"Is it Love? Take the Quiz!" (The Man of My Dreams)

Finally, I thought, an ad in my email I can really use.

They wanted my name and sign, my crush's name and sign.

This is foolproof. All I have to do is guess at my potential future The ONE's first name and zodiac sign, and I'm golden. If I persevere, I can definitely find out who he is by Christmas.

But then they wanted my cell phone number.

I don't mind giving my name and my sign (Virgo, in this case -- though I was a Leo again in a statewide, monthly LGBT newspaper in TN a few weeks ago), but why do they need to call me?

I mean, if this crush is The ONE, then who else do I want to get called by? No one, right?

So I exxed out, disappointed.

Guess internet website isn't the way I'll find 'im.

*****

The truth is that I've known for awhile now when I'd find "The ONE" -- or, rather, "The Six."

A few years ago in China, as I lay languishing over the bizarre, ill-advised infatuation I had with my teammate, I had a dream. (I must have fallen asleep.)

In the dream, some guy showed up in front of me, out of a crowd, speaking Spanish. He said "Te adoro," but I -- clueless and awkward even in my dreams -- leaned forward, cupping my hand around my ear and shouted over the noise of the crowd: "What?"

He repeated himself, and the crowd quieted a bit, focused on whatever was going on in front.

Embarassed, I realized I couldn't respond in Spanish. (This was post-breakthrough, when Chinese had begun eating up my college-level Spanish in huge chunks, like Terry Bisson's "Smoother".)

"I understand," I said, loudly. "But I'll have to go learn how to speak to you."

He nodded or indicated understanding somehow, and turned from me, pulling me along by the hand. I understood, somehow, that his name was Owen Czyk -- pronounced "six." (I called him "Mr. Six" in my dream.) He introduced me to his friends and left me there with them.

I don't remember what, exactly, they said, but all his friends -- some of whom were surfers, as I recall (but why they were in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses and holding surfboards in what was obviously some sort of municipal assembly was never explained) -- talked to me over the next hour or so. They were all exceedingly warm, but not in a creepy way, and most of them mentioned that Owen had talked about me a lot, saying only good things, and assured me that he really liked me.

Which, when I thought about it later, was weird, since I'd never met him before.

But spending time with his friends convinced me. Not only did he have nothing but good things to say about me, but his friends had nothing but great things to say about him. Every time they mentioned him, it was with genuine affection and respect. And they seemed like such great people, I knew they wouldn't be friends with him if he weren't at least as great.

And that was it. He eventually came back, but the dream ended shortly after, and I hadn't re-taught myself enough Spanish at that point to have real, in-depth conversations with him.

(I've always sort of thought of Spanish as a language of emotion, though I'm not sure why, since it's not my mother-tongue. Something about !Que lastima! just seems to sum things up so much better than any English equivalent.)

I woke up and wrote down the dream, though I hardly needed to in this case. I've written this account from memory.

*****

So the question is, what number am I on now?

There are different ways to count, but I'm sure I've gone through at least four. I could have missed six and be on eight or nine.

For my money, I'm just past five.