LA Juice

Despite this stanza being my mantra, this blog is written for the express and depraved purpose of making you like me   entertaining  myself you, in the hopes that you will  (a) give a shit about what I have to say, and/or (b) be riled enough to pipe up and tell me what a colossal maroon I am, so that I can begin to make money off the things I write about. Yes. Sigh. I am a shameless, buggard writer trying to get a book published.  But not like any other writer. See, I have been told that I don’t have a snowball’s chance in H-E-Double Hockey Sticks of ever seeing my book in print without your undying adoration/hate/attention/checkbook.

We could feed the tuna mayonnaise and just cut out the middleman, you know. You could just send me $10.50 a year for the joy of reading the shit I write.  I knew you’d totally get it. I am just like NPR, without the fundraising drives or snazzy tote bags. Except that there ARE totebags and if you send me lots of money, maybe I’ll send you one.

Now, then where were we? Oh yes, love or hate me, I want your undivided attention. And while I might be dementedly partial to hearing from people who like to call me a colossal maroon, I totally welcome and encourage well reasoned, civilized dissension and contradiction, Sugar, you can tell me I put the “C-U-N-T-” in “B-I-T-C-H”, as long as you keep coming back.This is not to say we have to sit down with the queen for tea and strumpets. Its just that if you don’t agree,  well then at least keep it clean.  just keep it out of the gutter, ok? To clarify, keep it out of that gutter where that faulking scary assed clown, Pennywise lurks. The gutter where Shakes the Clown nurses a bottle of grape mad dog 20/20 is fair game.

So is this even an “About” page, Juice? Geebus.

Paul Lynde: the voice I hear in my head

The voice in my head.

You shut your dirty whore mouth, Paul Lynde.  You are not the only voice I hear in my head, mister. 

Circle takes square, bitch.

Of course it is an “About” page. So why are we here- what’s it all about? Well- me. Me, me, mine, me. And Mine. What? Why else would anyone spend so much time blogging, if it wasn’t because they narcissistically believed they had something to say that was worth reading?

Hopefully you are here because you like a combination of no-nonsense sass and spunky pluck in your authors and bloggers, because I have bucket loads.  Stick around, we’ll shoot the shit about stupid celebs, I will tell tales out of turn about life in LA, and talk about whatever else tickles your Elmo. We can prepare for the big one together and I will also introduce you to the things I find fabulous, inexplicable and glorious about this city.

You in?

Get to Know Me

Your Blogstress, LA Juice, is an escaped Detroiter and attorney in Beverly Hills who loves her job, her man, family and friends, the Detroit Red Wings, her Southern California lifestyle, spaking about herself in the third person,  “this ashtray, and my dog shithead” who fervently hopes to someday soon have her name in print.

Someplace other than in the new phone books.

“Someplace other than public bathroom stalls and police blotters?” 

Shut it Paul.

Like most of you, I have a dream. A dream that I expected to come to fruition upon the completion of my first book, More Inner Strength, Less Hallucination.  Of course its never as easy as just writing a whole book is it? Nope, first I have to make you love or loathe me. Or both.  So here we are.

LA Juice and MISLH represent a bit more than a particular moment in my life. They are the culmination of my literary dream, fostered since Spring 1980.  Lacking MTV(our town was not yet cabled), we were often forced to rely on our own imagination for entertainment.  Since Dad would not let us stay in the pool playing Jaws for hours on end, we often had to come up with something else to do. Result? I wrote my very first literary work: a dramatic play derivatively titled: “One Day to Live”.

Its not a stretch to say that as a pre-tween  I was a pioneer in the kind of play on words and pop culture phrases that pervade the media, interwebs, written works, movies and television of today.

“It certainly sounds better than  “precocious plagiarist”.”

Well Played, Mr. Lynde.

The structure of One Day to Live, was far more reflective of my personality than its plot, where my character, “Tabatha”, (yes I was a triple threat: writer, director, actor) shares with her sister, Melody, and her BFF cousins, Felicia and Samantha, the news that she has learned she will die -in just one day- from Trichinosis, a parasitic disease people contract from eating undercooked pork.

Trichinosis: a disease I plucked straight from the pages of Encyclopedia Britannica, circa 1975, and a choice reflecting significant fears borne of Grandma’s constant reprimand: “that if [I] keep eating so much candy, [I] will get a tapeworm.”

In ODTL, I judiciously gave each “player” not only an equal number of lines, but in most cases, the exact same lines.  Although the hard copy of my script did not survive the years, I can recall the opening scene as freshly as if my sister, cousins and I were still rehearsing in the attic of Grandma’s house in Wyandotte, Michigan.

And Scene:

Tabatha: I have Trichinosis.
Samantha: You have Trichinosis?
Felicia: Who has Trichinosis?

Enter Melody, running, out of breath, looking upset

Melody: Everyone, did you hear, Tabatha has Trichinosis!”

End scene.

A writer was born, one who latched on to the name “Samantha” long before that poseur Carrie Bradshaw. You might also note surviving traces of early influence, such as my continued penchant for choosing soap opera names for my characters.

Sure, it’s a little sad to think I peaked, stylistically speaking, at age 8. But style isn’t everything.  Luckily my plots and stories have gotten better with time. Hopefully one day soon you will get to be the judge of that.

Cheers and thanks for getting to know me!

Juice.