Cluck cluck.

I realised I was dangerous clucky a few weeks ago when my spring-chicken friend from LA took me to see Easy A at the movies… it’s a great little dark comedy about an 'invisible' high school girl who decides to pretend she’s a raging wh*re in order to get people to notice her. Interesting strategy!

The movie’s filled with gorgeous high school students in the prime of their youth; skinny, free and fresh and discovering who they are. They learn what love is and isn’t, who your friends are and are not, and how to approach life beyond the school yard.

And I couldn’t have been more turned off by it.

Despite the fact that the girl’s on-screen boyfriend was played by Mr Phwoar-I-know-you’re-a-celebrity-and-I-have-a-boyfriend-anyway-but-just-give-me-a-shot Penn Badgely, there was something unmistakebly more appealing to me than even him in that movie….

The girl’s dorky parents.

And, besides, parents can be cute too, right?

As a lovely dramatic contrast to the outlandish behaviour of the high school students, a loveable mom and dad bring some of the film’s best moments as two grounding parents who love their daughter no matter what, give her great advice, maintain a fabulous sense of humor, and keep a cosy house where they nestle in and watch DVDs while she strips off for her latest party.

Of course it’s all a bit “hills are alivish”, but I do accept that this is a Hollywood movie and not real life.

But that’s okay; it’s not the false sense of perfect parenting that appealed to me but the exact opposite… it was the organic simplicity of just... wanting to be part of a family. And to be in charge of it this time.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve stopped wanting to be Penn Badgley’s party-crashing 18-year-old girlfriend (despite the surface gushing) and somebody’s wife. Well, somebody in particular.

And – even more than that – I want to be a mother. One who loves my child no matter what, gives great advice, maintains a fabulous sense of humor, and keeps a cosy house where I nestle in and watch DVDs while the kids do… what kids do.

What do kids do, exactly?

Hopefully one day I’ll find out.

So yes, cluck cluck… a new chook just arrived in the coop.

Guest Post: Body Challenge

Some of you may already know that I share a daily photo blog with the wonderful Mrs Kypo... she's my blogging bestie and yet we have never met in person!

Mrs Kypo's own blog, Cupcakes Frocks and Pink, is inspiring, insightful, honest, pretty and fresh. Check it out!

I have decided to re-post Mrs Kypo's latest post about shaking hands with your body and accepting it for what it is (and isn't)... it's a tough gig for many of us. Is there more hope for the Middle East?

Enjoy x

Writing about body image is not an easy topic for me to write about.

When Carly emailed me asking if I would like to participate in her Body Image Challenge I automatically said, yes.

I shared my excitement with Mr.Kypo and we started planning our mini photo shoot.

We took butt shots and even a front shot in bra and knickers.

Today I should be posting my photo and I am no longer.

Not because I am ashamed of my body, I feel it is not appropriate for me as a kindy director to have a photo of my body on the Internet.

I am like other woman who suffers body insecurity and there have been stages in my life where those insecurities have ruled me and I’ve said no to one to many things.

My view on it is, women are judgemental of each other. I am one to do this.

I’ve compared my butt with my best friend and calculated woman’s sizes in my head hoping that I would be smaller.

Last week I saw some photos of myself and whilst others shared they were beautiful images, I was incredibly critical. I noticed that I am starting to age and for a spilt second contemplated Botox.

Then,

I snapped back into reality and thought, I am never going to look like those ladies on magazine covers, I am no longer going to think about slim…as the new mantra says, “Healthy is the new skinny”. I wonder the pressure those ladies on the magazine covers have to stay that way? I know the pressure I feel to want to be that woman.

I am me.

I am beautiful and I am not my body.

My body is my vessel and has given me the most magnificent gift.

Two babies.

The stretch marks over my body tell that journey and what a magnificent life changing journey it was.

Every part of my body tells a part of my life’s story.

Rather than want what I can’t have I am incredibly grateful what I do have.

I have once had that boyfriend who judged my body, who shamed my body and abused my body to discover a man who loves my body, who has not judged my body, who has not shamed my body and has seen straight past my body into me.

I make a stand not to compare and judge the woman’s body around me but be immersed in their beauty.

And what beauty they are.

Glamnation.

If you're a fan of American singer Adam Lambert, you'll know what the title of this blog post means.

