I made it through the rain... barely.

Okay try to use your imagination on this one, since I don't have pictures for the beginning of the story (the picture to the left there is to entice you to keep reading!):

Two girls on a Monday night, both looking fairly decent, about to move a BIG entertainment center down the treacherous steps of an old dilapidated house. One step, not bad. Two steps, a little nervous laughing. Three steps, crap this thing is heavy. Rain drop. More nervous laughing. Another rain drop. Crap. (Or maybe another word.) Freaking torrential downpour. Crap, crap, holy crap.

Need windshield wipers for my eyeballs. Four steps, five steps, pretty much just pushing the wooden behemoth down the damn stairs. Six steps, seven. We consider the slippage of hands, the rain in the eyes and wonder if we will make it. Eight steps, why on earth isn't anyone stopping to help us. At the bottom of the steps we want to rest, but can't, as the sky is trying to pound us into the pavement. Straining, we lift the monster into the rented ZipCar truck. O.M.G. we are SO drenched. And we don't look decent anymore. I might even venture to say we look indecent at this point.

Pools of water are forming on the floor and I wring out my shirtsleeves. Deep breathing, we fog up the windshield. Jen turns up the defroster. It is not working. FREAK we are cold. How are we going to get this thing across the river - definitely not the freeway. Windshield is still fogged up. Then we realize. The car is not on. That is key in defrosting the windshield.

We sit, with the heat on high, formulating perfect plan which includes: we will find the perfect parking spot and random stranger men will help us carry this piece of wet wood up the marble stairs and into Jen's apartment. Right. Good plan!

We travel slowly across the Ross Island Bridge and meander over to Jen's apartment, where we find a perfect parking space right in front of the stairs! We sit there for a minute, then decide to brave the rain once again. "I can help you with that if you want." Random stranger man, as if from HEAVEN, lifts the heavy, rain-soaked entertainment center out of the back of the truck and carried it, with Jen on the other side, while I grabbed the drawers and ran up the steps. WE MADE IT. AND. Our plan came true!

Heavy breathing and toweling off commence. "I kept telling Jen, wouldn't it be great if a random stranger stopped to help us." I laugh stupidly because that's what I do when I am tired/emotional/thankful/trying not to cry. "Well I'm not a random stranger," he says matter-of-factly. "I'm Harrison Ford." Just kidding about that part. "Well I'm not a random stranger," he says. "I'm opening up a new L.A. Fitness just over there," he points over towards the Lloyd Center. "You guys should definitely come by," and then we hear in our brains, "because if you did you wouldn't need my help with this piece of furniture!" We smile and say our thanks and lie and say we will definitely check out his fitness club.

He leaves, not breathing heavily, and heads out into the rain. He leaves behind a flier though and I just want to say: THANK YOU BRAD LEATHERMAN, sales manager for L.A. Fitness (phone number: 503-734-2950)! Now everyone call him and get a membership, or at least a trial membership. He is nice and deserves your business. As for me, I would totally join, if I didn't live so far away.... I would. Seriously.

About an hour later, clothes changed and hungry as hell, we are sitting at North 45 Pub for some grub. Good news. On Monday nights, Happy Hour at North 45 is ALL NIGHT! What! Fabulous. I order cheeseburger sliders and pommes frites while Jen orders calamari and creamy potato soup. Also good news - North 45 is now *2* blocks from my new house. I know. You are jealous. I'm practically jealous of myself!

Calamari is okay - I generally have a couple of pieces and then leave it for everyone else. But these calamari are so good. Breaded and fried, they are tossed in a sweet chili sauce and served with a wasabi aioli. They are not really crispy, but are very approachably tender and not chewy. The flavor is fantastic. The pommes frites are crispy and seasoned, perhaps a little too seasoned, and creamy on the inside, served with a roasted garlic aioli.

The sliders are sort of average. I want them to have pickles. The watery tomatoes sort of dumb down the flavor. But I'm not having that. I still have some roasted garlic aioli to slather on the sides before I take another bite. That makes it all better.

I go to sleep, warm, dry and full of delicious food. Truly, everything is better now.