getting a massage (to lessen the tension in my shoulders and neck) or going to the chiropractor. These are great solutions, but at the price tag they have attached I like to avoid those options as much as possible.

Recently, I've had a migraine for 3 weeks. The most frustrating bit is it will subside for quite a while, then come back in full force. As a result, I've been popping pills like they are going out of style. Today I took one right before work, which (surprisingly) didn't have much of an effect on me, and barely nudged the migraine. I took another one at lunch, and now I'm struggling to keep my eyes propped open, and be productive. I don't know how well I'm succeeding at either one. With my luck, MyBoss will walk in my office in an hour or so and find me drooling on the keyboard with this entry still open. That would be just dandy. Don't you think?

My favorite bit is, my dentist says I have TMJ, the TMJ specialist agrees (so, I guess I do), and he recommends braces to fix that problem (YUCK), but says that the TMJ is contributing to the migraines (and since my jaw has been aching almost as long as I've had this migraine I'm prone to agree). I think I'm going to curl up and die, now.

Dude Looks Like A Lady

Sunday at church I made a comment that PuppyDogsAndBows disagreed with, simply on the basis that I am a woman and, thus, must feel otherwise. It turns out, she was wrong. At any rate, she shook her head and said, "I don't understand you, Granola."

"Let me make it easier for you. Repeat after me, 'Granola is a boy. Granola is a boy.' Just think of me as if I were a boy, and it'll make your life a lot easier."

She didn't agree with my assessment, but Sunday School had started, so she dropped it.

Later that night while I was out my roommates rearranged some things in the living room. It wasn't a big deal, and I didn't care all that much. The only think I was annoyed about was that they moved my cello out of the living room and into the TV room, and put it behind the television. Uh, hello? Why on earth would you do that? I mean, Personally, I think it's really cool when someone plays a musical instrument, and like to have it in the living room. If one of my roommates played the harp I'd make room for it. Frankly, it was taking up as much room as a cello does, and not much more. I didn't see the need to move it. PuppyDogsAndBows asked me, "We rearranged the living room, you don't mind, do you?"

"Nope, I don't care." Which is the truth. I don't care. It's all about compromise, and it's not like they broke something.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"I don't believe you. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Yes. I really don't care. I'll just take my cello into my room if you guys don't want it in the living room. It's not like we all sit in there all at once, anyway." Thinking to myself, you guys are all much more interested in watching television to sit in a room with no T.V.

Thankfully, she let the subject drop. Later I went to her and said, "Remember earlier when I told you to think of my like a boy? I was serious. It'll make things easier on you. I mean, I'm moody and pissy sometimes, but I get over it quickly. Yes, I like to have things done my way, but mostly I'm completely ambivalent about things."

"Yeah," she told me, "I was thinking about that. But, you're not a boy."

No sh** Sherlock! Thanks for noticing. "Ya think?! But, trust me on this one."

She's still trying to fit this square peg in her self-carved round hole. H'ain't gonna happen, deary.

Clarification

It's not that we argue, or fight, or don't get along. Generally, actually, we get along just fine. We like each other and were friends before we moved in together. In deed, we manage to have some really great times together. That being said, PuppyDogsAndBows is nuts! And, she's doing her best to drive me that way, too.

Finally! An Answer

Last night PuppyDogsAndBows announced that she was going to the grocery store, and asked if I needed anything. I said, no, thanks. The thing about her is: she's not very comfortable with who she is. Sunday at church, for example, she asked me if I would go to the washroom with her. This is not my idea of fun. In fact, I am more than mildly disgusted when girls go to the washroom in groups. However, because I know she is not a confident person (owing partially to the fact that she is not very comfortable with who she is) I agreed. The joy! Last night after I had said I didn't need anything I sensed that it was a similar situation, so I amended my answer with, "but, I'll go with you, anyway." She smiled that smile of relief and sighed, "Thank you!"

