Alicia Malone.

“Just think, you’ll be halfway to 60!” said my (supposedly) good friend Hema, laughing at my shocked expression.
“Oh my god, 60!” I replied, “My heart jumped into my throat when you said that!”

In a few short days, I’ll be thirty years old. Thirty! When I think of a thirty year old, I think of someone who has her life together. A woman. Possibly with a designer handbag and matching underwear. I looked at my reflection in the clothing store. Messy hair, chipped nail polish, cheap t-shirt, old jeans, broken sunglasses sitting askew, and what was that around my mouth? Oh, cookie crumbs. Of course. As the great Britney Spears once said, “I’m not a girl… not yet a woman.”

I grabbed a briefcase looking Marc Jacobs handbag and office looking black Herve dress off the shelf, and was about to ask Hema if I should buy them because I’m almost thirty, when I remembered that I work from home. And yet… could I pack a lunch and pop on the dress just to walk into my room and pretend it’s an office? The fact that I think that would be fun proves that I am not yet a proper grown-up.

Proper grown-ups know when to schedule dr’s appointments and how to balance checkbooks (what does that involve?) but for me, many simple tasks are immensely complicated, causing my friends to shake their heads and sigh, “Oh Leash.” Like air planes and how early you need to arrive to catch them. And how to have a phone that works overseas. And how to not get lost.

“Ok, so what time is your flight to London again?” asked my friend Kate a few months ago. She was concerned I wouldn’t have enough time to ride a bicycle to the Eiffel Tower, but I was insisting on going. It had been a year since I had been in Paris, and with my schedule only allowing three days; I was determined to pack as much in as I could.
“Flight’s at 4pm. I figure if I leave here at 2pm I should be fine.” I replied, unconcerned.
“Alright just stick by the Seine and you won’t get lost. It’s 12:30 now, you should be back by 1:30 at the latest.”

At 2:15 I arrived back at her apartment, breathlessly explaining how I thought I would take a shortcut back, but having only my terrible sense of direction to guide me, I’d gotten hopelessly lost.

Racing to the train station was made more difficult by my heavy luggage; I had to stop every few steps to change hands. Back home I was proud at myself for only taking a carry-on for three weeks of travel, but now, I really wished I had wheels.

I missed the first train because I spent 20 minutes looking for the ticket booth (and turned a bright shade of red when it was pointed out that it was right behind me), and the train I caught stopped at every single station on the way to Charles de Gaulle. The woman in the seat opposite me looked on with concern at my bouncing leg, how I was chewing my nails, and the way I obsessively looked at the time on my iPhone.

Bursting out of the train, I ran as fast as my over packed bag would allow, and after initially trying to check-in at the wrong kiosk, finally was told I had missed the cut-off time by one minute, and there were no available flights for two days. The Air France ticket sales rep did not even try to contain his laughter as I tearily pleaded that I had to get to London tonight to see Harry Potter, if I didn’t I wouldn’t be able to interview the cast. Yeah, I know, I have real problems and he should have felt sorry for me.

I sat on the airport floor for 10 minutes feeling hopeless, before I kicked myself for being overly dramatic, crawled off the floor, and got back on the train to Gare Du Nord. There, I ran to the Eurostar desk, bought the last available train ticket to London, and was surprised my credit card allowed me to buy First Class. God bless overdrawing!

Arriving in London without a phone, internet access or any contact numbers, I decided to chance it and go straight to the screening location.
“Hi!” I yelled at a girl walking past the reception desk, startling her. My words came out in a rush, “I’mAliciaIwassupposedtobeatthe6pmscreeningbutImissedmyplane hadtocatchtheEurostarandmyinterviewsareonTuesdayI’msosorrysosorry!”
“It’s ok,” she said, taken aback at my panic, “There is another screening in ten minutes. We can fit you into that.”
“THANKYOU!” I yelled, a little too loudly.

At midnight I finally arrived at my friend Erin’s flat, she was in a panic as I was hours late, and no one had heard from me since I left Kate’s apartment in Paris. Not to mention my other poor friend who was left waiting in London after I promised to meet him for an 8:30pm dinner. Erin made me a nice cup of tea, smiled, and said…“Oh Leash.”

