After twelve hours of peeling, chopping, baking, blending,
bitching, boiling, blisters, stirring, sifting and setting
(whilst sweating like a racehorse-running-the-Preakness)
Modah single-handedly produced a Thanksgiving dinner
of pornographic proportions.
A roasted turkey reclined in its Rubenesque glory on the table,
surrounded by serving bowls of salty, slurpable starches
and greasy/sweet sauces, Continue reading
Modah recently GOT HER A** HANDED TO HER by a literary agent to whom she pitched her book and brand. The agent’s criticisms ranged from dismissing Modah’s-choice-of-name to don’t-come-back-until-you’ve-got-a-Kardashian-sized-social-media-following.
And, to some degree, the agent WAS right.
But, @#$%&! Continue reading
This week, instead of one of my famously frequent, figurative face-plants,
I experienced a singular, literal ASS-PLANT.
I fell backwards off a six-foot ladder onto a concrete garage floor.
And it should have never happened, because of course
MODAH KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT LADDER SAFETY.
I had climbed the ladder to get my torso halfway through an opening into our attic.
And why would a hefty, sixty-two-year-old broad like me do that? Continue reading