The Girl With Pineapple Juice In Her Purse

There are many good things about LA. For example, people seem awfully fond of this perpetual sunshine. There are also many bad things about LA. That perpetual sunshine can be redundant, and people can be a little on the superficial side.

So it isn't surprising when an Angeleno permanently latches onto the arm of a person who is true to their word. Especially if that person is wearing super cute red peep-toe pumps and strolls up to your bar two nights in a row.

Dear Internet, allow me to acquaint you with Carolyn. She is unlike any other person you've ever met. Sure, she has all of the obvious traits you want in a friend: funny (check); smart (check); cute shoes (see above). But in addition to all of that, Carolyn kicks butt and takes names in the kitchen. She needs only a tiny taste of your grandma's famous lasagna before she can divulge grandma's top secret ingredient (it's probably nutmeg, btw).

On Saturday night Carolyn, our mutual friend Karen, and I had plans to meet up for dinner, which would be followed by the movie "Julie and Julia." After the movie we'd go for a drink at the somewhat swanky bar and restaurant located below the theater.

By coincidence, Carolyn had been to this bar the night before with a few other friends and had sparked a debate so big the bar staff were STILL talking about it the next day. Basically it went down like this--a barman I shall call Duke insisted a Mai Tai was tastiest when made one particular way that omitted pineapple juice; Carolyn cried foul. Mai Tai without pineapple juice?!?! How could it be? Since the bar was sans pineapple juice, Carolyn vowed she would bring in her own juice so that she could introduce Duke to a most delish Mai Tai.

And that's how I ended up with two (or was it three?) cans of pineapple juice in my purse on Saturday night.

After the movie, which I thought was very good, we made our way to the bar. There on the bar, I set the tiny cans of pineapple juice I'd been hiding alongside the can or two Carolyn had smuggled in. We got some sly glances and odd looks from the people around us, but it was Duke's reaction that was funniest. He wasn't shocked that there were 4 tiny cans of pineapple juice on the bar. No, he was surprised that the girl from last night came back. What?! She actually did what she promised she'd do!

Carolyn made her special Mai Tai for Duke from the CUSTOMER'S side of the bar. Duke tasted and declared Carolyn's Mai Tai to be sweet.

Enter another barman I shall call Dick. As if working from stage directions, Duke went who-knows-where, and Dick planted himself firmly in front of the pineapple girls while loudly making drinks for other patrons. We girls sipped Mai Tais (made by Duke, not sweet at all) and tried to ignore Dick's constant racket as we talked about what girls usually talk about: what we're looking for in a guy, Christian Louboutin shoes, sexing up the wardrobe a la Color Me Badd, and what we're looking for in a guy.

I don't know how, but Dick ended up in conversation with us. Well, mainly Carolyn. The scene was so hilarious I couldn't do anything but watch and laugh. Dick is a fan of putting loads of bitters in drinks. He also likes to show off. He tried to flip a few bar items in the spirit of Tom Cruise in Cocktail, but ended up throwing things on the floor. Um Dick, we noticed. He debated drinks with Carolyn, and conceded that she knew her stuff.

He also hurled the most debilitating insult Carolyn's way. While discussing LA restaurants and chefs and other LA-isms, Dick suggested that Carolyn was from a town way east of LA called Rancho Cucamonga. She gasped and hid her face in her hands. A bar staffer restocking glasses laughed so hard I thought he'd drop those glasses. "WHAT!" Carolyn shrieked. "You think I am from Rancho Cucamonga?"

Seeing as Dick is from Minnesota, he recognized that by keeping her word Carolyn didn't exactly act like a LA native.

But for a girl from the 310, Rancho Cucamonga is akin to saying you are from East Deliverance, California.