I find it very odd, and mildly uncomfortable when people aren't comfortable with who they are. I don't know if it is because I am so comfortable with who I am and therefore can't identify (this is a truism, even if it isn't the cause), or if it is because I find their discomfort more than moderately annoying. Thus, spending time with people who are unsure of themselves is very taxing on me.

I know this sounds like an I'm-better-than-everyone-else post, but that's not the point. The point is I'm comfortable and confident with who I am. I have a sufficiently high self-esteem, and am not overly concerned with what external people think about me. Sure, I care what my folks think of me, it matters to me what my family thinks of me, and, I think the image I portray as a Mormon is really important. Aside from that, I think if I'm striving to be the best possible person I can be, then I don't worry too much about what other people think.

Last night after we were leaving the grocery store I said something about driving in a "well lighted city." Thinking she had caught me in a massive grammatical mistake she corrected me, "Wouldn't it be well lit?" No. This launched us into a discussion on the issue. Finally she conceded the point, "You shouldn't go around assuming you're right all the time."

"When it comes to grammar, I am seldom incorrect." Her concession was in a joking tone, so I continued in a jocular fashion.

"Well, you shouldn't assume that you're always right about everything else, too."

"Oh, but I am."

"People will think you're a snob."

Ahhh... well, it's about time we got to the root of the issue: PuppyDogsAndBows thinks I'm a snob. At least we finally have some basis for her neuroses towards me.

"So what?" I shrugged. "I don't care what people think."

"Yes, you do." This is my favorite part of our discussions. In an effort to convince herself that she is "perfectly normal" (whatever the hell that means) she believes (or wants to, very, very badly) that everyone else who doesn't have massive issues is exactly like she. This may be another reason we don't always see eye to eye-on-every issue. Anyway, back to the discussion on hand.

"No, actually, I don't."

"Well, you should." Ah, more attempting to make people fit into the mold that she thinks they ought.

The conversation continued. I find it hard to comprehend people with poor self-esteems, but at least I accept that they exist. Now, if she could just accept that there are people with good-solid self-esteems, and they aren't necessarily stuck-up or conceited. Some of us are just confident. I blame Mumsy.

Wha'd I Do?

Saturday morning I was awakened at the un-Earthly hour of 9:30 A.M. by a phone call — never a good thing. I don't know about you, but it was my weekend. The day, of all others, that I, Granola G. Girl, get to sleep in past 7 and not feel guilty about it.

This phone calls, it turns out, was my credit card company calling to tell me that I hadn't paid my bill this past month. Impossible! I distinctly recall writing out the check and sending it off. I paid the guy over the phone, and he asked me if I had a change of address. Sure did, in fact, I changed it when I sent my bill in. When I woke up enough to be coherent, I checked my bank online and found that not only had that check not been cashed, but neither had another check to a different credit card company that I had sent out at the same time. Someone had stolen my mail.

So, I did what any one would do, I called my mom to complain. Then, I went to the bank to cancel my checks. The lobby was closed, but the drive up was open. I explained to the girl at the window that I needed to cancel two checks. "Ok, let me get the forms." (I should note that this was said in the blondest manner possible, and the conversation continued in that manner.) Five minutes later she came back and said, "Actually, we can't cancel your checks today, but we can do it Monday. Is that going to be ok?" Uh, NO, you ninny. If it could wait until Monday do you think I would be trying to do it before you close in 15 minutes? Yeah, I didn't think so, either. What sort of idiot asks 'Is that ok?'? 'I'm sorry, we can't,' sure, I can understand that, but 'is that ok?'! What I did say to her, in a tone of voice that was completely annoyed, was, "No. Can I have my cards back?" When she returned them I drove off, and didn't even wait for the "Have a nice day" crap I was going to be subjected to. I was in a pissy mood.

