sassy does coachella: aka things you learn in the desert

April 29th, 2011

Before we get started, if you’re into reading and shit, I just finished reading Bossypants by Tina Fey and it’s DELIGHTFUL. She’s funny and clever and self-deprecating and tells stories about how awesome Alec Baldwin is. I felt smarter just reading it.

Also, I read it on kindle which is one of my favourite things to do, because I feel like I’m living in the future.

And if you’re into people in armour and all things nerdy, am currently obsessed with Game of Thrones. If I have to go to prison for illegally downloading, I would like it to be for this show.

But I promised a Coachella post, and dammit if I won’t deliver!

Are there some bits I don’t want to tell you about? Perhaps there are. I do some really embarassing stuff, so I like to limit the amount I put on here to just the highlights, like the time I accidentally SMS-ed Ryan Girdler, or the time I woke up with leaves in my hair.

And are there some things I don’t remember? Perhaps there are. Sometimes a girl just needs to cut loose, you know?

As for the rest of it, here goes.


The last few times I’ve been to LA I’ve stayed in Santa Monica and spent my time tooling around on 1970s low-rider bicycles down to Venice Beach, buying friendship bracelets from the nutters on the boulevard, and eating onion rings with margarita chasers.

This time when we stayed in LA, we crashed at the Roosevelt in Hollywood and the LA cliches were all Right There. Lauren Conrad walking through the lobby! (perfect hair and super super skinny legs in leather leggings). Samantha Ronson bowling in the Spare Room! (she looks like you’d think she looks). Billy Zane at the next table over at the Chateau Marmont! (he’s kind of bloated and dresses like a Central American drug trafficker). David Beckham coming to the hotel for lunch!

I don’t get a ladyboner for Becks but I will say that in profile he is one of the most objectively beautiful men I’ve ever seen. Like Jared Leto. Like you could lick that face. It’s the same way I feel about Diane Kruger.

I saw Becks in his button-down shirt and a beanie and sunnies, but apparently when he pulled in to the driveway to give his car to the valet he was wearing an insane shiny black plastic wig over his hair.

I don’t know if this makes me vain, but I think I would rather get caught on camera by TMZ than look like this.

Meanwhile next time I stay there I’m challenging Samantha Ronson to a bowl-off because I am REALLY GOOD AT IT. Who knew? Add it to the list of reasons people assume I’m a massive lez. Right under ‘wears flannies and tracksuit pants from Lowes’, ‘played softball in year eight’ and ‘loves footy’.

Turns out – like most things – bowling is more fun when you can do it while drinking. Also CHECK MAH SWEET RENTAL SHOES.


So on day two we picked up our car and discovered … it wasn’t there. You know when you book a car for 10am? Well in America, bitches better turn up at 10am, or they give it to someone else. Why? Who knows. It’s a mystery, like why you tip the person who brings your bags to your room, but you don’t tip the guy who brings your rental car round from the lot. They’re both JUST DOING THEIR JOBS. WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE? IF I’M NOT MEANT TO TIP EVERYONE JUST GIVE THEM BADGES OR SOMETHING SO I KNOW ALREADY.

The point is you will end up driving the only car they have left, which will be an eight seater Yukon the size of a regular 2 bedroom apartment, on the freeway out to Palm Desert. And you had better not have spent the night before drinking absinthe cocktails and dancing in Hemmingways like I did, or it will be one of the most painful days of your life.

As for Palm Desert, it has lots of old people and golf courses and resorts and flamingos. So it’s kind of like … Florida without the ‘gators. And the desert in general … is really really hot. So hot you want to weep. Mrs Pizzinga was right.


Two days before I left Sydney I poodled on into the bank to get some american dollars so the LAX cab driver wouldn’t yell at me again for trying to pay for my ride with a creddie. The dude asked where I was going, then told me “one of the other tellers went to Coachella. He said it was a …. loose occasion”.

Judging by this photo, I was so worried about the loose occasion, I considered hiding my possessions, prison-style.

Jason obviously knows his stuff, because Coachella is pretty much powered by medicinal marijuana, and acid is apparently back in fashion. Which means there are no aggro drunk guys in watermelon helmets, but lots of stoned people who might accidentally catch your hair on fire. You win some, you lose some.


Thanks to the lovely and generous Anella from EMI, we wrangled some VIP passes for the festival. And can I just say … those VIP bitches have it sweet.

In the 38 degree desert heat, the VIP sections have grass, no lines for booze, an air-conditioned bar, special fans to mist you with cool water, not to mention amazing celeb sightings like Alexa Chung, one of the Clarins sisters, Prince, Paul McCartney, Daria Werbowy, Dan Patch and Gale Harold from Hellcats, McLovin, Ke$ha, and I can’t exactly remember the rest.

I do remember seeing Pacey from Dawson’s Creek though, and I may lost my shit a little. I am so uncool.

If you need us, we’ll be by the taco stand. Mmmmm mexican.

But it’s not all fun and taco stands. I learned that you might make friends with a crazy bartender who looks like Gary Busey dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and a captain’s hat, but just cause he tells you you’re pretty doesn’t mean he’s not ripping you off $4 every drink. To think I tipped that guy! Screw you, seaman!


So many of the bands were so, so good. The Strokes are once again awesome, Sleigh Bells blew my mind, Kanye was incredible until he started playing chariots of fire and being a douchebag, Robyn was a dance-party-extravaganza and so was Chromeo, Bright Eyes and the National (I only saw a few songs) were heartbreaking, Alison Mosshart from the Kills is the hottest bitch ever, Cold War Kids are really good at festivals, but two of my faves were the little Aussie bands.

America is in love with Cut Copy and the Presets and they both killed it. Well done, Aussie boys!


Ferris wheeeeel!

So here’s how the story ends: after the third day and night of the festival, we trekked home, slept, got up and got ready to pick up our car (on time) and head back to LA. About halfway up the freeway I felt a little woozy, then a little nauseated. I announced that maybe it might, you know … be kind of a good idea to pull over, at some point, just anywhere that’s convenient, if …. OH MY GOD PULL OVER NOW NOW NOW I’M NOT GONNA MAKE IT.

Of course on a freeway driving on the wrong side of the road pulling over isn’t that easy.