It’s not the idea of growing older that worries me, or having wrinkles (that’s why Botox was invented), it’s more the fact that I won’t be able to have as many excuses. At my age, my mother was married and had two kids. My Facebook feed is choc-full of old school friends, smiling with husbands and babies. Even Beyonce, who shares my birthday, is married, pregnant, and owns a couple of Grammys. I like to think of her as my (slightly) more successful twin sister.

But to give myself credit, I did move overseas and somehow manage to get work, a place to stay, a great group of friends, and a car… well, after failing my first driving test for driving on the wrong side of the road. Yep, I even gave myself an “Oh Leash” on that one. At least I passed on the second try, probably because I took Kate’s advice: “Just do the opposite of everything you think you should do and you’ll be fine.” You’ll be pleased to know I use that logic at every intersection I encounter, so I stay on the correct side of the road. Though I’ll still occasionally get into my car on the passenger side, wondering where the steering wheel went. Oh Leash.

But though my Amazon wish list is overflowing with (un-purchased) books like “How To Be More Dynamic And Successful”, “Vegan Cooking For One”, and “Men Love Bitches”; maybe growing older doesn’t mean you need to have your life together. Maybe it’s more about becoming comfortable with who you are, and not as concerned that you might not fit in with the crowd. In a sea of skinny, denim short clad Hollywood girls, all who seem to have the same long Victoria’s Secret type hair extensions, I’m fine with being a curvy, short-haired, jeans and t-shirt girl. These days it’s not very often that I find myself in front of the mirror, pinching my stomach and wondering how long my hair would take to grow (never underestimate the power of repetition when that’s all you see!)

Today I was rifling through my old diary to find my confirmation number for the Green Card lottery, my heart sinking as I realised it wasn’t in there. Without it, you can’t check whether you’ve been selected to receive a US Green Card. Damn, I was sure I wrote it down. Oh Leash.
But flipping through once more, I came across an entry from September 4, 2010.
“Next year, I’ll be 30…” I had written, “So where do I want to be in one year’s time?”
Underneath there was a list of ten items I’d completely forgotten about. Scanning the list, I noticed with excitement that I had done almost all of them. “Move overseas”. Yep. “Work hard to cover all of the major film festivals, red carpets, and movie press junkets for Australian TV” Yes, yes and yes. “Get out of debt”. Done. “Travel more”. Uh-huh. I had achieved almost all of my “30 year old” goals. I couldn’t believe it. Oh Leash!
There was just one that remained un-checked. “Find Love”. Ok, I’m transferring that to my list for 31. Stay tuned.

Since moving from Sydney to LA, I’ve been busy interviewing movie stars at press junkets, film festivals and on the red carpet. I’ve chatted to everyone from Tom Hanks, Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, to Emma Watson and The Rock. It’s a ridiculous job. And I’ve loved every second of it. Check out my latest showreel, for some of what I’ve been doing!

If you haven’t watched “The Help” yet… what have you been doing? This film has a great story, with a wonderful cast who I’m predicting you will be seeing a lot more of, particularly around Awards Season… Check out a bit of my interview with some of the talented girls below!

I sat down with the very cute & funny Jason Sudekis, Charlie Day and Jason Bateman to talk about their “Horrible Bosses”, which I’m sure we’ve all experienced… except me, of course… my boss is amazing… and reads my blog.

As I mentioned earlier… I was lucky enough recently to be able to experience Comic Con for the first time, and was amazed by the reception the convention gets, not just from the fans but also the celebs, who really love to be there. And I discovered that there are a few secret geeks in Hollywood!

After a couple of delays mounting to what seems like an eternity, “Green Lantern” is finally being released in Australia. It’s not the most familiar comic book series, and definitely hard to explain… but Ryan Reynolds looks good in a CGI suit, and was delightful when I donned my green dress to chat to him about the film in LA.

Three days. Fifty(ish) interviews. I traveled to Comic Con for the first time, and this is what I saw.