For everyone else; no, I haven't fallen into a glitter rock time warp; in promise to a few of Adam's fans I'm writing a wee little blog about Adam Lambert's 'Glamnation' concert in Hong Kong. So if you're not an Adam fan, maybe best to see what those Chilean miners are up to and circle back in a day or so when I'm back to regular posting... or, you're welcome to stay and learn to love a new artist!

I interviewed Adam earlier this year in Australia, and we kind of bonded. Well I did anyway, he mostly smiled, listened and said things like "thank you... no really, thank you so much." You can read my gushy blog about our interview here.

Last night Mr Lambert arrived in Hong Kong on tour to sing some tunes and shake some of that famous booty. So, naturally, I had to go and check him out.

I will confess that I don't know all of Adam's songs... I know, what kind of fan am I? The answer is a perfectly normal, Natalie Murray-shaped one. I have an odd habit of loving artists and playing only 1 or 2 of their songs on some sort of death-loop until it's permanently scratched into my brain and those of others around me, whilst blatantly ignoring all their other tracks. I'm picky like that.

I discovered Adam Lambert when he was on 'American Idol'. So I was, of course, dying to hear him do some of his Idol covers... which is why I will get out my first negative comment quick and fast before a Glambert fan sniper-shoots me through my loungeroom window. He only sung two Idol songs... two! And they were my least favourite two, too. Try saying that ten times. Or after whisky.

But that's ok... I fully understand this is just me being boring, as Adam is an original artist now and has moved way beyond covers and all that Idol hoo-ha. But I guess Adam doing, "Black or White" and "If I Can't Have You" were a bit love-at-first-sight-ish for me. And you never quite get over your first love, do you.

But that's okay Adam, I forgive you and remember only the good times.

But now to the concert.

I'm not normally the one to 'blow the wind up' celebrities and overstate their talents... I mean, they get enough of that elsewhere, right? I've interviewed enough big names to refreshingly realise they are mostly just people with flaws and even weird bits. Anyone ever seen Leonardo's thumbs?? What's with that?

Ok back to the point.

But occasionally I will be 'caught' by a celebrity, where I feel myself shifting from cool-as-a-cucumber journalist to dribbling, red-faced, dorky fan. Past loves include Mick Hucknall from Simply Red (I could barely look him in the eye), Cranberries singer Dolores O'Riordan (she tried to set me up with her guitarist, bless her) and Dire Straits' David Knopfler (we're still friends on Facebook, yay). I tend to not, however, get swept away by the more 'mainstream' artists. But - somewhere along the way - Adam Lambert caught me. Cheeky bugger.

I first felt Adam win me over when I watched him steal the stage each and every week on American Idol (he was always too good for that show).

I felt it at our interview when he gazed at me with his tahitian blue eyes, listened hard to every word I said, thought deeply about his generous responses, and clutched my hands in his.

Oh boy.

Where was I? Oh yeah.

And I felt it last night, listening to Adam sing his heart out in front of a very, very good crowd... seriously Hong Kong, you brought it and he rocked out because of it. Props to you. And you even threw bras on stage! How every rock n' roll... although haven't you heard? Adam's not really a bras kind of guy. But there's always hope.

I didn't really need to see Adam dance or gyrate, as nice as it was. I didn't even need to hear the background music, as jaw-droppingly talented as his musical director and guitarist Monte Pittman is. I just wanted Adam to sing. If it was up to me, he would have been up there alone; acapella; dry vocal. No reverb (that irritating, echoey effect that makes it sound like there's ten Adam Lamberts singing instead of just one).

But the thing I noticed is, in his slower tracks, if you close your eyes and just listen, suddenly it is just you and Adam in a room, and he's just singing. To you. I promise you he will surprise you all over again with every note, and you'll fall into a perfect little happy bubble. And just when your ears start to believe Adam Lambert, they'll start to get suspicious again... I mean, how does he hit those notes??

Singing aside though, it didn't surprise me that Adam the performer is a real gentleman. He's an

open-hearted stage traveller who speaks of love on stage in a way that doesn't sound cynical or even corny, it's a kindness and it's genuine. He honestly cares about

what the audience thinks and whether they are having fun. He's not bored, disillusioned, or over it yet. He's just getting started and he's still young and raw. This is the time to catch a singer like Adam live.