Which is how I ended up puking chocolate milk into an empty paper Starbucks bag in the passenger seat of a Chevy somewhere outside Palm Springs.

Ron Burgundy was right, I really really regret buying that delicious refreshing chocolate milk.

Ron Burgundy is always right.


update from kikiland + axemen awesomeness

August 27th, 2010

Hello all!

I know I’ve been totally absent of late, I’ve been a tad busy. For those who didn’t know, I’m the new Assistant Editor of Rugby League Player magazine. The pic above is an artist’s rendering of me hard at work. How good is my sweater vest! Anyway, I’ve been running around like a headless chicken trying to get stuff organised for our next issue. I’ve only been there a month but I’ve already got to do awesome things like

a) grab Sassy, jump in my Jeep and drive out to Penrith. Then hang out for 2 hours in CUA Stadium with the adorable Michael Gordon, interview him and then force him into an American Apparel t-shirt I picked out. Happy to report he is just as awesome as we expected. He also repeatedly took the piss out of me which obviously makes me love him even more.

b) somehow convince Errol fave Robbie ‘Nips’ Farah to sit down with me for over an hour and give me an awesome interview. He didn’t even object when I yelled STOP LOOKING SO UNCOMFORTABLE ROBBIE across Norton Street during the photoshoot. Keep in mind he knows all about Errol, his Nips nickname and even admitted reading our post on Ready Steady Cook. Robbie, you are such an awesome human.

c) spend Friday morning at Rabbitohs HQ, interviewing CEO Shane Richardson, community manager John Hutchinson and the hilarious media manager Jeremy Monahan. Seriously kids, I was wide eyed with wonder the whole time. Obviously working in footy has given me a peek behind the scenes, but this was on a whole new level. When Mr Richardson was talking I actually got goosebumps. Okay, I’m kind of tragic but I swear IT WAS SO AMAZING.

Now onto things that aren’t me.

The Jacksonville Axemen are our second family. For the ignorant amongst you, footy does exist outside the NRL. They have a national league in the USA. Yes, really! Apparently there are other teams in the league, but we care not for them.

The Axemen and their fans are some the best humans we’ve ever come across. The owner, coach and captain is Spinner Howland. He’s from Queensland (ew) but is basically like our Dad and says things like ‘fair suck of the sauce bottle girls’ with no irony. He also didn’t even care when we stalled his truck in the middle of the highway and he had to bolt out of work to rescue us.

We’ve been to Jacksonville twice, read about our first time here. At this time last year we were in NYC about to watch our boys play the Grand Final against the New York Knights (also known as the Melbourne Storm of the AMNRL. aka wholly unlikeable and possibly evil). Example – they got t-shirts made saying ‘Yes, we did!’ and put them on as soon as the game ended. See! Hateful!

I googled ‘evil knight’ and got this

Sassy and I may or may not have got into a massive fight with the owner of the Knights that involved me yelling OI DICKHEAD and shaking a chain mail fence. It resulted in him scurrying away like a pussy. But that’s a story for another time.

Anyway, once again the Axemen have had a shit hot season and ended up in the big one. This time it’s against the New Haven Warriors. I’m sure they are lovely blokes but I hope the Axemen rip them to shreds. MAKE EM HURT BOYS!

We ask that you please tweet at the Axemen with your support. Here are a few reasons why you should get behind them –

Spinner has no hair but a lot of heart

Matty ‘Montana’ Clark is tough on the field, hilarious off it.


They are in man love.

Craig Howitt has a ginger beard, does retro stretching and once got arrested in airport for impersonating a tiger.

Nick Shea is from Boston. He says ‘wicked awesome’, has Kennedy hair and plays like a man 3 times his size.

They have faces like this.


The finalised team list for the GF is as follows

1	Kenny Britt
2	Josh Longenecker
3	Matt Thornton
4	Zac Matta
5	Dylan Beaver
6	Brent Shorten
7	Luke Gray
8	Craig Howitt
9	Apple Pope
10	Matt Clark
11	Bob Knoepfel
12	Taco Pope
13	Adrian Grayson
14	Richard Alleger
15	Spinner Howland
16	Marc Hanke
17	Matt Schell
18	Jonathan DeFau
19	Jaime Uyttewaal
21	Nick Shea


the boys (and girls) are back in towwwwn

September 8th, 2009

HI BITCHES! Did you miss me? I know you did. You know who missed me more than anyone in the whole wide world? The bloody Dragons. You realise their form took a nosedive as soon as I left the country right? The little fuckers. This isn’t the first time either. In 2006 when I went to the States they lost every game while I was away, then started winning when I returned. And this time they did EXACTLY THE SAME THING.

The past 2 and a half weeks I couldn’t even enjoy my break. No no. I was deadset flooded with communication from home concerning the Dragons. Either it was St George fans begging me to come home, fans of other teams delighting in the Dragons misery (fuck all y’all!!) or my mother ringing saying things like ‘darling….I have some bad news’.

Anyway, we returned home last Friday and whaddyaknow, those tricksy little buggers found their form again and kicked some blue and yellow ass. They were all scorching attack, flawless hard hitting defence and OH HI B.MOZ GOT 3 TRIES! I was torn between being completely over joyed, horrifically jetlagged and being annoyed at them punishing me for going on holidays. Emotional manipulation! Disgrace!

Intern John John jumped into his spangly hotpants and checked the Errol mailbox on Monday morning and found a card my boys sent me. MINOR PREMIERS WHUT WHUUUUT! I adore the love hearts, that was Hot Bitch Cooper’s touch wasn’t it? He is a design genius. All is forgiven my darlings.

Obviously I am absolutely thrilled with the Minor Premiership and could not be prouder of my babies. I am also rather excited that in my absence  Dell has embraced his disco aura and is growing a fierce fro and sideburns combination. Amazing.

So anyway, our trip was amazing and we love the Jacksonville Axemen even more than before. Put it this way, there were goodbye tears. And hugs. And wailing. We will be writing some posts on them soon, including lots of awesome photos that we snapped. We had the most epic time and the boys, along with their staff and fans, are some of the greatest people we have ever met….so stay tuned for that.

