One week ago that b*tch Irma spread her skirts,
took a squat, and sprayed destruction all over my state.
Since Modah lives only “a block from the water” here in South Florida,
she wisely decided to evacuate and took shelter
with generous friends, who managed to pack
three large dogs,
six (count ’em SIX!) cats,
and a hedgehog named Norbert,
into their house. Continue reading
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