Ornateincoherency’s Weblog

Have you ever sanded drywall?



(PS-I just sneezed violently into my mask, and now I’m afraid to see what’s in there…)



We drew eyebrows on 2/3 of the dogs.

My kids are obsessed with the band Mariana’s Trench. They’re a kicky little Canadian group who are pretty big there, but haven’t caught on here so much. We went to see them at a mall for the Journey’s (shoe store) Backyard BBQ promotion thing last summer and they are, in fact, very good live. Nice guys, too, took pics with us and all.

So in trying to share my OWN story about being obsessed with, ya know, sexy cool young band members, I told my girls about the time I went to a Winger concert at a small venue when I was in college. I had just started seeing a guy who would become a serious boyfriend, and he’d managed to shove us right up to the very front of the about-thigh-high stage. It was awesome! If anyone wanted a beer, you were screwed.

And gurl, I was The Business that night! It was the early 90’s and bodysuits were all the rage, so of course I was wearing one. Have you worn one of these? They’re ridiculous, don’t ever go out in a bodysuit because you’ll end up asking a stranger to snap it back together at your crotch after a couple of Bud Lights. (I know this firsthand.) Yep, there I was in my halter-neck, but somehow also off-the-shoulder long sleeved bodysuit, high-waisted mom jeans, and the frazzled-scrunched long brown hair that was so popular but not at all attractive on anyone. I was lookin hot!

As the concert progressed, Mr. Kip Winger grabbed his guitar and sat on a stool directly in front of me for a little acoustic action. As he was settling his (tiny, lithe, leather pantsed) butt on the stool, he totally checked me out. Then, he had the balls to ask my date, “Hey man, is she with you?” My date grinned like an idiot and nodded vigorously, while I elbowed him viciously in the ribs. “Too bad, man, she looks gooood,” said my pillow lipped hair metal god. *

So as I explain this to my girls, I tell them how Kip Winger was, indeed, a very handsome man. He was! To prove it, I googled him up real quick so they could see for themselves.


WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE?? Who uses their red silky banana hammock to transport their mirrored sunglasses? Ugh, dude, seriously. A thong? What in the hell? Are you…handcuffed to the shower rod? Did you steal my can of mousse?

*at the time, I didn’t realize how demeaning this was to me, for him to ask my date if I was free, instead of asking ME. What a dick. And I did explain this to my girls, that they should never run away to the local Holiday Inn for a night of hedonistic, tiny, lithe, hair metal humping with a rock star who won’t even address you to see if you’re actually interested. (I didn’t say humping, I said hanging out, but they aren’t stupid.) The existence of this picture is probably Kip Winger’s punishment for being a misogynistic jerk.

So, when he wants to snoodle my face, I’m okay with it because he’s my little dog and I love him.

But when


want to snoodle


face, he acts like I’m trying to give him face-herpes.


The little jerk.

Haven’t been here in a while. Probably because I was super busy fucking my life up in almost comical ways, but that’s another post for another day. Anyone still got me on your feed, or should I shut down? :)

As is my current custom, I got up this morning, got the kids off to school, had some juice, did some restorative and invigorating yoga, talked to the dogs, and sat down to watch something interesting. I like to watch something interesting before I get going on my day, it’s one of the perks of working for yourself. 

What I chose to watch on this particular day is a documentary that kept popping up in my Netflix suggestions – Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son about His Father. I was curious, and I like documentaries. 

I was in no way prepared for what I watched. If you want to watch it for yourself, stop reading here now and come back later because I’m going to give spoilers. 

Essentially, a really great guy with lots of friends (Andrew Bagby) casually dated a much older crazy lady (Shirley Turner) and when he no longer wanted to be with her, she shot him. Correction…he put her on a plane back to Iowa and when she got there, she grabbed her trusty .22 and drove the 1000 miles back to Pennsylvania to shoot him. 

Awful, right? It’s terrible, a mother and father lost their cherished son, a whole family lost a cousin/nephew, a community of friends lost a treasured member. Kate and David Bagby, Andrew’s parents, collected his valuables and discussed suicide, because their grief was so big. 