In other vitally important Kiki/Errol newz, today I won a a guessing competition on Twitter. Who cares, you say? Oh no, this shit is lolz x 1000. For those who don’t know,  Mat Rogers has a Twitter. AND IT IS AMAZING. 

Today he posted this photo and asked his followers to guess who it was. The winner would receive a signed Titans poster.

I took one look and thought I KNOW THOSE NIPPLES…IT’S KEVIN GORDON! And what do you know…I WON THE COMPETITION. Aaaaaah lolol. I was alone at home on my lappie and when Mat tweeted at us to let us know I was the winner, I seriously laughed out loud and clapped like an idiot. I am such a loser.

So apparently the poster is on the way to Errol HQ and I could not be happier. Not because we get a signed Titans poster, but because my intense perviness has finally paid off.

PS- Seriously how ripped is K.Flash? Thrusssst.

PPS – Never fear kittens, the Errol Awards ARE on for 2009…just a bit delayed. We have new categories and everything. Coming soon!


i want to be in am-er-icaaaaa

August 17th, 2009


Sassy and I are off to the United States of Hot Boys and Margaritas tomorrow to visit the Jacksonville Axemen then spend a week traipsing about Brooklyn.

Needless to say we won’t be able to watch any footy so y’all are gonna have to make do without our witty insights and lolz captions for 2 whole weeks. I know, I know it will be tough…but you will be okay bb’s!

HOWEVER we have a serious Twitter addiction and will be keeping you constantly updated on our adventures that way. If you don’t have Twitter (why not?!) you can just favourite the page and observe our tweets of hilarity from afar.


(By the way one of our adored readers has offered to redesign Errol and we could not be more excited. God knows it needs it! Also we have like, the most ridiculous and amazingly exciting things coming up when we get back….we won’t go into it now but put it this way – world domination is imminent!)

Love you all. Kiss kiss! xxx


united states of errol: meet the jacksonville axemen

June 30th, 2009

So this is the last part of our Oh Errol American adventure from earlier this year. Ok, that’s a lie. Really, it’s the second last part. However, as the last part involves Savannah and Vegas, this is the last part that we will be describing on the internet. SOZ GUYS.

We’re been saving this bit up until we were well and truly into the league season for 2009 (over here and in the States). A lot of our readers go on holidays over the non-league season and we wouldn’t want all the little lost sheep to miss out.

Basically … you NEED to know about these guys. They call em the Jacksonville Axemen, and this is how the story goes.

After our bizarre jaunt around Disneyworld we jumped into Ron Burgundy – our gigantic, burgundy-coloured, Dodge minivan – and hit the road for Jacksonville, Florida. Why? Well it wasn’t to see Ryan Adams, because as it turns out, his song Jacksonville … not about Florida. Not that that stopped us singing it incessantly. That, and the soundtrack from High School Musical. That shit is great driving music.

He has many leather-bound books and his interior smells of rich mahogany.

Jacksonville is a quaint little beachside city in Florida. Down near the sea it’s full of 50 and 70s style diners and strip malls, and faded bleached-out salt-stained buildings. In the morning and at night the place fills up with fog that washes in off the Atlantic. It’s kinda Central Coast-ish really. It even has, wait for it … a RUGBY LEAGUE TEAM. Fuck off, now that was something we had to see. A league team in America’s wang! It makes sense that they might have them up North where the Yankees play rugby union at college, but in the South? Amazing.

The faithful Ron Burgundy delivered us to Jacksonville Beach right on the eve of Australia Day and found the Axemen waiting at the hotel with a cooler and a playlist of Aussie songs ready to welcome the Oss-tralians. WE HAVE FOUND OUR PEOPLE!

We were so damn excited we bounced about introducing ourselves to every. single. member. of the team … and four guys who just happened to be standing in the foyer and turned out to be US Marines instead of footy players. No wonder they looked confused when we asked where they played.

Much like Hunter S. Thompson, Sassy prefers to conduct all her interviews in hot-tubs.

Let’s just say that the Axemen throw a great clambake. Heh, clam. There were eskies of drinks, an all-Aussie playlist, even giant Aussie flags on the wall.

We even had a special encounter with a couple staying at the hotel. They were just chillin in the hottub having some beers, sitting next to a big pile of clothes … OMG IS THAT PILE OF CLOTHES A BABY? AND IS IT … CRYING? DID YOU GUYS BRING YOUR BABY TO A BAR?

Cut to Sassy and Kiki looking after the kid in the hotel bar while the parents smashed a few drinks. They crooned it Crowded House songs until it finally fell asleep and the parents headed to bed. It totally liked them, especially when the girls sang two part drunken harmonies to you’d better be homeeee, sooooooon.

The Axemen apologised profusely and explained to us … ‘we have white trash here in Florida, you know’. We can tell. Also, as if there’s any need to apologise. We’re Australian! We roll with the punches, or something.

Disclaimer: May not be actual Jacksonville sportscaster.

Now in general, Americans aren’t always the most up-to-date with Australian culture. More than once we were told how well we speak English …. um, thanks?

So you can imagine how shocked Kiki was when, viciously hungover after our Australia Day extravaganza, she was watching the local news and the sportscaster covering the Australian Open said: ‘as a sidenote, it’s Australia Day today down there. Everyone gets drunk and the country pretty much shuts down’.


We thought how impressive it was that Florida natives know so much about our country, then promptly forgot about it. Until we met Spinner that evening for a sneaky pre-dinner drink. He strolled in, looked at us all, and started cracking up and shaking his head. He deadpanned: ‘you were certainly … memorable last night’.

According to Spinner, Jacksonville’s local sportscaster is a Big Deal. And when he was grandly introduced to Kiki, she grabbed his shoulder and announced:


The rest, as they say, is history.

Disclaimer: not actual Spinner.

Meanwhile, the reason for the Aussie welcome extravaganza was the one-of-a-kind Daryl ‘Spinner’ Howland. Why is he called Spinner? According to the boys: “you don’t wanna know”. We couldn’t even get Spinner drunk to force him to confess, so you can just make up your own sordid stories. It’s more fun that way. Spinner’s an Aussie living over in the States (and a DIRTY QUEENSLANDER. The crafty bastard didn’t tell us that before we drove for three hours to meet him).