After the bank I went to the Post Office. I decided that I was going to get a post office box, thus ensuring that no one is stealing any of my mail, coming or going, and, that PuppyDogsAndBows doesn't open it. Ever. Again. After standing in line for 25 or so minutes while the one postal worker chatted with four people getting their passports — does it really take that long to take a couple of photos? — I was about to go postal. Finally, they finished up, and I got to the counter: "I'd like to know about post office boxes?" He gave me the run down, which included the fact that they have only the large size available, which is $120 a year. Excuse me? My favorite bit was when he told me that they needed proof of physical address, so my car registration, or driver's license would do. Well, I told him, I just moved, so would that notice they had sent me with my change of address be sufficient? You know, the one that said all over it, "Keep for your records. This can be presented at the Department of Motor Vehicles as evidence of a change of address."? Turns out, you can't. Yeah, that is good enough for the DMV, but not good enough for the institution that issued it. So, I couldn't take care of that. Turns out, because he took so much time flapping his gums with the people before me, that I didn't have time to go home to grab the one item I could actually present as evidence of my move — my lease agreement.

I left there and headed over to the police station to file a report on my stolen mail, just in case. I had to wait 20 minutes for an officer to come take my information. Now, I understand that mail theft isn't exactly a high priority crime. I understand that there are loads of other things that come much higher on the totem pole than a couple of checks being stolen. However, we're talking about noon on a Saturday, in Provo (recently listed as the "Most Secure City in the US"), it's not like crime is out of control. I'm sure they were doing all sorts of important things, like taking the report on a couple of text books someone found, or returning an impounded bicycle, but I was the only person in the waiting room, and no one even glanced my direction. In fact, at one point the officer who later took my info, came out and chatted with the dispatcher about the incident with the impounded bike. When he finally did take my statement I felt a bit stupid reporting it, but, hey, if they wash my checks I'd be screwed, so I delt.

I went home, and continued in my pissed off state. I was sitting on the porch reading when PuppyDogsAndBows came home. She poked her head out to say hi and ask how I was. "I'm in a really pissy mood, actually." I informed/warned her. "Why, wha'd I do?" she asked, genuinely concerned that she had done something. I told her she had done nothing, unless she had gone over to my other house, and stolen my mail six weeks ago. Then I rehashed my day to her. I don't understand why she automatically assumed that she was at fault, sometimes people have crappy days and you have nothing to do with it. The funny (ironic, not 'ha ha') thing is, I was warning her, so if I snapped at her unthinkingly she would know that it wasn't something she had done.

It's gonna be a long year.

I Hope They Call Me On A Mission

My kid sister has decided to go on a mission. I'm so proud of her and excited for the opportunities she's giving herself. Unfortunately, she's not exactly the plan ahead type, thus she has no money saved up to pay for this little adventure; and the money she has saved is being spent on the preparatory things like dental work and shots, etc. She hopes to submit her papers this month, with an availability date in December.

Admittedly we're all excited for her, but I had a feeling that she was going to call on the Bank of Granola to fund her. Not surprisingly, she did. Now, I'm not saying that I begrudge her asking — frankly, I would have been disappointed had she not. The thing of it is, Mumsy and Da-doo certainly can't afford it, and our other two sisters are as far removed from potentially being able to help as is humanly possible. The only other sibling remaining is our brother, and I'm not sure he's able either. So, now you're wondering, how much is this little venture going to cost. Well, my friend, rest assured, I have the answer: $400/month for a mere 18 months (that's $7200, for those of you too lazy to bust out a calculator).

The good news is, if we can't scrounge up the funds, then the church will make up the difference. I was talking with OfficeNeighbor about it yesterday, and he suggested I put up a Web site called: www.SendMyKidSisterOnAMission.com and have a pay-pal account, along with a running total of the money people have donated. The (theoretical) Web site just got bigger and better: weekly letters from her, photos of the places she is and the people she works with, etc. After all that, he then suggested that I scrape 50 cents off the dollar and save up a bit for a down-payment for my new house. He's going to Hell at that rate. I told him that, alternatively, each of the guys could donate 40 bucks a month and we could all sponsor her. Yeah, that's not happening, either.

