A Friendly Musical Visit Every Day

I'll be honest with you: I didn't know Badfinger was a band until I googled musicians from Wales. I was familiar with this song, but I never knew who it was by. Now I actually understand the joke that mentions them in the Rifftrax riff of Psycho II (yes, that's an actual movie).  (edit: the riff I was thinking of is actually from Amityville 4, which is another lousy sequel.)   If you're wondering how you can support me in bringing you songs and anecdotes, the easiest thing you can do is buy my books (most are for adults only!) or check them out from your local library.  Supporting my  AudioErotica  endeavour on  Patreon  would also help me hugely. I'm also an  Amazon Influencer,  so hopefully I can make a little pocket change when you buy stuff by clicking through  my affiliate links . I also recommend subscribing to my newsletter. I generally e-mail subscribers with a weekly update, and I would LOVE to have you on the list.  C...

I've been watching Dutch decluttering videos on YouTube lately. As a result, I've been doing a lot of decluttering. I came across this album when I was going through my CDs. No, I didn't get rid of it. It's not going anywhere. In fact, rather than shoving it back in a box, I created space on my bookshelf for a stack of CDs and that's where The Sticks currently sits. (My boombox takes up one shelf of my bookcase. Yes, I still have a boombox. It is 30 years old, but it still works.) You know, getting my bricks out in the sticks felt like such a good idea until we did it. When we found out what it was actually like to live in a small town, we realized we'd made a big mistake. Which is part of the reason my partner's trying to sell his house right now. The town has certain charms, and in a lot of ways it is like living in a Hallmark movie, but if you aren't a fan of racists and homophobes, it's not the best place to be. Moving is a big deal, but when...

You think we're listening to Stereophonics because the word came up in a song the other day, but no! We're listening to them because they are Welsh. And I'm going to admit something shameful: even though one of my grandmothers was from Wales, I still can never tell whether a character on a TV show is played by a Welsh actor who has an actual Welsh accent, or whether it's an actor doing a bad Welsh accent. Isn't that awful? I should be able to tell, considering my partial Welshness.  And I spent a lot of time with that grandmother, as a kid. She used to babysit me and my cousin while our parents were at work. My earliest memories are of watching I Dream of Jeannie with my Welsh grandmother. Mind you, by the time I was born my grandmother did have a type of facial paralysis that affected her speech, so I'm not sure what her accent sounded like before then. Anyway, that's my shameful announcement for today: I can't tell a real Welsh accent from a fake one...

Can't remember the last time I washed my hair, or bathed in any way for that matter. I splash water on my face in the morning, but that's it. Depression does this to me. I feel disgusting and I look disgusting, but the cashiers at my local grocery store are still so kind to me--even in this outwardly gross state--that I always leave the place with tears in my eyes. That's how much I appreciate their kindness. If you're wondering how you can support me in bringing you songs and anecdotes, the easiest thing you can do is buy my books (most are for adults only!) or check them out from your local library.  Supporting my  AudioErotica  endeavour on  Patreon  would also help me hugely. I'm also an  Amazon Influencer,  so hopefully I can make a little pocket change when you buy stuff by clicking through  my affiliate links . I also recommend subscribing to my newsletter. I generally e-mail subscribers with a weekly update, and I would LOVE to have yo...

Every time I walk out of the little grocery store in my partner's small town, I'm singing something. Yesterday it was this song, because it was playing over the speakers. They know their audience. While I was shopping, an employee asked if I needed help with anything, and my brain was screaming, "You're new here!" But I didn't scream that with my voice because I'm trying very hard not to freak people out these days.  So I left the store not only singing this song, but also saying to my partner, "That's how you know you live in a very small town: you can name every person who works at the one and only grocery store." (Okay, I can't actually name them by name, but I can definitely describe them--and I sure do notice when they add an employee to the mix.) If you're wondering how you can support me in bringing you songs and anecdotes, the easiest thing you can do is buy my books (most are for adults only!) or check them out from your ...