The way he tells it, he had found his way into a college rugby team somewhere up north, and in the middle of a team trip around the South, Spinner had a … well, a big night on the tiles in Jacksonville Beach, and woke up too late and too disgusting to make his plane back home.

So in true Aussie style, he just made the best of it. Necessity is the mother of invention, right? So he set up in Jacksonville, started a footy team with a mate and called them the Axemen.

Truth is, knowing Spinner is kinda like knowing the mafia. Hiring a car? Mention Spinner’s name for a discount. Renting a hotel room? Mention Spinner. Trying to dispose of a body? Um …

Knowing Spinner is also kinda like knowing the big banana. Or pineapple. Or whatever. Something that is really well-known and from Queensland. He is unmistakably Australian. In part this is because the back of his car is completely plastered with Australian memorabilia even though we’re 99% sure he is the only Aussie in Florida. Every person in the entire city knows who he is. He’s like a bald-headed Queensland version of the Beatles. Universally recognisable! Plus, he knows Russell Crowe.

We got so dependent on Spinner we became almost incapable of doing things on our own. Every time we got lost we phoned him for directions (and every time we were late he phoned us to ask “are you lost?”). When Kiki had a hangover she reached out her arms and cried SPINNER FIX ITTTTT.

He’s also like the mafia in that if he chooses to, he’s the most generous and considerate guy a blogger could meet. He showed us the best mexican restaurant in town, and the best time we had maybe in the whole of our trip. THANK YOU SPINNER!

When Spinner wasn’t in charge … this is what we ate.

And after spending three weeks dealing with Polite Americans who are appalled when you say ‘Jesus Christ’ or words like ‘vagina’, it was so so nice to see an Aussie man again. Within five minutes of meeting us Spinner was hurrying us up by saying “What the fuck are you doing? I told em you’re Aussies and you don’t take long … so hurry the fuck up! Fair suck of the sauce bottle girls.”

In fact our only gripe with Spinner is that he is quite clearly brainwashing the entire team to support Queensland instead of New South Wales. Surely this is a breach of some kind of coaching or humanitarian law? Anyone?

But let’s talk Axemen. We had to know how the hell any of them ended up playing league. There are a few Aussie imports, and a new Aussie head coach but otherwise it’s all-American. Randy Dewey converted after playing rugby union at his Catholic School, Rich Alleger converted after playing union up north. And in our favourite story of all, Florida boy John Turlington was poached on his very first day of university in Jacksonville. He walked in at abouy 6’4, barefoot, massive, and wearing denim overalls with nothing underneath, and the rest of the Axemen thought … YES. This is the kind of man who needs to play rugby league. They were right.

Turlington: Face of a beauty queen …

… feet of a giant.

And the Axemen are going great guns. After starting only three years ago, the team is already breaking even and about to start turning a profit. This might be because they have brilliant marketers who come up with ideas like $1 beers on game day. It might also be because they have two guys in the team called Apple Pope and Taco Pope. Awesome, right?

Next step is to get the Yanks to start a national rugby league. If they do, the Axemen are sooo in it – just look on the website in the poll on the left. Bitches are miles ahead in the public vote for which cities they want in the comp.

Meanwhile thanks to the ~*magic*~ of technology, now we get to watch the Axemen games even though we’re all the way over in Australia. Just get on the website and click ‘Home’ and ‘JaxAxeTV’ … wheee! You’ll definitely want to watch because the Axemen are currently sitting undefeated on top of the ladder in the AMNRL and going great guns.


And now we’ll leave you with the Jacksonville Axemen’s ad; written by and STARRING one Spinner Howland. Enjoy, babies!

Special thanks to Spinner, Jay, Rich and Jono for squiring us about town. And the rest of you, buy a t shirt why don’t you? We all have the KISS MY JAX shirts and wear them with pride.

And if you’d like to hear what the Axemen think about US, well you can here and here!


united states of errol part 3: fairytale rehab

March 9th, 2009

Because we just knew that post-cruise we’d want to have a few days of not getting blind and inappropriate, we planned it so Florida’s Disneyworld would be the next leg of our trip. Crafty right? We should start The Oh Errol Travel Agency for Drunks, where we send you off to a wholesome location at the end of your itinerary to wash away all your sins.

So we battled Miami airport again, where Sassy proudly showed off newfangled cultural knowledge by ordering a cafe con leche with ease, and got on a flight to Orlando.

[Turns out: it’s just COFFEE WITH MILK. – Sassy]

Our flight was made by a fierce male attendant who cracked himself up over the PA, and scored a pair of sunnies that someone had left behind. And by ‘someone’ I mean ‘a lady’.

Lured by the promise of alligators playing instruments, we opted to stay at Disney’s Port Orleans Resort. Off we went on the Magical Express, which is a fancy name for a Disney themed airport shuttle where you have to tip your bus driver. TIP THE GOD DAMN BUS DRIVER.

We were so pissed off about it we used our Australian Initiative and refused any help with our bags. It’s ok, we’re Australian! Rusty probably carries his own luggage! Turns out our room was REALLY FAR and involved crossing a pool of some kind but we did save 5 bucks and make a point in the process (to ourselves). TAKE THAT AMERICA.

We never found those friggin alligators, but we DID find an extensive array of Disney merchandise right there in our resort. Even Lozzy, who is usually the cheapest most restrained of us, lost her damn mind in that gift shop and walked out 100 bucks poorer. Our best find? Kiki and Lozzy’s MATCHING SPANGLY ZAC EFRON WATCHES.

Oh yes, those are glittered bands! We think this was a finishing touch to the design. Like the merch makers had the face all decked out with diamantes, but they sent it off to Zeffie for final approval and he was all ‘needs more spangles’.

Our first day was spent at the Magic Kingdom, which really IS quite magical.

We knew it would be because on the way in, one of the staff members complimented Sassy – who was wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt with her newly purchased princess hat – on her ‘shirt and hat combination’. It was awesome.

Oh yeah, we wore Disney themed hats and ears all day. It was v inconvenient having to take them off for rides. Hat hair is a bitch.

We went on the teacups (which by the way feels JUST LIKE BEING DRUNK.  take note children: this is your future) got wishing dust in our hair and rode Space Mountain, and then toddled off to the Epcot Center for lunch in fake Mexico. Lunch with margaritas. For some reason everything we did after lunch was just that little! bit! more! fun!.