The Dork Next Door

Over the past few weeks I have become friends with the guys next door (where by "next door" I mean, "two houses down"). They are really fun and funny. However, one of them in particular (the one with whom I spend the most time) is a world class dork. There really is no other word to describe him. I've tried 'punk' but people take that to mean punk as in punk-rock. He's a little bit of that, but more of an immature trouble maker. He's the one guy who will always think of lame pranks to pull on people, and delight years later when they still haven't figured out he was the one who did it.

My roommates don't really care for him all that much, though they try for the "I don't really know him all that well" excuse that fails as soon as one suggests that they might try to get to know him better. PuppyDogsAndBows keeps asking me, "Do you have a crush on Dork?" in that tone of voice that is part incredulous part disgusted. I always answer the same, "No. We're friends, I like hanging out with him; but he's a dork."

Last night we were watching a movie when we heard music coming from one of the rooms. They muted the TV and listened. No one was in that room, and then it dawned on me, "I bet Dork is playing on our porch." I went out to check and there he was, sitting in the dark playing guitar. I joined him and we chatted and hung out and he played and sang. Generally, we spent a pleasant evening sitting in the dark on my porch.

Back story: Sunday night he had helped me put a couch on the porch, which would be terribly trashy, except we live in a college town, and everyone has couches on their porches, so it's less tacky. Anyway, this is important because we were sitting on the couch talking, etc. At one point he decided to sit on the brick wall we have that pretty much surrounds the porch. I was tired, so I threw my knees over the arm of the couch and laid back, taking up two of the three cushions. When he moved back to the couch he sat on the third cushion, and I twisted so I could look at him as we talked, but other than that, didn't move.

About that time one of my roommates decided she wanted to go skateboarding down the street, so she came out and chatted with us briefly before heading out. She came back a bit later and Dork and I were still lounging on the couch chatting.

After he left I went inside and PuppyDogsAndBows said, "You had your head in his lap, huh?" "What? No! I was just lying on the couch." Apparently the other roommate had reported back to the girls what she thought she had seen. The thing about it is, had I had my head in his lap I'd tell them. Why would I (a) try to hide it, or (b) lie about it when my roommate had seen it? Doesn't make sense to me either. Then, PuppyDogsAndBows asked the question we all know she was going to ask, "Do you have a crush on him?" No. No, I don't. We're friends, that's all.

I think she's seen When Harry Met Sally a few times too many.

Mail

Growing up my parents made sure we learned the value of respecting other people's privacy. They knocked before the entered our bedrooms and all the usual privacy rules. However, the message that has stuck with me all these years was the one that said, "I don't care how interesting it looks. The envelope isn't addressed to you, it's addressed to Dad. So, no, you can't open it, unless he says you can." This extended to all mail. Letters from friends, Christmas cards, bills, "To the Parents of...", etc. Except, when they got letters addressed "To the parents of So-and-so" So-and-so was there when said letter was opened, and when we got older we were allowed to open those letters, provided we were So-and-so. This privacy rule, as I have said, has remained with me long after I have moved out of my parents' home.

Thus, I was (understandably, I feel) highly annoyed when I got home last night to discover that my roommate (PuppyDogsAndBows, as Mumsy has named her for me) had opened what she had (incorrectly) assumed to be the gas bill. Now, I understand that we all pay the utilities equally. But, you know what? It's my damn name on the bill, and I'm the one ultimately responsible to see that it gets paid, not her. If she wanted to open the bills she could have put them all in her name. I certainly didn't want to deal with that, again. In shear anger I yelled to an empty house, "Stop opening my damn mail!" Then, I grabbed a pen that was sitting on the table and wrote all over the envelope in big letters, "PLEASE, don't open my mail. I don't care if it is utilities!!!"

