Kittens, there are many, many things that I cannot explain about the Golden Globes.

I can’t explain why, even though she’s objectively smoking hot, Megan Fox kind of grosses me out. I can’t explain why Angelina Jolie looked like she was on about fifteen xanax for the whole ceremony. Or why Robert Downey Jr can be simultaneously so short, so odd, and so incredibly attractive.

Who knows? He just is.

More importantly, I have NO GODDAMN IDEA how Jennifer Love Hewitt could play an accidental hand-job-giving happy-endings masseuse in a TV miniseries and end up nominated for an award in the same category as Judi Dench.

What I can do – really, really well – is judge things. And here are my top five hand-picked Most Memorable Looks of the Week:

1. January Jones and her rack. Because if you’re not nominated, and you dress like Jessica Rabbit, you still win. Win at LIFE.

2. Look! It’s Gossip Girl’s Leighton Meester taking a break from her life as a polygamous sect-wife to attend the Globes. I can’t be bothered googling so I’ll just assume every one hated this, but it ticks every single one of my style boxes. Faded floral print? High waist? Leg’o'mutton sleeve? Yes please! It has serious 1970s Gunne Sax vibes, and I already own six of those dresses from second-hand stores.

3. I am 99% sure that this look is lifted from a Shape magazine photo spread about loving your curves. Grab a form-fitting shape-enhancing one piece swim suit with matching sheer sarong and you can go from the pool to the cocktail bar in no time. See page 65 for stockists.

4. I look at this dress and the big red rose growth in the middle, and all I can think of is that skin cancer ad, where little red melanomas start growing and crawling around in your bloodstream as you tan. SKIN CELLS IN TRAUMA! HER DRESS HAS A MELANOMA! Thank you Nat, for reminding me of the danger of sun exposure. Also, congratulations on the award ‘n’ shit.

Pic source

5. So it wasn’t at the Golden Globes but dammit if this didn’t make my day. Greg Bird in cricket whites, y’all. Greg Bird in cricket whites. Apparently at the SCG the other night, playing to support the Learn, Earn Legend program, Birdy bowled 4 for 6. Sadly, not enough to snag victory for the legends team over the junior team they played against. But at least it confirmed something I would totally have guessed: Birdy’s a spin bowler. OF COURSE HE IS. Just like our beloved Shane Warne. Why sprint 30 metres to bowl, when you can take two steps and flick your wrist?

Golden Globes pics. Getty Images

Is there any sweeter feeling? As of today it’s only 53 sleeps till NRL season 2011 starts. That means only 53 sleeps until nerds like us have an excuse to spend our weekends screaming at sportsmen at footy grounds or on the tv instead of having to, you know, leave the house, wear proper shoes, and pay $17 for cocktails on a Friday night.

Who’s down with that kind of stuff?

Sorry, who’s down with that kind of stuff OTHER than most girls?

Not us, is the answer. We prefer a $4 meat pie and the luxury of reclining on a grassy hill while other humans perform feats of strength and daring for our entertainment.

This is as opposed to what has happened over the past few weeks, where I recline on my chair at work and watch Australia (usually) lose at cricket. In between, I eat takeaway edamame and bitch about how if the umpire can’t call no-balls when they happen, and only refers them when a catch is taken then WHAT IS THE BLOODY POINT OF THE RULE? It’s only being used like … 5% of the time.* Travesty! It fills me with the same kind of rage as when tries are disallowed for a step into touch by the video umpire even though there was a touch judge right there the whole time. If he stepped out, wouldn’t the touchie have called it? Isn’t that his JOB? WELL ISN’T IT?

* disclaimer: am not mathematician. insert your own percentage here.

I just get so mad sometimes, you know? And you know what helps?

Yep, that’s Tim Bresnan of the English cricket team. Tim Bresnan, the man with the best and crispest Sprinkler dance moves in England. He’s celebrating winning the Ashes. Specifically, he’s celebrating by being a dancing dynamo. Bresnan, you fill me with so much joy. I wish you were Australian. Feel free to wait till you’re about to check in for your flight home, tell your teammates you could smash a Boost Juice, and sneak off in a cab, kk?

Also we seriously have to thank various sporty (and non-sporty) dudes for coming up with ways to raise money for Queensland that idiots like us can get involved with. We’re too far away – and probably too unfit – to help in person, but we still want to do everything we can and give all the money we can, and nothing makes you realise how much of a community Australia really is like sport.