Unfortunately our day went downhill when Kiki suggested we go on something she remembered as being all fun and sciencey, but since then has apparently been turned into THE MOST TERRIFYING SHIT EVS. See for yourselves. We had to sit on that bloody thing with no escape for like 8 minutes. It was like in The Simpsons when they go to Duff Gardens and Lisa’s hallucinating on the “Duff Beer for me, Duff Beer for you, I’ll have a Duffff, you have one too” ride.

And it turns out that one day is pretty much the limit on the magic of Disney.  One day, that’s it. After twenty four hours you start to wonder whether anyone has ever gone postal at Disneyworld. We say … likely. We just thank god we were too lazy to kick any of the whingy little kids in the shins because we don’t trust that American justice system. WE’VE SEEN THE FUGITIVE YOU KNOW.

So we spent our second day in Disney’s Animal Kingdom, looking at animalz and trying to avoid being run over by all the people riding motorised complimentary Disneyworld scooters while eating ice creams.  We are not kidding.  Blah blah cute animals blah, but do you know what? They would still be cute if the whole of the Animal Kingdom wasn’t massively offensive.

Americans get a bad rap for not being the most culturally aware of cats but this shit was ridiculous. You can visit ‘Africa’ where all the buildings are made to look old and shitty and falling apart – from violence that NATO has done nothing to stop, perhaps? – and all the signs are spelt wrong (because Africans can’t speak English properly, of course) and miserable-looking black people from like, Detroit, have to dress up in feathers and do completely made-up ‘African’ dances in the fictional land of Harambe.  Those bitches probably have college educations.

Apparently ‘Asia’ is also just like Africa in the sense that it’s just one big country where everything is ‘Asian’ and you can buy egg rolls from a cart with Indian writing on it. We know the peeps like all that tribal wilderness stuff, but this has kinda passed kitsch and headed right into demeaning.  You know lots of Africans speak English, right?  They just have different accents. They’re not cavemen. It’s total cultural imperialism and really noble savage-y and patronising and made us feel icky in our fat, fat, ranch dressing bellies.

So here’s a little tip from us to you: don’t ever go to the Animal Kingdom if you have an arts degree and/or have ever been anywhere in Asia or Africa.  You will deadset have a stress-induced stroke.

PS – We say this with love, but a country where you have to tip bus drivers probably shouldn’t be implying anyone is backwards. Just sayin … nobody’s perfect. RAISE THE MINIMUM WAGE ALREADY AMERICA.

Now that rage is out of the system … stay tuned for the massive super-partytimes finale edition of the United States of Errol: The One Where We Meet the Jacksonville Axemen. It was one of our fave parts of the trip, and you will love love love it.</p


oscars wrap up … and a little bit of whoring

February 24th, 2009


*high kick*

Exciting times, kids!  Kiki and I have a new home over at the Austereo / Fox website, blogging about celebrities and style and other Very Important Things.

We’ve already posted some of our comments on the Oscars, including how much we adore Zac Efron, why Hugh Jackman is super-human, the worst hair in the history of humanity, and why Brad Pitt is a bitch.

Read it.  You’ll love it.  Promise.

What we didn’t get to in our blog though was what happened after the awards ceremony, and I has mah suspicionz about that.  By all accounts, hot bitch Robert Downey Jr got up to this:

OF COURSE HE DID.  What else would Ro Ju do now that he’s off the drugs except sit around with his smoking wife lounging in the nook on his shoulder,  doing manly things like smoking manly cigars, probably smelling like Burberry London or Demeter Leather and unselfconsciously mussing his hair while he considers putting on a smoking jacket or … what was my point?  Oh yes, he’s smoking a cigar celebrating not winning an Oscar, but instead winning at life.  Heh, cigar.  It’s funny cause it implies sexytimes.

I also feel completely and unflinchingly certain that Meryl Streep blazed up her own cigar and got blind on grey goose cocktails with Goldie Hawn and Hugh Jackman while Goldie discussed her spirit guides.  If you’re wondering where that happened, it was in my mind.

Meanwhile I probably don’t even need to tell you but I am now in mad emotional gaylove with Dustin Lance Black.   He’s lovely. Not to mention he has bone structure I would cut a bitch for.

But do you know what the best bit is?  And no, it’s not that an adorable gay boy from Texas won an Oscar for a brilliant screenplay about a gay political activist and simultaneously gave the forks to every Proposition 8-voting homophobic FASCIST.  It’s that DLB was able to live his dream.

His dream of meeting Zac Efron.

Look at Efron trying to look all hetero.  Think manly thoughts! Think manly thoughts!  Cedar!  Monster trucks!  Vaginas!

And look at DLB freaking out.  Even Oscar-winners get awkward around Zef.  Don’t be intimidated by his beauty, Lance!  It’s all Maybelline!  For reals.

In other, far less interesting news, I assume that  Angelina went home with at least one extra from Slumdog Millionaire under her arm, while little Miley Cyrus went home and brushed her hair 100 times in the mirror, thinking about how next year she’s gonna be recognised at the Oscars for Hannah Montana.  SNORT.

And now, because I don’t want to drive Lozzy to a stroke, I’ll calm down on the Oscars talk.  Till next year, babies.


united states of errol part two: PARTY PARTY PARTY!

February 22nd, 2009

About a year ago, Kiki and Lozzy read that Hanson would be performing on a cruise ship. We mocked this accordingly, then decided to, you know, pay hundreds of dollars and go on it. Yeah, we’re now Official Rock Boaters. We hate ourselves too.

But let’s not get too caught up in the past. The real story starts in Miami … party in the city where the heat is on, all night on the beach till the break of dawn.

Let it be known that Miami is A SHITHOLE. Will Smith may have led you to believe ‘This the type of town I could spend a few days in, Miami the city that keeps the roof blazin’. Will, why do you lie?


We spent two days there and almost lost our damn minds. We thought everybody would be wearing Hawaiian shirts and straw fedoras and grooving down the street to festive Latin music.  Instead it’s like the Gold Coast, if you ripped out the small amount of soul the Goldy has and replaced it with 85 different Ed Hardy stores. No wonder Dexter murders people.  We would too if we lived in a city where people wore embroidered Ed Hardy ugg boots.