After that, I called Mumsy to vent about her utter lack of understanding of the rules of mail opening. I ranted and ranted about how much this pissed. me. off. and how I couldn't believe she would do this, and how this wasn't the first time. Mumsy guessed which of the roommates it was (you have figured out by this point that I'm living with three completely new people, and have been for the past month and a half, right?) and said, "Oh. She has issues already. You can't yell at her for it."

"Oh, bet me! If I have to deal with this for four bills for the next 12 months I'm going to go out of my mind! It's not that I have a problem with her seeing the bill, that's not it at all. I mean, we all have to pay it, and I'd want to see the bills before I pay them, too. Heck, I'll post it on the fridge if she wants! But I don't want her opening my mail! It's addressed to me! You never opened mail that was addressed to just Dad, even it if was a bill! Why should she be any different?!"

Mom half laughed, "Well, I opened utilities, but we're married, so it's a whole lot different. So, how are you going to tell her?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to have to wait awhile. If I don't I will be less than nice, and we both know how that will go."

We talked on about other things, and when I finally hung up the phone and headed back to the back of the house I heard music coming from PuppyDogsAndBows' room. I looked out in the back, and, sure enough, her car was parked there. $%^&*()!!! She had to have heard the whole conversation. I wasn't exactly quiet about it, and I didn't hear her come in. I went to my room and slammed the door, and pretended that I hadn't noticed that she was there.

I still haven't addressed it. I don't know how to bring it up. Well, I do know how to bring it up, I just don't know how to do it with out hurting her feelings. She's such an emotional roller coaster, sometimes I wonder how I'm going to survive the next year with her as a roommate!

Order From Chaos or How Yahoo! Does It

This morning's activities started like any other. Log into my computers and start some processes, while I wait for those to finish I check my emails, read the comics, then cruise through other blogs that I like. This morning I happened to have a bit more time, so I thought, "Hey, I'll check my blog counter!"

As you no doubt know, people search on the strangest things. Sometimes it makes sense when they stumble across my blog. For example, the person who searched for "granola tree hugger" not surprisingly found me. However, today's search yielded the strangest one I've seen to date: "how's Slidell Baptist Seminary". As we all know, I happen to be an authority on all things Slidell. Ok, so I had to google it. Whatever, don't split hairs with me.

And, there we have it, how Yahoo! organizes the Universe — completely randomly.

Testosterone List

After this weekend's agitation and frustration due to a severe estrogen overload I have decided to compile a list of testosterone boosting activities. This includes everything from drag racing to movies to books. Please contribute as I'm sure I will miss quite a few. This list, in case you're curious, shall be used in cases of emergency and three day weekends when I am unable to go camping.

Thank you all for coming — proceed.

P.S. The list is off to the right —>

I Hate Girls

Well, that pretty much sums it up. Thank you all for coming. Good night.

Ok, ok. I'll elaborate.

Sunday night my roommate was watching Persuasion (a Jane Austin film, in case you are unfamiliar, like I). I sat in on the last 15 minutes, and when it was over my roommate asked, "Have you never seen that before?"

"Nope. I don't generally like Jane Austin."

This led to a discussion on why not, which included my using the phrase, "she portrays love to be puppy-dogs and ribbons, and that's not the way it is." My roommate thus began to take the conversation way too personally. It disintegrated from there.

We both just stopped talking. A little while later she was talking to a friend about going and volunteering at Camp Williams to help out with Katrina victims who were being housed there. I asked about it, hinting that I would love to go. She ignored my hints. Five minutes later she was talking to our other roommate about it: "You can come if you want." Then, noticing I was there, "Anyone can come."

"I'd love to! What's the information on it."