For the first time ever, a huge summer blockbuster held it’s World Premiere during Comic Con, just for the fans. Director Jon Favreau was keen to deliver this film directly to them, and boy, were the fans excited! (Does anyone say “boy” anymore? Or just me?)

After hearing about Comic Con for a number of years, I finally got to go! And it was insane. Three days of interviews, hours standing in the one spot, stars from five different films walking down the press line at once… sounds like most reporter’s nightmare, but for me it was heaven! And three movies in particular made a buzz with the fans… the Spiderman reboot, Tintin directed by Spielberg, and of course… Breaking Dawn. Check out a little bit of my interviews below!

Brad Pitt’s blue eyes looked into mine as I shook his hand and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Hi Brad! I’m Alicia from Australia, howsitgoing?” my words jumbled out and locked together in a rush of nervousness.

“Hi, I’m good.” He said in his familiar voice. “What time zone is it for you right now?”

Taking my seat on the raised platform, the lights felt hot on my face. Am I shiny? I wondered, glancing at the three cameras pointed towards us. My throat felt dry and I suddenly needed to pee.

“Um, I don’t even know!” I replied, in a voice higher than normal, “I came from London, and before that Paris, and before that LA, San Francisco, New York… now here in Mexico!”

“Ok Alicia we are rolling.” Boomed an American male voice from the sidelines.

I glanced at the clock in front of me as it began to count down from 6 minutes. 06:00, 05:59, 05:58, 05:57… I took a deep breath, rearranged my face into an expression that (I hope) looked self-confident, and asked my first question.

“So… Moneyball… it’s about sabermetrics. Not such a sexy subject matter?”

Brad laughed, his eyes crinkling and his lips revealing perfect white teeth. As he launched into his answer I had a sudden thought. It’s the first interview of the day, in the first batch of press. That means I could possibly be the first international reporter to talk to Brad Pitt about his latest movie. Brad Pitt. Brad Pitt is looking into my eyes. Screw all the celebrity gossip, the sexiest man alive titles and the paparazzi that surround him. This is the guy who I watched in Twelve Monkeys. In that scene in Thelma & Louise. In Inglourious Basterds. In Fight Club.

Suddenly I was transported back in time. It’s 1999, and a shy 18 year-old, Alicia Holdsworth, sits transfixed in a small cinema in Canberra, Australia. Images from David Fincher’s Fight Club flicker across her face, as she tries to soak in everything she can about the film. The smart script. The visceral violence. The quirky editing. She loves every second, and when the film ends she immediately wants to see it again.

Brad Pitt finishes his sentence and looks at me expectedly. I glance at the clock, 05:05, 05:04, 05:03… and mumble out my next question. Brad smiles, answers easily, his interview style much more relaxed and friendly than I was expecting. Not that I was expecting to ever interview him. Brad Pitt. Brad. Pitt. It’s one of those full circle moments, and one question keeps circling through my head… What is little Alicia Holdsworth from Canberra doing interviewing Brad Pitt in Mexico?

Two weeks ago I was running along the edge of the beautiful San Francisco bay, weaving my way through suited up young professionals on their way to work. I paused for a moment to snap a photo of the morning sun rising behind the Bay Bridge on my iPhone. When I reviewed the picture, I noticed a young brunette caught in my frame, her floral dress flapping behind her as she flew past on her bicycle. I wondered who she was, what her story was, and to where she was rushing. And then a thought occurred to me… who would I be if I lived here in San Francisco? What would my job be? What would my name be?

I’ve been fascinated with names, how they change your identity and affect the way people perceive you; ever since I changed my last name. Alicia Holdsworth was a timid film lover with big dreams and large talk of working in television, but was secretly not quite sure she actually could. But as Alicia Malone, I could reinvent myself, move to Sydney, and work hard from the ground up.

“TV is a hard job to get into.” Holdsworth agreed, but Malone answered, “I don’t mind hard work.”
“Your voice is not good for TV,” they told Holdsworth, but Malone replied, “I’ll take voice lessons.”
“LA is a tough city, how will you get work?” and Malone said, “I don’t know, but I’ll make it happen. I have to go.”
For a few years, Malone became my alter ego, helping me to fake self-confidence until I eventually had it.