I didn't think I'd be able to bring you a song today, but that's been true of most days this week, and I've managed to deliver. My chronic illness is doing me in, and none of my prescription meds seem to be able to handle this attack. I spend my days and nights in pain and awake through it all. It's better when the pain knock me out, but nope. I'm awake with my pain. I'm aware of my pain. No matter which pills I take in which combination, the pain remains. My partner and I have plans we were really looking forward to in the coming days. All I can do is hope that the pain backs off, because my meds aren't up to snuff this week. (I can't believe this has never been our song of the day. I love this song and this video.) If you're wondering how you can support me in bringing you songs and anecdotes, the easiest thing you can do is buy my books (most are for adults only!) or check them out from your local library.  Supporting my  AudioErotica  e...

When I'm home alone, I often listen to a 70s/80s/90s radio station. During their request hour, they played this song, which made me go... I could have sworn this was from the 60s. And my cursory internet search would suggest that it is. Not that I mind. I actually wish the radio station played 60s/70s/80s music. I could do without the 90s. No offense to the 90s, just that its music had a very different vibe. And I also object to the music of my high school years being played on an oldies station, but apparently those songs are now old. If you're wondering how you can support me in bringing you songs and anecdotes, the easiest thing you can do is buy my books (most are for adults only!) or check them out from your local library.  Supporting my  AudioErotica  endeavour on  Patreon  would also help me hugely. I'm also an  Amazon Influencer,  so hopefully I can make a little pocket change when you buy stuff by clicking through  my affiliate links ....

Remember the country club people who didn't bring my partner flowers (or anything else) when he was going through cancer treatment? (You can read that post here , if you missed it.) I forgot to tell you about this at the time, but the country club lady--oh, you're not even going to believe this; it sounds like a rich person on a sitcom--the country club lady complained to me that she had to STEP OVER A HOMELESS MAN ON HER WAY TO THE SYMPHONY.  How do you even respond to a complaint like that? From somehow who belongs to an honest-to-god country club? "Well, if you're so concerned about having to step over the unhoused, maybe you should never leave your 3-million dollar mansion"? I wish I'd said that. I was too shocked to speak. I just stared at her until she backtracked on that thought in an attempt to not sound like an awful human being. But the damage was done. So the next time you have to step over a homeless man on your way to the symphony, why not g...

Gosh, I love this song.  The original Elvis Costello version was playing on the radio (which was playing through my headphones, through my phone) as I descended into a ravine near my partner's house. There's a mulberry tree in full berry down there.  As I started picking those delicious purple fruits, the mosquitos came out of nowhere to attack. They were biting me everywhere skin was exposed (which is to say my hands and my head), but they seemed to like the flesh near my hairline the best. I started swatting without thinking--without realizing I was holding extremely ripe mulberries between my fingers. Suddenly, I could feel the juice streaming down my face. Now I was batting away the mosquitos while simultaneously trying to wipe what might appear to be blood from my head, and thinking, "Gee, I hope I don't see anyone." The mosquitos were too much. I headed for home, which was not even a five minute walk away. That's when a couple emerged from a nearby ...

My partner was telling me about a news story he came across where someone in Newfoundland came across a soccer ball that had floated there all the way from a school in Nunavut. Immediately made me think of this song. If you're wondering how you can support me in bringing you songs and anecdotes, the easiest thing you can do is buy my books (most are for adults only!) or check them out from your local library.  Supporting my  AudioErotica  endeavour on  Patreon  would also help me hugely. I'm also an  Amazon Influencer,  so hopefully I can make a little pocket change when you buy stuff by clicking through  my affiliate links . I also recommend subscribing to my newsletter. I generally e-mail subscribers with a weekly update, and I would LOVE to have you on the list.  Click here to sign up:  http://eepurl.com/R4b11 See you soon! Giselle