She hemmed and hawed, and finally called her friend back for the exact location, since I "wouldn't be able to drive up with them, because I had some things to do, but could maybe go later." Her friend didn't answer, but I could tell she wasn't thrilled anyway. Suddenly I was forced into Self-Preservation Mode: "Uh, I have something to do before Ward Prayer," I lied. "If your friend calls you back will you call me with the details? I'd love to go." With that I booked it out of the house. I desperately needed to reduce the amount of estrogen in my immediate vicinity. For some reason she was still clearly pissed about the "puppy-dogs and ribbons" comment.

I went over to my new ward friends' house and chilled until 10pm. They were going up at 9. My roommate never called me, and I took that to be a clear sign as to how she felt.

Monday morning found me getting my hair done, and running some errands. My roommate wasn't home when I was, and vice versa. However, since I was home pretty much most of the day it was pretty clear she was trying to not be. I left the house, in both an effort to get out of the house, and because I was tired of girl-dom.

I can't believe how pathetic I have become. Three days with out massive amounts of guys around me and I start going through withdrawal. I, apparently, have become more of a guy than I had previously thought.

Last night I needed a testosterone influx so badly that I went to see Fantastic 4. It was just what I needed, inane dialogue, limit romantic crap, and a fair amount of crappy action. Perfect. Feeling revitalized I returned home and slipped back into the girl roll — talking with my roommate about how things are. *sigh* Why can't I just have guy roommates? They may be filthy, but yelling at them to clean up their crap would be a nice change from the emotional roller coaster that girls seem to think life must be.

P.S. The original title to this post was going to be "I Effing Hate Girls". However, since I don't use such language, I thought better of it.

Dream

I had the following dream Monday Night. Feel free to try your hand at dream interpretation:

I was at (a place that I knew was) work (even though it wasn't really) when a friend of mine (who was apparently my boss) showed in a woman with whom he was friends. She wanted to give us a presentation, and he was facilitating it. We were in a classroom type situation, with the yellow-wood chairs and desks. She talked about a business opportunity she wanted us to help her with. Basically the emotion I felt (for I don't know if I actually heard her say anything at this point) was that she wanted us to quit our jobs and go work for the start-up company she was with. A few people asked questions, and then we adjourned.

My friend, who was apparently my boss, this woman, someone else, and myself all went to a back room which contained a television and two queen-sized beds. The woman and my friend immediately laid down to take a nap on the bed nearest the television. She took the side by the T.V. and my friend took the other side. I then laid down on the other bed, the foot of which was parallel with the side of the bed by friend was sleeping on. I'm not sure what the other person was doing, but I don't think she was on the same bed as I.

I must have slept, for when I woke the woman who had given the presentation was sitting on the edge of the bed watching T.V.. My friend was lying on his side watching her watch television. Then she got up, turned it off, and talked to the other woman in the room about this business idea. The other woman eventually left. I don't know what her finial decision was, but the presenter looked pleased. She then walked over to the bed I was lying on, and stood at the foot. I sat up, and my friend came over and joined me on the bed. He half lounged on the bed next to me, smiling as he did so.

The woman pitched her idea to me, which included my quitting my job at BigNameCompany and moving East. All the while my friend/boss smiled at me. Part of the way through her pitch he started picking at a scab that I had on my left arm (he was on the left). I wondered what he was doing, but let him continue anyway. The thoughts that were going through my head are kind of hard to explain — this friend is married (with kids), nevertheless, I am very attracted to him, and, sometimes I get the feeling that it's mutual. I would never act on it, and, assume thehighestt integrity in him, as well. Thus, in the dream it was a bit awkward for me, since I liked him touching me, even if what he was doing was odd. After the woman finished (I think my friend may have successfully removed the scab) she told me she would wait to hear from me, and left.

I got the feeling that my friend/boss was encouraging me to quit my job and go out on this limb, but he wasn't going to give me that advice, nor was he going to advise against it, nor was he going to tell me what he was going to do.

At that point I woke up. Oddness. But, it's been the week of weird dreams for me, so I guess I'll just wonder what on earth my subconscious was trying to tell me. Unless, of course, someone happens to be more into dream interpretation than I, and can fill me in.