Granted our time there was spent almost entirely at  the truly horrendous Miami airport (aka where souls go to die), and in our room watching Confessions of a Teen Idol (ok that part was awesome. Have you guys seen how terrifying Jeremy Jackson is these days? They should put his photo up in schools to deter kids from … well, everything. And Christopher Atkins – still hot.)

Miami is also a city filled with cultural landmines.  The following is an edited transcript of ‘Sassy trying to buy a coffee’.

Sassy: Can I have a cafe latte to take away please?

Waitress: … Cafe?

Sassy: Yes please, cafe latte.

Waitress: Cafe con leche?

Sassy: ….. *tick tock*

Sassy: Cafe … latte?

Waitress: Cafe con leche?

Sassy: ….

Waitress: ….

Sassy: …. I’M FOREIGN.

Waitress: Cafe con leche.

From there we made it through the gauntlet of bag handlers (including the guy who said “… you know you can tip me if you want”. SERIOUSLY. LOOK INTO GETTING BADGES. HOW ELSE ARE WE MEANT TO KNOW WHO TO TIP?) and boarded the Rock Boat from the port side, avast ye mateys.

As far as we can tell, after releasing two (moderately) successful songs in the nineties, Sister Hazel invented The Rock Boat so they could:

a) have a captive audience to play to;

b) get to see the Bahamas;

c) have somewhere to live for at least 5 days a year; or

d) all of the above.

We guess (d). And fair enough!  Not everyone can live off song royalties like Hugh Grant in About a Boy.  They also take care of all the loudspeaker announcements, so as we settled into our state room we were greeted with:


Seriously that’s what he said word for word. We couldn’t believe it either. We all looked at each other in disbelief  then rolled off the beds in hysterics.


We thought nothing could top this. Then, later that night, we hear the singer of some band we don’t know yell the following –

OOOOOOH YEAH! The boat has officially left port and DADDY’S DRIVING NOW!  Daddy’s in controllll.  Oh wow who ordered all those shots? OH IT WAS ME. WOOOOOO.  We’re not in port anymore so LET’S GET FUCKED UP!

Can I get a helllllllll yeaaaaaah?

The crowd all yelled HELL YEAH in unison then all wooooooooed the way only Yanks can for a good 10 minutes.

Oh, Americans.

To our delight/horror it only got more American as we went on.  The boat has not one, not two, but three hot tubs, all filled with pasty Americans in tiny sunglasses (why do they all wear such small sunglasses?), horrible bikinis and too-high boardshorts. Smashing Miller Lites and making the rock handsign. If there’s one thing Americans love more than that weird orange cheese they eat, it’s a hot tub.

pic: sixthman.net

The most disturbing thing about the hot tub obsession was their willingness to get their kit off in Not Very Warm Weather. It really wasn’t hot enough for frolicking poolside in swimwear. Especially when the majority of them were the colour of pale pale milk. It was like cruising with 1200 Ben Hornbys (btw he totally had a baby in the off season. A baby NOT popped out by us. We are tres upset by this development.)


Now this cruise included a day in Half Moon Cay, and a day in Nassau.  Because the weather was miserable, we couldn’t dock at Half Moon Cay (we hear it’s lovely).  And because we were drunkenly passed out in semi-comas …. we slept through Nassau. Seriously, we woke up and were all “ooh we can’t feel the boat moving anymore, hurrah! Sea legs!”, then Lozzy opened the curtain to see that a) we couldn’t feel the boat moving because we were in port, and b) everyone was walking BACK to the boat – not only had we missed a port, but it was 5pm and we’d lost an entire day.

Suffice to say, we saw a lot of the cruise ship, and not much else.  To our surprise, it’s kind of awesome.  We had our very own little Cruise Steward, Mario, just to look after us and our room.

Note: May or may not be the actual Mario

He would wait outside our room in the afternoons until we woke up to make sure that we were alive.  Then while we struggled up to the 24-hour pizza buffet, he would sneak into our room and make us adorable little towel animals to make our hearts smile.  A different one every day!

Towel elephant never forgets towel facts.

Can’t figure out how to use the tv?  Mario knows!  Can’t find your room because you’re drunk?  Mario knows!  Broken the toilet? Mario will say ‘Oops!’ and call a plumber! A REALLY REALLY SCARY PLUMBER who accused us of putting a towel in our toilet. Coz that’s what people do on cruises, you know.

Poor Kiki, being the only one of us who could get out of bed and/or was wearing pants, had to deal with Scary Toilet Man. (For the full lolz please put on a sub continental accent in your brain. Trust us, its funnier.)

STM: (said accusingly) Did you put a towel in this toilet?

K: Errr….no. Why would I put a towel in the toilet?

STM: I don’t believe you. I’ll check now.

*Kiki returns to bed to hide under the covers from the scary man. STM fiddles with the pipes for a while*

*Kiki feels oddly guilty and goes to check on STM*

STM: (looks up with pure hate in his eyes) YOU PUT A TOWEL IN THIS TOILET. WHY DO YOU LIE?

K: What! No! I SWEAR mate! I didn’t do it.

STM: I show you!

K: No I believe you, I’m just saying I didn’t put it in there.

STM-  *pulls a soaking wet towel from the pipes* THIS. THIS IS A TOWEL. YOU SEE?

K: …………………

STM: SEE! TOWEL!  *slams door*

May we just say at this point that yes, we probably were drunk enough that night to pee and mistake a towel as toilet paper, but that was NOT the reason we needed emergency plumbing. We ran into the bathroom and realised THE TOWEL RACK IS OVER THE LOO. Seriously Carnival, that is some of the poorest interior design we have ever seen.

Back to Mario – we would like him in our everyday life, please. When he came in on the last day and made a sooky face to say ‘You’re leaving meeee!‘ we almost went for the hug. Sure he makes towel animals for everyone, but he totally loved us best.

But for all the good stuff, like getting to hang out with the bands in the Casino bar and never having to worry about finding a taxi home, come the bad parts … like knowing that whatever you did last night might have been captured by the cruise photographer, or seeing the shaggy-haired rocker you pashed the night before sporting full rock star regalia while serving up pasta salad at the Sun & Sea lunch buffet.