My favourite tunes of the night were 'For Your Entertainment', 'Soaked', 'Broken Open' and 'Music Again'. These are all stellar tracks... 'Whaddya Want From Me' however? I'm note sure if Adam really likes it all that much. He raced through it acoustically like there was a fire. He didn't try to sell it, so I was still not sold on a song I've always been a bit unsure about. Hey Glambert sniper, put down your weapon.

But I do like Adam Lambert. A lot. I think he's a ridiculously talented singer, with a gift from somewhere bigger than here. And, while that in itself is enough to buy my affections, he's also a man unafraid to share what and who he loves with the world.

And that is his gift to us.

Me waiting for Glambert.

Ageing is not a disease.

Can someone pleeeeease explain this to Hollywood? Because it really needs to know. Like pronto.

I just spent a few weeks of September in Los Angeles... city of dreams, angels, and surgeon's knives. I know, not everyone in Hollywood has had plastic surgery... most have not.

But, from what I saw, plenty have. And these unfortunate few are seriously starting to look really scary. And I don't mean physically scary (although there's that too) but mentally scary. Because - seriously? WTF are these people thinking.

This is truly horrid to me; that aging in the American entertainment industry is treated by so many like a disease... A sickness that needs to be eradicated from the body. An embarrassment; a disgust.

Someone living in LA once said to me, "you can never be too thin, young, or rich in Hollywood." Really? Is this our benchmark? How about you Cher? Cher, I know you've just done a movie, but there's really no point because, when you talk, I don't understand what you are saying because your lips don't move.

Priscilla Presley? I always believed you were the most beautiful woman IN THE WORLD. Just ask Elvis, the most beautiful man IN THE WORLD. Now half your face looks like a pin cushion.

Joan Rivers? Had any calls from Jocelyn Wildenstein lately?

Bruce Jenner? Slap!

I was devastated to see this anti-ageing disease infest my good friend who recently moved to Hollywood to become an actress.

This girl was gorgeous. Like super duper, hubba hubba, woweee, can-I've-some-of-that-please.

When I visited her recently, I noticed she'd carved some of her face out - but don't worry - she'd put something back... into her lips. Her original, beautiful lips were so stretched over this foreign matter she looked like a burn victim. I was so dismayed - and this isn't a moral high horse ride - she honestly didn't look good.

Hollywood? Fake lips don't look good.

I don't doubt that authentic youth is beautiful. But I personally find the experience of aging just as attractive, dare I say, even more so. I find my 40-year-old boyfriend more alluring every year. He's experienced. Wordly. Wise. He's adult. It shows in his face. I find it really, super duper hot.

Every fine line in my face, every wrinkle, represents a story in my life; a memory; a laugh; a friend; a lover; an experience.

And one more year I have been privileged to live without real disease.

Ten things I ♥

1. Books by Khaled Hosseini.

Hmm, how do I say this like a lady... the man is a friggin' genius of literature.

Born and raised in Afghanistan before his family sought asylum in the United States, Khaled went on to become a doctor and eventually realised his dream to become a writer. Because he did, we can now understand the fragile side of human nature a little better.

I promise that his two novels, The Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns, will make your heart sing, weep, scream and bleed.

2. Chanel accessories.

Never Chanel clothes! Urgh. Too plain. But what I wouldn't give, do or steal for a Chanel bag, wallet and watch... excuse me while I scrape my dribbling tongue off the floor and wash it a bit.

3. Marlon Brando.

Oh Stellaaaaaaaaaa!!!

If you don't know the movie A Streetcar Named Desire you might be thinking something along the lines of WTF.

But, as an actors 'groupie', Brando is my mecca of screen awesomeness. Not to mention really, really, ridiculously good looking.

4. My dogs.

Otto and Ted. I carry their hearts.

And I pick up their poop.

5. Wine.

I am an Australian female, which means I am programmed to face potentially dangerous addictions to the ol' vino. But I couldn't not include it in my top ten, because, well, that would be a bald-faced lie. Slurp.

6. Salsa dancing.

Ahhh, how I love to dance ze salsa, preferably with a rose between my teeth and a poofy dress that opens right up the thigh... oh hang on, that's the tango. But yes, drop me on a darkened dance floor and turn on the salsa music and I promise you won't see me for the rest of the night.

