I used to believe this, honest to goodness I did. Now I know it's not true or, if it is, it's all about the books in the picture, not someone special I might meet.

I don't refer to myself as unattractive to get pity or be disingenuous. I do it, and particularly did it when I used to try the personals, to be honest, to prepare someone who's about to meet me in person for the first time if it's in a certain context.

"Oh, no, no, no one's ugly. You shouldn't call yourself that." One woman assured me over the phone the night before we were to meet. I silently agreed with her because I normally hate the word "ugly" and would never use it to describe someone else.

The next day we met at a Starbucks in Rockville. Meeting for coffee is always better than for a meal because if things don't work out well, things don't drag out so long.

But during this particular instance, the woman had barely sat down at the table (her eyes clearly showing her disappointment) before she bounced back up and told me she'd just remembered she'd forgot to feed her cats. You could hear the screech of her tires as she pulled out of the parking lot.

I'd blame it on my personality, but we took lots of time getting to know each other on the phone first. She said she liked my voice, shared my interests in books and music and wanted to get to know me better. But none of that meant anything the moment she laid eyes on me. I've never seen such panic in someone's eyes before. Well, I have, actually, but not quite like this.

Things have always gone so much better up to the "meet in person" date, that I sometimes think (if I still wanted to date) that I would try finding love exclusively through phone and email contact. I'm less shy that way and, for weeks or even months, I can look like whatever the person envisions in her mind.

In the end, that's not a real relationship. You can't hug or eat dinner or just hang out comfortably with someone over the phone...not in any way that warms your soul. For that, for me in particular, I'm better off with books. Books might not be able to hug me in any physical way, but they touch my heart and soul and they honestly could care less what I look like...

I reread this incredibly sweet love story last weekend. It opens in 1978 (and features a restaurant I remember from childhood-Beefsteak Charlie's!) and focuses on two classmates who fall in love during their senior year.

They vow to stay together forever but college plans separate them and nearly twenty years pass before they see each other again. Witty, hysterically funny, touching and sincere, ALMOST LIKE BEING IN LOVE might have you wondering whatever happened to your first love...

True love is almost as hard to find in a book as it is in real life. Hundreds of lesfic romances try to get it right, but often fail. That is why authors like Gun Brooke are so valuable to the genre.

The earnest, heartfelt writing appeals to me, sometimes speaking to personal experience that cuts quick to one's very core: 

"During phys ed, when the other girls talked about their latest crush on a boy, I felt nothing. Instead, there was a girl.” Manon smiled as if she could see her. “Funny, I can’t even remember her name, but she was shy and really pretty. I liked to watch her play basketball—the way her body moved, and how she beamed after she scored. I exchanged maybe ten words with her, but the fact that I found her cute and attractive…and had nobody to talk to about it scared me to death."

Coffee Sonata is beautiful and sweet, sometimes so much so it makes your heart hurt. And there's certainly lots of love to go around, even if that is what contributes to the one weakness in this novel: too much story and not enough time to tell it.

Vivian and Mike, Manon and Eryn...four wonderful women, all unexpectedly falling into relationships they never see coming. Of the two relationships, I cherished the one Vivian and Mike share the most. They feel so fiercely and fear so much. 

Manon and Eryn are great as well, but the "coming out" issues and family concerns hit just a bit too close for me. As terrific as the book is, Coffee Sonata bites off more than it can chew at times. It might fare just a tad better as two separate romance novels.

Monday odds and ends...

If you have ever felt like this:

Sometimes, you think that no one has ever loved you. You have almost flippantly doubted it, even when someone was saying it to you. Even if they are saying it to you today. Because, though you wouldn’t like to admit it, you’re not terribly sure that you love yourself. You reject all of the simpering notions in beauty magazines and you learn to say nice things about yourself when you look in the mirror. If someone asked, you could provide an objective list of your qualities. But you’re not sure that “loving yourself” is something you ever really learned how to do.

Sometimes, you wonder if everyone is faking it, even the people who seem to have it all down to a science.

you can read more here:

 http://thoughtcatalog.com/chelsea-fagan/2013/08/for-when-you-think-that-no-one-will-love-you/


I picked up a copy of Book Forum the other day at Barnes and Noble and read a fascinating review for a novel called Last Words From Montmartre by Qiu Miaojin. There's one amazing line (among many) where the main character decides to only "engage" the love she feels for someone else, not the actual woman she for she has strong feelings. Like other deceptively small books (it's 161 pages), it has a lot to say.

 

“I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?”
― John Lennon

Every once in a blue moon I have a really nice dream that hurts to wake up from and yet somehow still gives me hope. The hope and the aftereffects of the dream seem to last for about the same amount of time, in order words: not very long. But while the haziness lasts, it's almost as real and as gorgeous as the dream itself.

This morning I woke up from one where I had met someone who loved me as much as I loved her. She told my mother (not unkindly, but still quite firmly) that we were going to be married and, oddly enough, my mother seemed okay with it. It was probably one of the most beautiful dreams I've ever had.

And though waking and reality's harsh slap stung for a bit, the silly dream gave me (for a fleeting second) an idea of what a wonderful world it would be, if things like that could actually happen.