Spring-cleaning & spring-whingeing

My apartment is always full of Dust, and for some reason, Hair. Some of it I can obviously attribute to the human occupants - we're all fairly thick-haired and molt-friendly around here, and the dry winter has perhaps seen a rise in the amount of tiny skin flakes being stripped from our bodies - but really, it can't all be our fault.

We do have windows and/or doors open at most times, so the majority of this horrible Dust and Hair has to be blowing in. And the solution is not as simple as closing said windows and doors, as we need to get ventilation through the apartment. I'm beginning to really hate Dust, to the point where I can see myself becoming Howard Hughes-like in my germphobia. Is it too much to ask that my surfaces stay shiny?

As you can tell by this incredibly boring entry, not a lot's been happening in the Should-Be-Wild-World of Girl Clumsy of late. It's been driving me to distraction. I blame Facebook. Every day I'm confronted by "friends" doing fun things and being funky. I don't feel very funky at all. It probably doesn't help that I'm about to start a seven-day stretch of 4am starts at work. Ouch.

I've been trying to do more writing for print - I subscribed to the Australian Writers' Marketplace website and have been emailing story ideas off to several magazines. Mostly ones that pay - you'd be surprised by the number of high-profile publications that don't. Of course, this means coming up with story ideas, and I've been drawing a bit fat blank. I keep thinking about how little I've done, and how I don't really know enough about anything to write with any authority on any subject. It's probably just a mental thing - but if anybody has any ideas on how to successfully brainstorm, or indeed any story ideas you'd like me to write, leave a comment. It may not seem like it, but I'm generally good at taking direction.

The Show

I spent a bit of time yesterday and today wandering around the Ekka - my first show in about four years. I had to go down on Friday to do some spruiking for 4BC, which I found really fun. I did a movie quiz and handed out prizes; I think the audience enjoyed it. I love speaking in front of crowds - I think I need to try to get into professional MC-ing or something. Anyway, enough of me blethering on. Here's some of the shots I took while wandering around Brisbane's beloved show:

"I pity the fool who doesn't want to buy Foxtel!"

"Whosa-woosa cutey puppy-dog? Oooh, I just want to cuddle you!"

"What a cow!" (Insert joke here).

Slide!!!

That, my friends, is the jaw of a Muttaburrasaurus.

These extraordinarily well-trained ducks, dressed as Jemima Puddleduck, wandered about the showgrounds with their owner in tow - being herded around by a dog. It was a truly bizarre sight.

These were the "Russian" contortionists - a comedy act with added flexibility!

We All Fall Down

I had been hoping for a flu-free ride this winter.

Considering Queensland's current flu "epidemic" (two dead and over 250 hospitalised); my susceptability to respiratory illnesses (thanks to a body-slamming bout of mycoplasma pnemonia when I was 19); and my work hours (which don't help healthy eating and sleeping patterns) - I have been getting along brilliantly.

However this evening I have started feeling the dreaded tickle in the back of my throat, which foreshadows the painful sore throat that precedes the stuffed up sinuses, that leads to the sneezy-wheezy-coughy-snotty phase that makes me just so attractive and fun to be around. My lurgies always go the same way.

Unfortunately if I get a lurgy I won't be able to have the luxury of a day off - the newsroom is short-staffed and I will simply have to work through it. The news must go on, as they paraphrase. So if anybody has some good tips for avoiding a cold or reducing its severity, let me know now. Until then, I'll be sneaking into aged care facilities trying to steal their stock of Tamiflu. Exceuse me while I fetch the balaclava...

Green-eyed monster

Two jealousy-inducing developments over recent days:

1. I received an invitation to my 10-year high school reunion. How can I face that crowd? It's bad enough I'm not off gallavanting overseas (hence giving me a good excuse to say "No way, Jose!"), I'm about 10kgs too big for a reunion, and have yet to achieve my goals of world domination and uber-fame. I will just be going as Natalie - that big-haired, attention-seeking chick who talks on the radio.

2. I joined Facebook. Now if there's one place you're BOUND to link up with people you'd managed to forget existed it's there. I've seen profiles of people I haven't thought about in over half a decade. And of course, they're all off overseas, or working funky jobs, doing this, doing that - basically having lives ten times more exciting than mine.

You see, my inbuilt green-eyed monster kinda resembles Godzilla. God help me if I ever go nuclear - I'll be crushing Tokyo in no time. To be honest, I really do love what I have in my life and am proud of my achievements. But my problem is I believe I could have/should have done more - much more. Much, much more. For example:

• I am not a ultra-glamourous yet highly respected actor. Why is that?
• I am not hosting my own radio and/or TV show. What happened there?
• I do not have my own clothing/shoe/make-up line. Any clues?
• I do not have my doctorate in English literature or history. I mean, come on!
• I have not published an amusing chick-lit book that's serialised in New Idea. Gah?
• I am not running a charitible orphanage in Africa. (OK, fine, I just added that to look noble).

I know I come across as horribly ungrateful - I know, I know. I can picture my mother right now "Natalie! Don't be jealous of other people, there's no need!! You don't want to end up like insert-family-member-here". And she's right, I don't.

So, gentle readers, what do I do? Do I avoid the reunion, or will I regret it? Do I seek out "school" people on Facebook, or preserve my sanity and concentrate on drawing graffiti pictures for current amigos?

There is one thing for certain though - it's crash diet time. If I can drop five kilos between now and the reunion, at least I might feel confident about how I look. Oh my goodness... I think I just heard the sound of my last sensible brain cell dribbling out of my left ear...