Islands of Seals

I woke and readied myself to share the dream sequences I can recall, but first stop was to call cousin M (who I attribute today's blog title to) to learn the ways of my new french press (I don't read directions). And now some bits, long and short:
I'm in a crowd; I recognize no one initially, we are apart of some class who is given different tasks to perform. Our first task is to decipher problems in the cellar of an old house. A small group of us gathers at the doorway to the cellar; we open the door cautiously, the smell of mildew reaches us as expected, and as our eyes search down the dark stairs we then notice a large and angry seal. He is plopped at the bottom of the stairs and he is angrily staring and grunting up at us. We all grow a bit hysterical and the seal then begins to plow toward us. We slam the door just as he reaches the top and his head almost peeks through the edge of the door. He slams his body against the other side of the door, and the door convulses beneath our bodies held against it. He then manages to get the door slightly open and gets his head through. We scramble for the lock and find some wire that we use to further secure the door. He continues to grunt angrily. Although his head continues to be lodged, he is unable to break his way through the door. We head toward a ship where our instructors await us. I am still with my smaller group, which consists of a couple of younger girls and one guy. It becomes apparent that the guy and I are smarter and far more capable to undertake the tasks assigned, and so we forge a partnership. We sit side by side in the well-lighted "classroom" as we are given our next assignments.
In the next bit of dream I am with my husband and we are traveling in a foreign city at night. We walk inside a long tunnel, and there are men on our right side selling clothing in the tight tunnel. Despite walking with my husband they call out to me. We rush through and make our way into the rain-slicked city. For some reason we duck inside a battered van, in the back we have raucous sex, and my moaning sounds like singing so much that my husband jokes about my arias... on our way back through the tunnel, when we pass the men my husband walks very closely behind me, nearly sticking to me in an attempt to cover my backside, he places his hands on my bottom because we have forgotten my pants.
Next I am in a large parking lot in the area of Warminster. I am waiting for a bus with many others. One of the other passengers in one of my students and she is mocking French-speaking passengers. I want to approach her and tell to stop being rude, but her mother is there and intimidates me, and obviously is oblivious to her daughter's rude behavior. Buses that look like trolleys pull up: they are dark wood and old men are driving them. I need to get a bus that will take me on to my transfer. I ask the drivers which bus will do so and they tell me that the one will take me to Harvard, while the other will go on ... I'm not sure what any of this means and so I climb aboard the bus that I hope will take me where I need to go. Rather than find a seat, I remain standing near the door. One of the passengers then tells me I am on the wrong bus.