But here in San Francisco, I decided I was Trisha. Riding my bike in my floral dress and sandals, on my way to a pitch meeting at the design company I worked at. I have no idea what design companies do, or what a pitch really involves, but for that day it was kinda fun. A few days later, Alice, a career minded young executive, pushed her way through the hoards of tourists in Times Square, careful not to let her Prada pumps get ruined in the process. I was actually wearing free Havianas, and was one of those tourists, but still, it kept me amused. In London I was Alex, a hipster from Shoreditch with cool hair. Paris, I became Alysia, a sexy and carefree writer eating a pain au chocolat by the Seine without a second thought of the calories.

In Mexico, I was back to being Alicia Malone, but pronouncing it in my head as Alee-sia Malon-ey, enjoying the way the Spanish-speaking people would say it. And with the clock counting down… 03:23, 03:22, 03:21… it was time to use my alter ego to trick myself into believing that interviewing Brad Pitt is a totally normal thing to do.

But I really saw the power of alter egos a week later in San Diego during Comic Con. Here was a place where people truly live out their fantasies, coming together to indulge in their unique obsessions, finding like-minded people, dressing up as their favorite superheroes, even acting the part in photos. For those four days, shy outsiders really did become Spidermen, everyday office workers transformed into Storm Troopers, and anyone could be Superman.

For many years, I’ve been intrigued by Comic Con. I had been hearing about it on television, on Twitter and in magazines, and had been warned several times how huge it really is. Still, I was surprised by the amount of people everywhere. 125,000 people showed up. And they were not just inside the convention center, where you shuffled slowly behind them; but there were people pouring out in the streets, stuffed inside bars, piling into restaurants, cafes and hotels. It was like nerd New Year’s Eve, and I have never seen so many pairs of glasses in one area.

I walked the streets of the Gaslamp district, feeling a mixture of wonder, anxiety, excitement and confusion at the snippets of conversation I was overhearing.
“Man, I played Gears of War for 20 minutes today, it was so sick, I didn’t even mind the four hour wait.” Gears of War? Huh?
“I saw this chick wearing the coolest steampunk costume…” Steampunk?
“I’m sooo buying a Tardis bobblehead…” That has something to do with Dr Who, I thought, as I walked past a Transformer ordering Starbucks.

I was beginning to realize no alter ego invented by me would make the Comic Con crowd believe I knew about comic books, video games, or anything remotely tech-y. But luckily I was there to cover the film events, and, readjusting my Big Lebowski T-shirt, that was something Alicia Malone knew a lot about.

In the press lines (a red carpet set up in a hotel ballroom) I stood for hours in the one spot, marveling at my stellar bladder control and unusual lack of hunger. The stars came thick and fast, an odd assortment of actors promoting four different films at once. There was Nicolas Cage talking Ghost Rider 2 next to Jessica Biel who was teasing her Total Recall remake. Aziz Ansari joked about 30 Minutes or Less, while Colin Farrell talked Fright Night, and next to him John Cusack promoted The Raven. I’d just spoken to Emma Stone about The Amazing Spiderman, when Channing Tatum approached, ready to talk about Haywire.

As I reached out my hand to introduce myself to Steven Spielberg, I had to swallow my girlish scream. Looking into his brown eyes, I thought of all the things they had seen. All the genius scripts they had read, the iconic moments they had filmed through a camera, and the movie stars they had seen. Now, they were looking at me.

The following day, Francis Ford Coppola’s dark eyes twinkled with delight as he finished talking about his latest creative project.
“Thankyou so much, “ I said, shaking the hand that had held five Oscars, “an absolute pleasure.”
“Pleasure,” he replied with a firm grip, “and that’s a very pretty necklace.”

As he walked to the next interviewer in the line, I allowed my smile to escape from it’s hold and briefly reverted back to Alicia Holdsworth, the girl who was excited to discover a book about The Godfather in her school library all those years ago. Silently, I congratulated that girl for a job well done, before taking Alicia Malone back to Hollywood.