This story is from a few months ago, but I never got around to telling you because I was very ill at the time. So was my partner. We were too sick to do pretty much anything, for a time, so on the day I went to see my doctor (and came home and crashed) he went out to pick up my prescription. On the day he saw his doctor, I picked up his prescription.  So I'm barely functioning, I'm using my walker, and I go to enter this building... and my walker gets stuck in the door. It's an automatic door. So when I approached, it opened. But then there was a lip instead of the ground just being flat, and I was too weak to lift my walker to get it through fast enough, so by the time I got my walker halfway inside, the door closed on my walker, clamping so it wouldn't budge. I don't know why the door's sensors didn't activate. Shouldn't the sensors make sure people don't get crunched?  Anyway, now my walker's stuck in a door. So I take a step back, hoping to r...

This song was playing in the background of a party scene on an episode of Bergerac I watched the other day. When I looked it up, I realized I never knew what it was actually called. I have always misheard the lyrics as "we know the night..."  This is my first time listening with headphones. Yeah, with headphones it definitely sounds like "because" and not "we know."  Seeing the title spelled out also helps. If you're wondering how you can support me in bringing you songs and anecdotes, the easiest thing you can do is buy my books (most are for adults only!) or check them out from your local library.  Supporting my  AudioErotica  endeavour on  Patreon  would also help me hugely. I'm also an  Amazon Influencer,  so hopefully I can make a little pocket change when you buy stuff by clicking through  my affiliate links . I also recommend subscribing to my newsletter. I generally e-mail subscribers with a weekly update, and I would LOVE to...

Isn't it wild, being in your forties and your mom still lectures you for things you did when you were an actual child? Actually, I hope this isn't your experience. I hope you have parents who support you instead of shaming you. I hear those parents really do exist! When you grow up in a house of trauma, you never quite believe that there are functional families out there in the world, but I have it on good authority they're out there somewhere. Not here, though! I was talking to my mom earlier (you might have guessed...) and she brought up this incident where an adult asked me if I wanted to do something and I said no, I don't want to do that. It was nothing bad or weird! This adult was one of the only positive role models I had, aside from teachers. To this day my mother is "so embarrassed" that I--a mere CHILD--had the audacity to advocate for my own comfort and personal preference instead of just going along with what other people wanted. My mother is ...

One of my "cool" aunts took me to see Pulp Fiction, which is kind of spectacular to imagine, considering I was only 14 when the movie was released. The movie came to mind yesterday when we listened to that Chuck Berry track, which was also featured in the film. I think I have a photograph somewhere of my aunt and I dancing like John Travolta and Uma Thurman. It never occured to me, when I was a child, that my mother's younger sisters weren't actually that much older than I was. They would have been teenagers when I was born, but they always seemed like adults to me. If you're wondering how you can support me in bringing you songs and anecdotes, the easiest thing you can do is buy my books (most are for adults only!) or check them out from your local library.  Supporting my  AudioErotica  endeavour on  Patreon  would also help me hugely. I'm also an  Amazon Influencer,  so hopefully I can make a little pocket change when you buy stuff by clicking t...

My partner and I just did a crossword puzzle where one of the clues was "____ la vie." My brain went immediately to: Fuck My Life. But that's not the right answer! "C'est la vie," say the old folks. Anyway, now this song is stuck in my head. Which is fine. There are far worse songs in the world. If you're wondering how you can support me in bringing you songs and anecdotes, the easiest thing you can do is buy my books (most are for adults only!) or check them out from your local library.  Supporting my  AudioErotica  endeavour on  Patreon  would also help me hugely. I'm also an  Amazon Influencer,  so hopefully I can make a little pocket change when you buy stuff by clicking through  my affiliate links . I also recommend subscribing to my newsletter. I generally e-mail subscribers with a weekly update, and I would LOVE to have you on the list.  Click here to sign up:  http://eepurl.com/R4b11 See you soon! Giselle