We decided to latch onto a new married couple of BFFs that we met in the super-classy Cheers bar (hi Jay and Suellen!) and discovered another great thing about cruising: people can’t get away.

On the fourth night we cruise-ship-telephoned them up and took them to the fancypants Galaxy dining room (you have to wear SHOES there and everything) for a lobster and champagne dinner. You know, just the five of us. On a group date. We are so creepy. Totally worth it though to see the Galaxy waiters jump the tables to dirty dance and have a group singalong. We heart cruising.

pic by suellen

If you happen to be curious about what the Hanson boyz got up to while all this was going on, you can read all about it in this hilarious and detailed email that we sent to Ivey and London over at The New Way. It was pretty much the first thing we did once we returned to dry land – in bed together, while eating 100 bucks worth of Jerry’s Deli and cracking ourselves up – and was also the best time we had in our whole stay in Miami.

Taylor* still dresses like a lesbian and wore capri pants – yes, manpris – to Nassau. Zac is such a douchebag that he has been renamed Alan, who we took to booing constantly (seriously, we’re still saying ‘booo alan!’ to express distaste for anything in general life. It’s just so catchy!). Isaac was outraged at not being able to get a freakin Mojito due to lack of mint.  WE HEAR YOU IKE!  And both their shows were AMAZING.


But our favourite night by far was their second gig in the cavernous indoor theatre known as The Palladium. Because 99.9% of all Hanson fans lack lives, they all started lining up for seats at 11am. The show didn’t start until 12 hours later.

That was their method. Ours was to drunkenly wander in at 10:55pm, skip down towards the front, inexplicably find 2 cute boys, flirt with them, drink their beer and then park ourselves next to them for the entire show. Note we were in prime position RIGHT in front of Taylor and his piano. Considering the rabid Hanson fans didn’t gouge our eyes out, we decided they must have thought they were our mans minding seats for us. Sweet.


[Note – I am a fetching shade of orange due to the cruise gift shop fake tan I had to resort to buying. I am usually less carrot like – K]

[Note 2 – I am not featured in this pic because either a) It was an Alan song so I had gone off to pee, or b) I’m actually there on the left of Sassy, but too short to see. Sadface. – L]

[Note 3 – I have my hair tied back and am wearing neutral browns because after my shameful behaviour on the two previous nights I was trying to be ~*incognito*~. It didn’t work. – S]

If you’re wondering about the ‘bitches’ label, these are the two girls who dampened Lozzy’s Hanson experience by sitting down the entire time and rolling their eyes every time she busted out a dance move behind them. To rectify this, Lozzy thought it would be appropriate to tell them “Look, if you’re at a Hanson show you don’t fucking sit down”. They didn’t reply, either because they’re bitches or they couldn’t understand the Aussie accent. Probs a little from column A, a little from column B.

Then at the end Lozzy used her grade-A biting wit to tell them ‘YOU SUCK’, realised that in the light they were both absolute battleaxes and had clearly been in a number of fights in their time, and Sassy had to step in to break it all up. Good times.

Miss Kiki and the boy in the captain’s hat got along famously. And by that we mean she grabbed his ass, told him he was cute then went the pash. In her defence, he certainly didn’t seem to mind. She also grabbed him and whispered I’M MAKING OUT WITH A BOY DURING A HANSON SHOW…IS THIS HEAVEN?


And honestly, that’s not even half of it. We could easily spring a trilogy of Rock Boat posts on you, but we have the rest of the trip to cover.

[*We feel like we should address the pic floating around the internets of our beloved TayTay, to be frank, licking a dick (not safe for work. But shit, if you’re gunna get fired for something, don’t you kind of want it to be for getting caught looking at Taylor Hanson with a dick in his mouth?). Unfortunately, it’s fake. This is most obvious from the palm tree t-shirt the subject is wearing. TayHan would NEVER wear something that ugly and chest-hair covering.

The best part is it’s been dubbed MmmCock. Awesome. – Lozzy]


united states of errol part one: california dreaming

February 17th, 2009

Well it’s been a week since we set foot back on Aussie soil, and we’re almost over our jetlag/hangovers/really hot throat infections that we all got from each other.  Speaking of, Lozzy swears any illness suffered was from lack of Vegemite and not excessive consumptions of booze and food. WE NEED OUR VITAMIN B.

So here you get Part 1 of our trip, which we’ve narrowed down to include the things we think Errol readers will most appreciate – tales of us being inappropriate, inept, drunk and really really lolz. In dot points, coz that’s how we roll.

* We decided the best way to cure horrendous jetlag (Sassy was extra tired from lol’ing at Carl Barron on the plane. We mean his standup, not like he was ON the plane. Which would’ve been fucking amazing just btw) in LA was to take massive naps, then follow them up by eating mexican, drinking giant margaritas and getting hideously drunk.

Note: approximately one quarter of actual size.

Seriously guys, Americans make THE STRONGEST DRINKS IN THE WORLD. There is clearly no Responsible Service of Alcohol over there. Obviously, unlike Australians, Yanks can be trusted to have a few drinks then go home and … do whatever it is Americans do. Probably watch The Closer (seriously, they are unnaturally obsessed with that show).

If drinks that strong were served at home we would deadset not be a functioning country.  Not to mention that if you could buy booze 24 hours a day from pharmacies and service stations the way you can in the States we would never ever have a reason to stop drinking and go to bed.

Obviously these lethal drinks are directly to blame for us ending up in a fraternity hot tub later that evening. We wish we were joking.

To Sigma Chi (UCLA chapter) – thanks heaps for the hospitality, and living up to our expectations by having red plastic cups and beer pong. IT’S JUST LIKE THE MOVIES! We also hope the fraternity brother who found the two pairs of  abandoned tights  we left behind enjoys them. They may come in handy for their next hazing ritual.

* LA is all over the bootleg Obama merch – we bought t shirts for various lucky bitches back home and even found OBAMA WATER. Sassy scored the last travel mug available in the entire state of California … apparently those babies are massive sellers, and we’re not surprised.  It’s awesome AND practical.

    Yes we can…buy illegal merchandise.

