Boy Crazy

Dear Reid,

I don’t know what to do. I think I’m going completely nuts. I seem to have romantic feelings toward nearly every guy I know. It all started with one of my best friends; after two and a half years of knowing the guy, I realized that I was crazy about him. Then the feelings started coming over me when I would talk to selected other guys that I knew – the most attractive ones, first, of course. Now I seem to have a thing for at least half of the members of the opposite sex with whom I am acquainted. Why can’t I just fall for someone who’s not already my friend? It seems like it would be so much easier. I’d hate to ruin a good friendship over my out-of-control hormones.

Please help,
Boy Crazy

You are a credit to dementia. Nevertheless, I know how you feel. I believe that the only way I can truly help you in this situation is by reaching deep inside my own psyche; by relating to you a dream I had just the other night.

It started in the office of this very newspaper, in the basement of the Minority Resource Center. It was a beautiful Tuesday afternoon, though for some reason I had it in my head that it was Wednesday. Someone had given me a high-tech video camera thing to mess around with, it had to do with some government conspiracy or something, and I was videotaping a few of the people around the office – one in particular that we’ll call E.S., to avoid implicating the innocent. Anyway, there were about four or five people in the office at one moment, and in the next about a dozen others showed up and started copy-editing and running around, performing the usual Wednesday night antics on a Tuesday afternoon. Something seemed immediately suspicious to me; maybe it was the especially flavorful jelly beans that one of the other editors had brought to share.

Moments later, a band of ninjas came bursting into the office, and they seemed intent on my destruction. I did the only thing I could think of at the time: I dropped the camera and ran out the door.

I hesitated at the top of the stairs coming out of MRC, and turned to see Arnold Schwartzenegger standing up above the stairwell by the main door to the building, dressed in black fatigues, ready for a fight. One by one, the ninjas came rushing out the door (why do they always attack individually, anyway? You’d think they’d teach them group attacks in ninja school), and one by one, Arnold would drop down on top of them. In their moment of surprise, I would send them reeling to the bottom of the cement stairwell with a supercharged, bionic kick. Each time, Arnold would deftly return to his hiding place. Just when I thought it was over, they all leapt to their feet and overpowered Arnold. Again, I ran.

Up the stairs into MRC, down a vast corridor (which doesn’t really exist, come to think of it) and out a huge plate glass window, where I dropped four stories and still landed gracefully on my feet. I glanced upward to see a few of the ninjas beginning their chase, rappelling down the side of the building with ropes that I’m sure they had set up earlier, anticipating my escape. Looking around, I realized that I was no longer at UMM, but standing in a dark alleyway lined with tall buildings. I picked a direction and I ran.

I cut to the left and up some sort of embankment – which in retrospect seems out of place – and stumbled across a formal gathering of my former floormates in a courtyard that bore a striking resemblance to an outdoor Oyate Hall. Everyone looked very nice, and I joined the party. When I went over to the coat check guy, he started freaking out, asking me what I did with the camera. All I could say was, “Um, I guess I dropped it.”

So, my Boy Crazy friend, I’m sure you can see that all the answers you seek can be found by simple dream interpretation. It’s like the wise man said: Friends shmiends. Start by going after the one you like best, and move on down the list. Or, you could just give me a call.


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