A moment of head-desk.

I'm being a seriously girly-girl right now, except since I don't have girlfriends in Grand Rapids, I just have to do it by myself.

So this is me, right now: drinking a Torpedo IPA, watching really terrible TV on demand, half-watching my phone for Jak texts, and alternately stalking meebo, the 311 bulletin board, and Facebook waiting for something interesting to happen. And doing the Friday New York Times crossword puzzle.

Let's face it: I'm not that great at crosswords. I can usually get through Monday through Wednesday without much trouble. Thursday and Friday give me some trouble, and Saturdays are usually well beyond my ability. But given that when I started doing these, I could barely get through a Tuesday without Googling at least a couple answers, I feel like I'm making some progress.

(A necessary, but seemingly abstract note: For years, people have asked me what my grandmother was doing during World War Two. This is due mostly to two things: she married my grandfather, an immigrant-turned-Army captain, just after the war; and her name happens to be Enola Gay.

That is, she has the same name as the bomber that dropped the atom bomb on Hiroshima.

It's sort of a family joke at this point, but when people find out.... yeah, curiosity. And for damn sure, I don't forget her name.)

Tonight's effort at the Friday puzzle (fyi: puzzles are usually posted at 10pm Eastern for the next day) was just brutal. It took hours. Of staring. Googling. Tearing my brainstem from its metaphorical roots, it seemed, had no effect whatsoever. SUSANDEY. ONTHELAM. UCIRVINE??? EROICA, clued as "It was first publicly performed in Vienna in 1805"???

I got through the NE, mostly, struggling finally with GUANACOS (really? that's a word?) and the exact instant it fell, (and it was the O that held me up! Fucking vowels) I looked at the eight-letter space where that O fell, clued as "Carrier of very destructive cargo," and finally I see the way out of the puzzle:

My grandmother's name. Enola Gay. Eight letters: Carrier of very destructive cargo.

Seriously? Seriously???

I want to go hide now for not seeing this.

Anyway, I'm off for more girly TV, maybe another beer, and eventually yet another night of dealing with spasms and muscle cramping in my back that's kept me on a heating pad in the spare room bed (it's a firmer mattress, which helps) and eating Vicodin and muscle relaxants for the last few days.

(also, I desperately need a haircut... trim, really. It's finally to my waist again, which makes me incredibly happy, but the ends are really dry and frayed. And I keep pulling little grey strands out. roar.)