I even got completely sucked into watching two hours of the Rally for Relief in Melbourne … but how could I resist?

SPORTS CHICK CHEST-BUMP!

Andy Murray head-butting the ball. Pat Rafter being lovely like Jesus. Novak Djokovic playing winners while sitting on the floor drinking water. Rafa Nadal telling the crowd to “BE GENEROUSLY!” Novak Djokovic offering to put his hands down Ana Ivanovic’s dress to fix her mike. Novak Djokovic and Andy Roddick making ass-jokes … when I see that kinda shit, my brain just says yes, please!

No wonder I ended up donating again.

I also learned educational things. Like that Lleyton and Bec Hewitt are raising a tiny troupe of aryan babies. So blond!

And how Rafael Nadal can totally speak English, he just sometimes pretends not to. He’s the Fui Fui Moi Moi of tennis!

My only hope is that Fui is one of the Parramatta players who head up to Queensland tomorrow to help first hand with flood relief. You need giant objects moved? You need this man.

We also hope that Mark ‘Piggy’ Riddell, his lady and his new little baby (piglet?) are doing well.

disclaimer:may not be actual child in question.

And if you now need to close this window, well, why don’t you open this one?

Tennis pics: Getty Images

Hi friends. Well, what a bloody sad time it’s been the last few days huh? In a matter of days, things have changed. Everything has changed. Not just for the people that are directly affected by the floods, but hopefully for everyone. I say ‘hopefully’ because I think it’s an important lesson for people to realise everything can be swept away in an instant. And that all the material shit we obsess over is, in reality, pretty bloody meaningless.

As you guys know, I travelled with the PM’s XIII to PNG in September last year. It was truly life changing. Shook me to my core even. I haven’t written about it on Errol yet, as I want to wait till my Very Serious and Meaningful Article about it comes out in the new issue of RLP. I’ll post it up here, then blog about some of the funnier stuff didn’t make it in the article.

I’m bringing up PNG because to be frank, they have nothing. The level of poverty over there is far beyond anything I imagined. Everything for them is….hard. Nothing is abundant, or easy to get. A lot of them are going hungry. I remember going to the supermarket a week after I got home and found myself fighting back tears in the fruit and veg section. It’s a simple thing, going food shopping, but we rarely take a step back and realise how special it is.

We take for granted the fact we can pop up to Coles or Woolies and grab whatever we want, without a second thought. The shelves are always stocked with fresh, ripe, beautiful food. All shiny and yummy and completely affordable. It’s a constant, something we can rely on.

I’m on holidays at the Gold Coast and this arvo I went to Coles to buy food for dinner. Once again I found myself feeling strange emotions amongst the fruit and veg section. What fruit and veg there is left, that is. I’m almost 30 and for the first time in my life, I was faced with empty shelves. Nothing but rows and rows of black plastic. So I can’t make a salad for dinner, big deal. But it represents a change, an unsettling shift and a stark reality. Sometimes, everything isn’t gonna be okay. The ‘sure things’ can turn to shit over night and nothing is certain.

But one thing is certain, Australians are bloody good in a crisis. And we always keep our sense of humour, no matter how dark the days have become. The above photo of King Wally ready to go under was splashed all over the news and Twitter AND RIGHTLY SO. That shit is awesome. I am beyond proud watching how Aussies have mobilised to help the people of Queensland. The defence force, emergency workers, the SES, the volunteers, everyone online…it’s just incredible.

Just to put it into perspective, in terms of the land affected this is bigger than Hurricane Katrina. WAY BIGGER. Remember the response over there? Days upon days of authorities infighting, people left to fend for themselves, riots and National Guard being given shoot to kill orders, endless fucking up of rescue missions. Not to mention that post levy breaking, people were dropping dead from lack of food and water. In the most powerful nation on earth. And 5 years later, New Orleans is still a mess.

I’m not saying this to make a political statement. It’s yet another thing we take for granted, that when disaster strikes, there is a contingency plan and it will be carried out, no matter how daunting. As a woman trying to make it in a male dominated industry, I cannot tell you how downright fucking awesome it’s been for me to turn on the TV and see Anna Bligh front and centre. She’s been strong, in control and compassionate. Everything you want in a leader in times like this.