* For some unknown reason, we were an absolute hit with the people of Santa Monica. Especially with black men. Can we say that? ‘Black men’? Well we are! And they loved our work.

Highlights include 2 guys hanging outside a shoe store, hearing our accents then asking if we really have kangaroos in Australia. He then turned to his companion and said ‘YOU SEEN THOSE MOTHERFUCKAS?’ complete with a full kangaroo impression. Including hopping and his hands held up like little paws. AMAZING.

Also the man who yelled at Sassy from across the street DAAAAAMN…WHAT U DOIN WITH THAT BODY MAMI?

* We got to hang out with one of Errol’s biggest fans, the charming Von, who we took on a romantical bike riding group date along Venice Beach. He is quite the Southern gentleman and helped us remember how to ride. He even got behind Kiki and pushed her along until she figured out how to use the pedals.

Aussie men would never do something so chivalrous. Instead they would’ve just pissed themselves laughing at us, and maybe taken photos of us falling off and injuring ourselves horribly.  By the way, that expression ‘like riding a bike’, is such a lie.  Riding bikes is HARD. We had sore lady parts for days afterwards.

    To Von – thanks for not being completely horrified when Kiki licked your face over dinner. Also for being generally adorable and letting us grope your sweet sweet muscles. We’ll return the favour when you come to Australia. Maybe without the face licking. We know it makes you uncomfortable.  In our defence, living with two other people, 24 hours a day, kind of erodes your personal boundaries, and we didn’t have many of those before we left Australia.

    Our bike date led us to a truly amazing bar on the Santa Monica Boardwalk called Big Dean’s that has literally not changed since the 70’s, except that now it’s the local of Luis from Passions. Seriously, he was there.
    Oh,  sorry…. did you say you’re not familiar with the soap opera Passions? LIAR.  Everyone loves Passions.Big Dean’s is famous for serving ‘the first beer of the day’ in Santa Monica, which is how we knew it was our kind of place.  We hit it off with a strange man named Huck and Eddie the Hot Bartender – we would tell you all about how we decided they should be in a new strand of Law & Order called Cat Detectives, but you kind of had to be there.

    We then all walked (except for Sassy who RODE Huck’s pink bicycle really really fast. It was terrifying. If it were Kiki doing it there would’ve been broken limbs galore) to the classy establishment Bubba Gump Shrimp Co (JUST LIKE IN THE MOVIES!). There, of course, we made a spectacle of ourselves by getting drunk and dancing in the aisles to The Veronicas while everyone else there was just eating dinner.

    Eating ten thousand calories a day gives you loads of energy for bike-riding. Thanks, American food!

    Thanks to the Bubba Gump bar guy who told us since we were Australian we should forget the entire cocktail menu and just get Blue Hawaiians … “they’re the strongest drink on the menu”.  Clearly he has encountered Australians before. Our heads the next morning were not so grateful.

    NO THANKS to Huck for riding off into the night with Sassy’s sunglasses after realising none of us were going to shag him. They were Really Good Glasses.

    NO THANKS to Kiki’s brother.  When she rocked up at the hotel door and rang him to let her into the house he was very unhelpful, and very meanly pointed out: ‘you’re in America, you drunken fool’.

* You’re probably wondering why we spent all our time in Venice Beach and Santa Monica, when there’s you know … the whole rest of the giant Los Angeles metropolis to explore. The truth is, Venice is pretty much our spiritual home.  We like to pretend it’s still the seventies, and Jay Adams might appear unexpectedly over the crest of the hill and board down to the beach.

    We also love that it’s a little pocket of America that’s completely free of khaki shorts, Juicy Couture tracksuits and Republicans.  Instead, you get awesomeness like this:

    Sup? Nothin …. just playin my flute shirtless in the street.

    Thanks to the lovely local who stopped us in our tracks to tell us “the sun … it shines for YOU, girl.”  THAT’S HOW NICE PEOPLE ARE IN DOGTOWN. Granted most of them are homeless and possibly mentally ill but whatevs. They make pretty crafts and dance to the music in the head. Happy crazies!


* Fear not though, explorers that we are, we jumped in our white Corolla (according to Thrifty Rental it’s “sporty”), put Sassy behind the wheel and some 1990s Coolio on the stereo, and hopped on the freeway to Hollywood.  It looked a lot like this:

    We sang the Melrose Place song as we drove past Melrose Place, we bought vitally important things like vintage tutus, white denim shorts, and esoteric books and tarot cards from The Bodhi Tree bookstore …  Sassy even managed to throw a fit of cultural arrogance and earn a $45 parking ticket by parking on the wrong side of the road.
    Thanks to the Los Angeleno who saw us arguing about the parking ticket (I TOLD YOU NOT TO PARK THERE! … BUT YOU CAN DO IT IN AUSTRALIA!) and just cracked up.  It was very Australian of you. Of course, we replied with the sentence we used every time people were confused/offended/disturbed by us: “It’s OK, we’re Australian”.

* Because we are awesome cultural investigators and anthropologists, we learned some valuable lessons about the United States and American culture that we would like to share with you.

    1. Always keep wads of 1 dollar bills on you. You have to tip pretty much everyone. Yelling YOU SHOULD GET BARACK TO INCREASE MINIMUM WAGE or I’M AUSTRALIAN WE DON’T TIP THERE doesn’t go down very well. We decided everyone who needs to be tipped should wear a big brightly coloured badge saying ‘Please tip me’.
    2. Never, ever, try to imitate Barack Obama giving a speech while speaking to a black person.  It will end up sounding like Robert Downey, Jr. in Tropic Thunder. That is not a good thing.
    3. Do not watch American television. You will become addicted to Law and Order and CSI because one – if not both – of them is screening literally 24 hours a day. You will also develop this really overwhelming feeling that in order for your life to be complete, you need to buy the P90X Extreme Home Fitness System.
    4.  Yanks, for some reason, don’t lick salt off their hands with Tequila shots. When they see you sitting at the bar licking the back of your own hand, they will think you are insane. True story.

Look out for Part Two of our United States of Errol adventures coming soon, kiddies.  And yes, by ‘coming soon’, we mean ‘eventually’.  But IT WILL be WORTH IT.  It’s the Rock Boat edition, so you know it will be good. Love and kisses from us.