Sometimes, though, life throws a monkey wrench into things. Shirley Turner – having fled back to her home in Newfoundland – announced she was pregnant with Andrew’s child. She was bailed, and was free to roam the streets with no real threat of extradition to pay for her crime, which was already pretty locked up tight by her very own cell phone records and eBay activity from Andrew’s home the day of the murder…when she was supposed to be 1000 miles away. Nope, she was bailed and given a cookie and sent on her way. 

Long story short, the Bagby’s fought to get custody of baby Zachary after he was born, but Shirley was a vindictive bitch. At one point, she was incarcerated for the murder of Andrew, but Judge Gayle Welsh found her crime to be “specific in nature” and let her free again on $50k bail that wasn’t even required to be paid. The Bagby’s, who’d been granted custody of Zachary during Shirley’s incarceration, had to return him to his (batshit crazy wacko) mother. Back and forth, back and forth…even though the judge felt that Shirley wasn’t a danger because she’d eradicated the object of her rage (Andrew) and not just random strangers, I guess she didn’t consider that Zachary and the Bagby’s might be in danger of harm by the psycho, that they might be a little “specific” for Shirley to focus her rage upon. 

When Zachary showed preference for his grandmother Kate at his one-year birthday party, Shirley again felt rejected and guess what happened? She 1) attempted to frame the latest guy she was dating who dumped her for being crazy by leaving a used tampon and some other belongings on his lawn, 2) strapped her drugged baby son to her chest with a sweater, and 3) walked off a pier into the ocean where she and Zachary drowned. 

I have no words to describe how absolutely sorrowful I am for Kate and David Bagby, and how I wish I could lighten their burden just a little bit. Amazing folks that they are, they turned their grief into action and had laws changed in Canada to prevent psychopathic killers from being bailed out and going for another murderous jaunt. God bless those people, because I couldn’t have survived it.

So then, looking up further information about the story (as I do), I came across this website. For a minute, I thought it was a page that simply defended Judge Gayle Welsh’s decision based upon the law at the time, but no…no, it’s a website that defends the “right” to eradicate “unwanted genetic material” under the age of two. What. In The. Actual. FUCK is that???

Talk about a shit sundae…I watched the saddest documentary every documented, and then have have the added topping of finding a website built by zealous baby-killing lunatics. 

What a day.




Hey y’all. If any of “y’all” are still reading, and I don’t blame you one bit if you’re not, because if you only posted once a quarter, I’d delete you in a quick fashion. No, I wouldn’t, but I’d look at you all judgey n shit. :)


We survived Christmas. Barely. If you’ve been with me long enough, you know that I detest Christmas. Each year I vow to make it about Jesus’ birth, and each year I fail miserably. I’m bad at planning. I need a life boss. I’m terrible at holding myself accountable, I need to be accountable to a rational adult of some sort. 


Anyway, that’s what happened for Christmas. 


The kids and I rescued (and by rescued, I mean my niece posted on her facebook page asking if anyone wanted a female Boston Terrier, and I said “…possibly?…” because the kids and I have talked about getting another dog. Turns out, my niece’s mom – my rather awesome and kickass ex-sister in law – has a fb friend who wanted to get rid of the little BT she didn’t want inside and tied up outside to keep the dog from “tearing up her house.” Grrrr…) a really cute Boston Terrier, about 3 or 4 years old, who’s apparently never had any training or love or attention or anything. My ex- sis in law went to get her on Friday and she was tied outside to a woodpile. In West Virginia. In a blizzard. Grrrr….


She’s a real cutie. I don’t know where this doggie got her heart from, but I think it’s made of happiness and light and energy and sheer goodwill, because she is kind of great. Like I said, no training, no manners, no idea what’s expected of her, but she is full of love and is soaking up the attention that she’s gotten in the last few days. We’ve given her a lot of positive praise and she seems to be eager to please. I’m enamored of her, even if the 3.5-lb Chihuahua isn’t so sure of her yet. (He was never socialized with other dogs, so he’s got his own issues…) 

We named her Gertrude – Gertie – because she didn’t even answer to her old name, Mazy. Shameful.


My daughter watched a movie on my laptop and now my E and my S are all sticky and making life difficult. Harumph!


Look, this is a blog. I like to write, and I write about my life, mostly, and I might tend to exaggerate or embellish. There's no reason to believe that everything I say on here is the gospel truth, I'm just having fun and saying things that I find funny, a lot of the time. Some folks get offended or try to pass it off as a window to my soul, but I don't take it that seriously.

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