Not to mention Jules Gillard rocking it out for the sisterhood. I’ve also loved Channel 9′s coverage, because they’ve let the ladies be in charge and they have been AMAZING. They didn’t do the predictable and ship in a bunch of men to Take Charge In A Crisis, they let the girls do their jobs and they’ve done them well. I now may or may not have a giant girl crush on Allison Langdon.

It’s easy to be Australian when things are good. That’s easy. And fun. It ain’t easy when the harshness of the land turns around and fucks you over. This can be a brutal country. But it’s times like this when the true character of a people is revealed.

The point of my blabbering? Be grateful bitches. Hell, go all out and start a gratitude journal. Look around you right now, look at what you have. Think about what’s really important. Feel the sunshine on your skin, the sand between your toes and the chill of a beer bottle against your fingers. Breathe in. Wake up every morning and feel blessed that you were born in this country.

Read this poem. Listen to this song . Watch this video (2:45 = goosebumps).

Like everyone, we feel helpless. We want to make a difference, but do it in our own way. We’ve come up with an awesome little concept to raise money, look out for it next week.

Love you babies xx

Greetings friends! Yes I kinda sorta missed 4 days in the Chrissie blog plan. Life got in the way and has left me facing Christmas as a huge sad panda. Booooo. But to my delight, AFL has delivered a delightful Christmas present for me in the form of their wang-exposing photo scandal.

I’m a living breathing example of schadenfreude. As a code, I really dislike AFL so this whole drama is just delicious for me. And with all the Serious Litigation, the carefully worded public statements … it’s all so perfectly-organised! Bitches are like Scientologists! I’m worried I’ll start being tailed by a black SUV, my phone will be tapped and Tom Cruise and Andrew Demetriou will magically appear at my door and start issuing veiled threats.

Meanwhile there were some epic lolz provided by this guy, an AFL fan who said we are ‘everything that’s wrong with women and sport’. AWESOME. Almost as good as that time we upset cricket nerds by blogging at Cricket Australia and subsequently ‘ruined cricket’. Good times.

Now, on with the Christmas post.

On the eleventh day of Christmas

Oh Errol gave to me

Footy players trying to model (volume 2)

Now you’ve already seen and heartily loled at volume one. If you haven’t go and read that hilarious shit NOW. For today’s blog I will be demonstrating the following theory- if there’s anything funnier than footy players trying to model, it’s footy players trying to be sexy while trying to model at the same time. HELLO AWKWARD.

Let’s have a look at my favourite sub category in awkward modelling : Naked Footy Players Holding Objects In Front Of Their Crotch. Behold, the hilarity!

Nips Farah cares not for occupational health and safety laws whilst renovating his new duplex.

Tom Learoyd-Lahrs finds riding jodphurs too binding.

This is not what Sandor Earl had in mind when he joined a chain gang.

Beau Ryan shows little respect for his 2010 Best and Fairest award.

Ben Ross finds a novel use for plastic topiary.

Hot damn, don’t footy players love some pube trimming? It’s a wonder they even get time to train. Methinks the boys above will be hoping Santa delivers some whizz bang hair clippers tonight.

PEOPLE. For the last 24 hours we have all been far too distracted with opinions on the Great AFL Unpleasantness. If you were raised by wolves and missed it, according to the players in question the whole thing is kinda like when you have drunk pictures taken, slur ‘ZOMG THAT’S DISHGUSTING’, then your friend puts them on facebook anyway and tags you with a double chin and sweaty lank drunk-hair and because it goes up at like 11pm you don’t see it till the next afternoon and GOD KNOWS HOW MANY CRUSHES HAVE ALREADY SEEN THE PICS BY THEN.

Like that.

Except with more penis.

And the worst thing about this saga? … aside from the fact that it’s AFL and we don’t particularly know or care about anyone involved on either side?

It’s distracted us from our favourite new Christmas game: SPIN THE INGLIS WHEEL.

As their last task before Christmas, the dedicated Errol interns set up a mini wheel of fortune with pictures instead of dollar signs, so we can spin it while we drink lunchtime margaritas … and bet on it. It’s easy. You just shout out your guess for GI and if it comes up on the wheel, you get another margarita.