7. Him.

Because he's just so darn cute.

8. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Ok, not so cute, but come oooon, the man-child composed his first piece at five and his first opera at twelve! I think at five I was still trying to pin the tail on the donkey. In fact I'm still trying to pin that darn tail on that bleedin' donkey. Mozart, I salute you for moving on to more important things.

9. Baking.

I wish I could write "cooking" here instead of the more niche zone of 'baking', but, truth be told, I'm not a natural cook. I pretty much burn water when I attempt anything savoury or 'dinner-like.' But pass me the self-raising flour, vanilla essence, eggs and caster sugar, and I'll know exactly how to turn it from sweet to schweeeet.

10. My family.

Please hang on while I plug all the holes in my heart.

Love and miss youse all.

Put your hand up if you're nostalgic.

See both my hands waving in air?

I certainly am... BIG with the nostalgia. A memory lane wanderer from way back.

I'm not sure I like nostalgia all that much. The word

itself was apparently formed from the Greek terms for 'pain' and 'ache', and, t

o me, n

ostalgia is certainly painful. It aches. Because it means craving, very strongly, something you will never have... the past. Hindsight that is often so beautiful, it's breathtaking.

To reach this place involves the impossibility of time travel... you know you've been there before, but you just can't get back. No matter how much you want to revisit this stunning memory - even if just for a moment - it's, simply, too much to ask.

And what nails nostalgia's last laugh is, you can get daringly close to some missed moments of your past, but it's never quite the same. In fact it's irritatingly different.

You can get back together with an ex partner you miss.

You can even go back to the very first place you met.

The first place you kissed.

You may wear the same clothes.

You could stand the same way.

You can mirror your previous physical actions perfectly.

But it will always be just that - a physical mirror. Your emotional reflection will never mirror itself. It's trapped in the future.

Like many people, I am most nostalgic for my childhood. It was a happy hood to be in. Life was wonderful and full of promise. There's still a lot of hope hanging around, but it doesn't carry the same freedom. Experiences - however important - collect in your mind and weigh it down.

In childhood, my head felt so light. There was careless disregard. Blissful ignorance. My parents were around all the time. We had a lovely house. I had a sister almost my own age to play and fight with. I had my favourite books, toys and games.

I was truly very lucky. And I miss it so much sometimes it hurts... ecstatically.

So I kind of won a green card.

You know, one of those things people need to live and work permanently in the United States... the precious piece of paper that brought on Andie MacDowell's severe case of beer goggles when she fell in love with illegal immigrant Gerard Depardieu in the movie Green Card.

Yes, these cards really exist. They are, incidentally, not green.

And, apparently, people win them. In a lottery.

As an official green card lottery winner, I am going to sound most ungrateful when fly to Washington, climb to the top of the White House and shout at the top of my voice... WTF? You are giving green cards away via a competition? It sounds a little loco to me... I mean, I could be anyone. Do I get a set of steak knives with that? A Ped Egg?

But, the real reason the green card lottery is held every year makes perfect sense. It's to increase diversity in culturally-aware America, and winners are those from countries with low immigration rates to the United States. Like me :-).

I am, of course, grateful I won one. It really wasn't hard. I entered a few details into a website form. It didn't cost any money. I didn't need to write a 3000-word essay explaining the roots of my desire to live in the United States, nor did I have to sing the national anthem to anyone. I just had to have graduated high school. That was the condition. Oh and I had to be really lucky - apparently the chances of winning are less than 1 per cent.

So that's why I have been in the USA this week... formally immigrating to the United States. I almost feel guilty about it. I have quite a few Australian friends here who have busted a gut and several balls to get a temporary American work permit in their area of expertise. Many have slaved over expensive applications to constantly renew their visa status, wondering when the big boot may come and kick them out.

I, on the other hand, haven't worked or lived in the United States as yet. And somehow, a bunch of very nice immigration officers have shaken my hand, smiled at me and said the words, "welcome to the United States." I can get a social security number, a drivers license, an apartment and a job. It's all a little surreal. And I can't help but wondering... why didn't I buy a REAL lottery ticket???

But this really is an amazing privilege. And as long as I don't have to kiss Gerad Depardieu, I'll be fine.