My family (i.e., me, parental units, and younger sister) were driving around in San Francisco, doing something mundane like looking at art museums. We got lost while driving around, and separated (in two cars); the parents hooked up by cell phone and we decided to hook back up downtown. So Mom was driving, I was staring out the window boredly, and suddenly ... "Wait. What was that? Could you go around the block and go back there?"
"There" turned out to be a large, warm-colored concrete structure with a big sign on the side: "Singing Eagle" -- subtitled "Poly-Friendly Parking Garage." It intrigued me just how a parking garage could be polyamory-friendly; I found out when we pulled in.
Turns out, first of all, that the place was owned and operated by a poly ... octet? (Like a quad but twice as big.) I tracked down one of the attendants/owners, an attractive woman who managed to look a great deal like rosefox without actually being her. (Unless you dreamed last night of running a parking garage, Rose, in which case I think we have to talk.)
We chatted a bit, fell to talking, and started walking about. Somewhere along the line, I ditched my family, which was just fine with me at the time. (I also found out something quite odd about this parking garage: it encouraged loitering. I think it even had a little coffee shop on one of the floors. The woman I was chatting with related the story of how they had to chase out several drug dealers who found the place's drive-through, hang-around atmosphere to be ideal. The octet had their hands full for a few weeks, until the bad guys got the idea that they were very protective of the place's friendly, safe atmosphere.)
So Dream Lady and I walked around and chatted -- just being social; we never actually traded names -- and she somehow revealed that she had done something or another with Misty while at an SCA event ... I thought nothing of it, and we talked a little about music, at which point I discovered to my great delight that she was a fellow Wolfstone fan. We talked animatedly and briefly about that, then she tangented again and talked about something else that she had done with torquemada -- i.e., Josh, except that she didn't say Josh, she said le_merle, with about as close as speech can get to actually inserting the little LJ buddy icon thingy. And something clicked.
"Wait a minute," I said. "You know torquemada? He's a friend of mine up in Seattle. And ... wait. Misty? You mean violetvixen? I live with her! She's my mate's husband's other!" We got excited, started to compare notes ...
... And my alarm clock rang.
As I staggered back to consciousness, my first thought was, "Shit ... I need to get her name before I wake up ..." which was, of course, pointless, because I was awake by then. Le sigh.
Still, it was neat to find that San Francisco has a poly-friendly parking garage, and to talk to someone two states away who is friends with two friends of mine who are (to the best of my knowledge) native Northwesterners. Boy ... even my dreams take place in a small world.