My friend Alison quoted this song the other day. I thought for sure it had already been a song of the day, but I'm glad I checked because apparently it hasn't been. I'm also glad to have found a song so easily, because I've got a serious migraine and my meds are making me tired and sick. Thinking is hard. Typing is hard. Everything is hard. But I've always liked this song, and I've never really known why. If you're wondering how you can support me in bringing you songs and anecdotes, the easiest thing you can do is buy my books (most are for adults only!) or check them out from your local library.  Supporting my  AudioErotica  endeavour on  Patreon  would also help me hugely. I'm also an  Amazon Influencer,  so hopefully I can make a little pocket change when you buy stuff by clicking through  my affiliate links . I also recommend subscribing to my newsletter. I generally e-mail subscribers with a weekly update, and I would LOVE to have you ...

Late this afternoon, I was lying in my bathtub, fully clothed, singing "Sleeping in the bathtub" to the tune of this song. On our way into the city this morning, my partner and I were sitting at a red light when a car rammed into us from behind. We are not dead. But I am on my third day of a migraine, and being smashed into really didn't help. My head hurts. A lot. When I got home (to my home--the home that's an apartment), the landscapers were busy at work outside my building. These landscapers are better than the old ones my property manager used to hire. The old ones used to run 6 leafblowers outside the building for 8 hours straight. You think I'm joking, but I'm really, really not. They only broke for lunch. The new company is much more thoughtful. They only brought out two leafblowers, and only at the end of the day, to clean some debris from our walkways.  All the same, leafblowers are very loud and grating. Migraines don't like loud and gratin...

I had this really odd experience, the other day, of opening a drawer in our bathroom and feeling like I'd walked into the wrong house.  The drawer was full of drugs--pharmaceuticals.  Prescriptions.  My prescriptions.  But when I first saw that this drawer was full of drugs I thought the drawer must belong to someone else. How could I have so many drugs? Like... so, so many drugs? Last month I was talking to a girl who has the same chronic illness I do. She was saying one of the things she hates the most about it is having to be her own doctor, always on the job, always deciding how she needed to medicate herself at every hour of the day. I knew exactly what she meant. Of course, I have a doctor who has prescribed me pills, but she's not constantly at my side. She's not constantly asking me what my symptoms are, currently, and gauging what to do about it. I'm the one who is with me constantly. I'm the one making those decisions: this symptom means take this drug, ...

I can't remember if I've told you this story before, but talking about the movie Better Than Chocolate the other week brought it to mind: Many years ago, a TV network here in Canada would air Canadian short films late at night. It was a half-hour program, but the shorts would generally be under five minutes long.  The only one I remember was a comedic short about a butch lesbian who couldn't stop sweating, especially when she laid eyes on her crush. I specifically remember the character shoving maxi pads under her arms to keep the sweat in check. I have tried and tried to track down this short film, but with no luck. I'm guessing it was the 90s when I saw it, which would mean I saw this short before I saw Better Than Chocolate. I loved this short a) because it was funny and b) because it was a film featuring a lesbian but it wasn't a film about being a lesbian. It was a film about sweating buckets. (Particularly relatable now that I'm perimenopausal, but tha...

During our recent illness, my partner and I relearned a hard lesson: we can only rely on each other. Family, friends--we told them all we were too sick to function. We couldn't leave the house. We could barely get out of bed.  Nobody helped us. Nobody brought us casseroles or Gatorade. Even the people who live on the same bus route as me. Even the people I brought food to when they were sick.  Why do people thank me for my thoughtfulness but never, ever reciprocate? It's the same lesson I learned when my partner went through his cancer treatment: we're alone. But we're alone together.  If you're wondering how you can support me in bringing you songs and anecdotes, the easiest thing you can do is buy my books (most are for adults only!) or check them out from your local library.  Supporting my  AudioErotica  endeavour on  Patreon  would also help me hugely. I'm also an  Amazon Influencer,  so hopefully I can make a little pocket change...