A new dawn, a new day.

About six months ago, I started having back problems. I say started, but I've had back trouble ever since an over-caffeinated, attention impaired teenage boy decided he was going to play Andy Green in his mom's 'bitchin' white minivan but instead of breaking the world land speed record he just broke my tiny green Festiva. The Festiva was a total write-off and I spent the next 6 months going to physio.

Because of that, I was used to having about one week or so every year where my back would go out and I'd have a marathon telly watching session while it recovered. But 6 months ago, my back went and it didn't get better. In fact it, just got worse and worse.

After many, many visits to my GP, four fruitless sessions with a chiropractor, and a battery of scans and poking, it appears I've a bulging disc. Most days, I'm in too much pain to do more than take my pain meds and sit surfing the web. Those are the good days. The bad days, I can't even sit up, much less walk.

As you might imagine, this gets really boring after the third or fourth day. And I'm going into month 7. This is especially difficult for me as I've always been really active. Running at least 3 times a week is the way I've kept myself semi - sane. And now I have trouble walking to the toilet. Throw in the fact that this back thing makes it impossible for me to do both of my main creative outlets, and you get one very pent up, antsy person.

Which leads me finally to my, point. I've started doing my makeup almost every day as a way to keep from falling too far down the depression rabbit hole. I never really cared about the whole beauty thing before all this. I had maybe three coordinating eye shadows and one eye liner that I used for nights out. Now that I've so much time on my hands with nothing else to do, I've discovered there's this whole other world where there is actually a good reason to have sixteen different eye shadows in just-barely- different shades of brown.

I'm not amazing at makeup yet. I was bloody horrible when I started and I have to pictures to prove it. It keeps me occupied and I've found that I actually enjoy it, especially when I do well.

I know there are already 5 million beauty bloggers, but I'm going to start documenting my experiences with makeup anyway. I'll be taking loads of pictures, including the ones that show how massively I fail. I'll be talking about products I love and loathe, along with techniques I'm learning. If I feel particularly brave, I may even do some videos.

Please check me out at Blue-hairedbeauty.com

Macarons of sadness or why people don't buy locally

Apparently, no one in Bristol makes candy. Ever.

I say this because I wandered high and low today trying to find a confectionary thermometer and was either met with blank stares or some mumbled apologies along the lines of "well, errr, we use ta have 'em but they weren't selling so we stopped carrying 'em." I went to eight different shops, only to be told at the last one that I probably wouldn't find one in city centre. But, if I just walked some ridiculous distance away, there was a cake shop and they'd be sure to have one. Urgh.

Needless to say, I will be buying one on the internet. This is why local shops are failing. I can't tell you how many times I have gone out in search of something that should, by rites, be easily bought at a local shop only to find that not a single place stocks said item. Oh, sure, they'll all say, "We could order you one and have it in a week or so." But seriously? That's just ridiculous. I can buy it online tonight, and, if I really wanted it, it would be here tomorrow morning or, if I'm not in a rush, the day after. This happens with things ranging from books (you'd be amazed at how many times I have gone to Waterstones to buy the latest release from one of my favourite authors only to be told, No sorry! We can order it though.) to kitchenware to clothing. So much for buying locally.

I guess if I were more ethically committed to buying local, I'd start planning everything well in advance. But really? I never have any sense of what's going to be a mission to get. It took me four shops to find the almond meal I needed but ghee? I can buy that right across from my house and at six other shops in walking distance.

Anyway, rant over.

And thus, my mission to make delicious Valentine's Day macaroons was thwarted. (Thwarted is an amazing word. THWARTED. THWAAAAARTED. Erm, yeah, I have low bloodsugar. Excuse me.) I was going to make these Ginger Spice Latte ones, minus the cute little Rudolph decorations. Instead, I'll just have a big empty plate of sadness and failure.

Hooray. I suck again.

The Definition of Awesome

I was running by the river this afternoon, not feeling very well but still, you know, doing the jogging thing because "it's good for you." Really, though, I felt quite mopey and gross despite the beautiful weather and all the flowers and greenery that have suddenly exploded everywhere. AND THEN...you know when you put a bunch of songs that someone has given you on your ipod but you don't really pay attention to all the titles and half the time you're like, GAH THIS SONG IS AWFUL? No? Okay, just me then. Anyway, so there I was chugging sadly along, when out of my earphones comes the most amazing thing that has ever come out of those earphones. The theme to the A-Team.

And suddenly, I wasn't just having a jog by the river. I was having the most EPIC JOG EVAR. I wanted to high-five a mother-loving swan and pole vault the bridge. I'm glad I didn't happen to find a really long branch, or probably would have broken my idiot neck. I'm serious, the A-Team theme = aural steroids.

Maybe it's a concussion, maybe not.

Know what's never, ever going to be a good idea? 3 a.m., self-administered haircuts. Cause even if that bad boy turns out okay, which, let's just acknowledge this now, is like finding bran flakes that taste of Cap'n Crunch, you still end up with the 4 a.m., after-hair-cut clean-up.

So, yeah, one would think that after mumble mumble years, I would have learned that despite what my brain keeps telling me, I should never touch a pair of scissors/razor blade after about, oh, midnight. I cut my own hair all the time, being too cheap to pay a salon at least 40 quid for what usually turns out to be about 5 minutes of work. Usually, the results are perfectly passable, sometimes even venturing into the territory of aesthetically pleasing. Sometimes, I have to wear a hat for a few weeks. But, ye cats and gods, I can not think of one time when I picked up the scissors after midnight and woke up the next day thinking, Boy OH BOY, that was a good idea.

Tonight's little foray hasn't changed that. I may have given myself a mohawk. And a concussion. How do you get a concussion from cutting your own hair? Well, it being 3 in the morning, you just happen to forget that turning the water off in the shower results in the shower head falling off the wall (because you live in a shared house where the landlord can't be arsed to come and fix a damn thing) and smacking yourself in the back of your recently shorn noggin because you are leaning over the taps.

Now I'm too scared to go to sleep just in case it actually is concussion. I feel all tingly and weird, which could be the result of seeing my new haircut in the mirror just now, or it could be because I'm bleeding in the brain meat. Guess I'll find out soon.

On the list of stupid things I have done in my life, starting a 10k run when already very hungry doesn't even make it into the top 50 but that's only because I have pulled some really bone-headed stunts. Still, it's a rookie mistake and when I've been running as long as I have, I really should know better. Today's run was a fail, not an epic fail because I finished and didn't die but I was running along and could actually see the health bar in my head (because the inside of my head is a video game) draining. And a big fucking duck (possibly one of the ones from Duck Hunt) flew across my path, and the meter jumped back up from the AGH-I'M-GOING-TO-BE-IMPALED-BY-A-DUCK adreneline boost. Of course, as soon as that wore off, after approximately 17.5 seconds, I felt even more tired which, of course, was when a giant gnat decided to see what was happening in my oesophagus. YAY GAGGING AND SPITTING TIME!

So, yeah, that was my day.

Setting myself up to fail...again.

I'm making enchiladas for ten people tonight because I am a pushover. Nevermind the fact that paying for all the food used more than half of my weekly food budget or that I've never made enchiladas before. I'm going to cook the fuck out of these things and they will be the best effing enchiladas that anyone has ever tasted. Well, maybe not my Spanish housemate. She's probably had much better enchiladas. But, everyone else will be all, "Oh my god, it's like angels are coming in my mouth."

And then I will smile beatifically and act surprised, as if I didn't know that I was the most awesome cook in the world.

Shit yeah, Enchiladas.