For today’s spin, no one’s guess was right. Not even my inspired guess that he would move to Bavaria and start a successful Bratwurst wholesale-mart. Instead, we got this single glorious picture, captioned ‘GI to AFL’:

… then we laughed so hard at the thought of GI leaping metres off the ground that margarita came out my nose. The only time I’ve seen Kiki laugh harder was that time I told her people at work asked me to join a touch footy team.

(If Israel Folau is reading, which, let’s be honest he probably is – Mormons love Errol – don’t worry darlin’, it’s ok if you giggled too).

See ya for the next spin, kittens!

What’s that you say? I missed Day 6? SHUT UP. Sassy posted about Stuart Broad being a babe so let’s pretend that was Day 6 okay? Good good.

You’re not getting anything too exciting today either. I have a second day hangover aka the most unfair of all afflictions. I’ve forgotten what an epic punish hangovers are, because this year I’ve turned into a hermit-like old person who has a big night once every 6 months. No joke, I’ve only been Out On The Town twice since July. It’s possible I’m growing up. I know, I’m weirded out too.

On the seventh day of Christmas

Oh Errol gave to me

A baby photo of Miss Kiki….

That’s me at 20 hours old. Two important things to know a) there is no Asian blood in my family so the fact I look like Angelina Jolie is about to adopt me and use me as a prop is a total mystery and b) the nurses in the hospital asked my Mum ‘where in Asia is your husband from?’.

I still look kinda Asian. In Papua New Guinea, Chris Sandow announced over dinner “Kiki….you look Asian. Why do you look Asian?”. I have no answers for you Chris.

Now excuse me while I go and rehydrate. Lots of love, Baby Wong xoxox

1. Finally, and officially: he’s prettier than us.

Yes, I know it seems like this something we would’ve realised earlier. But one of the beautiful things about the game we call cricket is that bowlers spend most of their time at least several hundred meters from us, meaning we can delude ourselves into thinking that faceless blob out there shining the ball on his pants actually looks like the average human male.

On the internet, shit gets close. The truth is way harder to ignore when he’s right there on yo laptop.

via Test Match Special.

FYI, our Errol-friend Tooves informs me that is, in fact, cricket journo Jonathan Agnew’s wife copping a perve in the background. The woman has eyes, after all.

2. Apparently an ‘anonymous’ spinner also has opinions on Stuart Broad’s pretty:

I’ve often said to him, if he had a pair of breasts, I’d fancy him too. But generally I just want to punch him in the face. But you can’t reach.

Why does Graeme Swann feel the need to be ‘anonymous’ when he says this? NO JUDGMENT FROM US.

That bitch Broad is the Taylor Hanson of English cricket.

Broady: causing straight boys to question their sexuality since 2007. Who can blame ya, Swanny?

Thanks to the awesome TheChookPen for the photo heads up xx

And on the fifth day of Christmas

Oh Errol gave to me

STER-LO WITH HAAAAIR!

We admit it, sometimes Parramatta fans get the shits with us. And this special Parramatta-themed day of Christmas is kind of like an apology. It’s our way of saying sorry. We’re sorry your boys got fat for a little while there (the ‘Fattamatta’ posts, they were some good times). And we’re sorry that we said the Hayne Train thing where people rode a train in Jarryd Hayne masks was creepy … but that shit was just plain creepy.

So our gift to you is a kick-ass dressing room video of Peter Sterling with a flowing mane of golden hair singing the Parra team song after beating Newtown in 1981.

How much does he love singing? So much.

Are they some of the shortest shorts you’ve ever seen? Totally.

How much do you love the dude in the background in what look like huge beige undies? Sexy.

Is Sterlo drinking a beer while he’s singing? Of course he is.

More importantly DID A MINION IN A SUIT JUST BRING HIM HIS BEER? That’s livin’ the life, bitches.

And for those of you who don’t enjoy footy players from the 80s (who are you freaks?), here’s a gratuitous picture of Mitchell Johnson at the WACA looking so happy he’s about to burst into some musical theatre:

Pic: Getty Images

… and a video from that famous day back in 2008 when craig wing wore the pinkest pants in the history of mankind. Happy Friday!

