Ok, so I guess this is a dream diary now.

I'm so proud of my unconscious mind. It's been cranking out the coolest dreams the last few days.

First, the BF, Nolt and I had gotten a new apartment. We hadn't really had time to clean everything up after unpacking but his grandparents insisted on coming over. Turns out, his grandma really likes wine. She drank up the stuff I already had, so I went digging through the pantry and found a bunch of abandoned booze form the previous tenets. Opening the bottles set of tiny little holographic music videos, but a lot of it had gone bad. Just as Nolt was getting antsy because there were too many people in our dinky apartment, I got called into work. I gave him a kiss, helped his grandparents to their car and scooted.
Me and my good friend, Patrick, worked in DC. He was some sort of diplomat and I was his assistant. At least I'm pretty sure that was going on, because I kept following him around and carried a bunch of papers. We were in this really lovely hotel lobby. He was on the phone babbling away in French, while I got coffee. He was getting agitated and said he needed to go see his friend. I was like, "sure thing, lets go". On the way there he told off some crazy protesters for not being caring people, threw out the first pitch at some sporting event, before we came to this convention center where the president was scheduled to speak. I could tell he was about to sneak in and chit chat with the president. No, Patrick, stahp. Wut r u doing? Patrick no... PATRICK YES! He squeezed behind a barricade and past the guard to pop into a room down the way and talk to the president. Well, fine. I'm just going to sit over here with your papers until you're done screwing around. As I'm waiting, some lady comes up and starts insisting that I come with her. Uh, ok? Their singer canceled because she didn't get white towels in her dressing room. Quelle horreur....
But I guess I was the only person in the building dressed nicely and or looked like a student, so they can pass me off as a teenager. So I sang the national anthem before the president, (and presumably Patrick) took the stage to speak. As I'm leaving the stage all these middle aged moms tried to give me money and offer Facebook-inspirational-quote level advice. K thenks. Backstage, the person who was supposed to sing was this vaguely Lady Gaga pop diva. She said something like "not bad, but don't ever steal my gigs again."