On the fourth day of Christmas

Oh Errol gave to me

Some photos that are funnnnyyyy

Hi Errol friends. Hope you’re enjoying your daily dose of footy lolz. Our new e-best friend Kate tells us that yesterdays post made her friend cry from laughing at work and now his workmates think he’s a crazy person. This makes me proud. Next time I’ll post some half naked boys and then his colleagues can think he likes the dudes. Sweet.

Today I have the Worst Headache Ever and the only thing my brain can cope with is a) checking my hard drive for funny footy photos and b) posting them for you guyz. ENJOY!

First of all: have you been reading Kiki’s awesome 12 days of Christmas posts?

They’re the mental equivalent of getting a delicious advent chocolate every day … if advent chocolate had a centre made of hilarious and embarassing photos from Lowes catalogues. Go! Read! I’ll wait.

And now that you’ve spent a good twelve minutes trying to figure out what kind of man buys a three piece fuschia sheen-finish suit from Lowes, let’s talk about the fact that Sonny Bill Williams is back.

We will always remember you, SBW, as the first man to start an international NRL manhunt.

He’s also boxing again, apparently against a man named Scott who drives forklift for a living.

[Before you ask, no Sonny Bill, forklift drivers don't have a salary cap].

My only regret is that this time SBW didn’t make the announcement about his fight wearing a little beanie and sporting a spray tan like the last time. The good thing about it, though, is that I then got completely distracted thinking about Sonny Bill Feelings with his Dora the Explorer backpack and clever disguises in all our old Errol blogs and forgot for a little while that I have a horrifying new addiction.

English cricket blogs.

I wish I were kidding.

And I don’t mean, like, blogs with writing ‘n’ shit. This is a very specific addiction: Swanny’s Tour Diary.

The English Cricket Board decided to let Graeme Swann loose during the Ashes series with a video camera and access to both YouTube and the interwebs. And the other day I sat down and watched all five episodes of it. In a row.

But, but, they’re … English! They have horrible leather man-jewellery, and wear inappropriate sandals when they could just wear havaianas! Seriously, they’re English. And Swanny does lame embarassing shit like using the peace sign as a goodbye.

Yep, I know all this. Usually hating the poms (except Monty Panesar, cause he’s completely adorable) is one of my regular hobbies, but somehow those crafty bitches have sucked me in. Usually I wouldn’t even be able to watch 5 minutes of video this chock-full of rangas and substandard English dentistry … let alone five episodes of it. WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?

I haven’t had an MRI scan yet so I can’t rule out the possibility that I have some kind of tumour that’s pushing on a vital section of my brain and making me crazy, but while I was drinking my breakfast margarita this morning I came up with some other possible reasons for this new and unpleasant turn of events.

I’m thinking maybe it’s like Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe after watching the English team bat on and on for 8,000 runs over two Tests and what seemed like an interminable length of time I started to get used to them … like kidnap victims do. Whenever they showed a little kindness, like finally ending the slaughter and declaring, I got all grateful. Can that happen with cricket? I’m not a doctor, but I’m 99% sure it can.

Or, maybe, and this is the worst possibility of all … they’re just kind of likeable.

Like last week when Swanny and Jimmy Anderson put on a two-man homo skit involving Jimmy Anderson wearing a towel and running round with a bottle of massage oil. There’s nothing Aussies love more than some gratuitous cross-dressing or mates pretending to be couples.

There’s nothing wrong with being both informative AND interesting, Graeme.

Or the adorable interview with coach Mushi and his three-stripe Adidas beard:

I mean seriously, those massive dorks all did THE SPRINKLER at the end of that video. How am I meant to resist that? I’ve seen the latest Aussie cricket ads and we all know the only one on the team who’s even willing to dance is Doug ‘the Rug’ Bollinger … who then got cut from the team.

Look at him shaking his ass in his cricket whites. I miss him already.

And no wonder I’m all confused with my cricket team loyalties. How am I meant to support my national team if they won’t even dance like idiots on national television?

I’ve even started to get fond of tall, gangly Steve “most boring man in cricket” Finn and his ridiculous 1970s English public school boy haircut. I think I had Feelings when I realised he cut it off.

Think of this post as a cry for help: either Australia has to win this so I have something to gloat about to the backpackers down at Bondi, or I need a hobby.

If 100,000 people watch the next one, Alastair ‘Ceiling Eyes’ Cook plans to flash a nipple … and I don’t want to be responsible for that. Guess it could be worse. I could go for Queensland.