You would cry, too, if it happened to you...

It was my birthday last Monday and I turned 22. I didn't think it was a biggie until I realised that I'm not a fun novelty age anymore. I'm no longer 21, a year that for me was the Bio-Dome of adulthood; a kind of maturity hermetically-sealed from the outside world (though hopefully that doesn't make me Pauly Shore). The upshot of it all is that my summer of '69 is over. After I recovered from that shocking realisation, it occurred to me that in the last year I've also managed to slip into rampant uncoolness. Somewhere between my killer 21st party and my recent bottle cap collection, I lost my mojo. What events and lifestyle factors led to these twain epiphanies? Consider the following indications that I might be past my prime:

1. I take four kinds of pills before I go to bed. One is the Pill, one is an antibiotic for a UTI, one is an iron supplement, and one is a laxative to stop me getting constipated from the iron supplement. When my doctor diagnosed my iron deficiency, she also told me that I have a Vitamin D deficiency and that I need to get more sun. Doesn't she realise that the daylight hours are the luckiest time at the pokies?
I actually take drugs for my bowel movements; a definite indication of oldness.
2. My musical taste seems to be firmly rooted in the past. While my friends stock-up on the new CDs by the Fratellis or Lady Sovereign, the last debut album I bought was by Devo (a 1978 release). I also recently purchased Prince's Dirty Mind (1980), an album so old that hipster underpants hadn't even been invented yet. Observe:
I may be old-fashioned, but at least I buy albums with songs about oral sex on them.
3. The Saturday night before last, while the best minds of my generation were out smoking Cigarillos with Asian lesbians, or at least venturing outside their abodes, I was having possibly the lamest night-in ever. Consider these factors: I had dinner at 5pm. I was tempted to watch the Inspector Lynley Mysteries. I had a craving for fruit yoghurt at 8pm and actually went to the supermarket so that I could satisfy it. Six tubs later I sprawled on the couch till I fell asleep watching RockWiz. I was in bed by 10:30pm.My Saturday night had three active cultures, comprised protein for growth and repair, and contained no artificial colours or flavours. Did yours?

4. I collect bottle caps... From the packaging of nutritional fruit juice... Because they have trivia on them. Has the full gravity of that hit you, yet?

I also collect the trivia from the backing strips of Libra pads and liners. Is that wrong?

5. Instead of the cash my aunt has sent me every year since I was old enough to appreciate it, for my 22nd birthday I found a scratchie inside my card. How much does that scream "fogey"?

At least it's a Spiderman scratchie. The kids these days think he's pretty happenin'... Right?!

6. I watched the MTV Video Music Awards last week and realised that, when it comes to popular music these days, I'm just plain ig'nant. I couldn't pick Teddy Geiger from a line-up. I didn't know that Jared Leto was the lead singer of 30 Seconds To Mars. I thought Fedde Le Grand's name was "Freddy". I didn't know the difference between Bodyrox and BodyRockers. Even now I'm not sure how many Pussycat Dolls there actually are. The only performer I recognised was Fergie (some body parts more than others) and even she was performing a song that I'd never heard before. Basically, I'm completely out of touch. (Since when were their two Veronicas?)OK, so I get that there are two of them... But why are they both called Veronica?

So, it's all over for me. Please discuss.
The author with a few of her favourite things... Coloxyl (her laxative) and an oh-so cosy bed jacket.

The Australian Government gets hip to the kids: a Brave New World?

When I was doing a bit of research about Ecstasy for my Divine gets trashed! post (below), I stumbled across the the government’s official "drugs are bad" website. Have you checked it out? Well, don't bother, because, on the whole, it's boring as all fuck. However, there is a section that gives a voice to the young'uns, which is called, wait for it, Somazone! (Because the kids have read Brave New World, and all...) It's a forum for young people to talk about all the seemingly taboo subjects that they should be able to get reliable information about from their school and family (but obviously aren't), like sex, drugs, mental health, contraception, harassment, sexuality, etc. Bad for them, good for you if you want to read about 13 year old girls losing their virginity to the sounds of Blink 182's Dammit, whilst covered in chocolate body sauce, IN THEIR OWN WORDS!! (LOLZ!) It’s proof that the age of consent laws should definitely be in place, despite what any Dutch political parties may have to say on the matter. What becomes obvious when you read some of the stories is that Harold the giraffe is just not getting through to the kids about the practicalities of sex, i.e. how to know when you’re doing it all wrong, what music is appropriate to listen to while you’re doing it, etc. Here’s two key paragraphs from the story of the chocolate-covered 13 year old, whose "man" "lasted" 40 minutes:

“...Also, when I tried to go on top a bit later, it hurt a bit more and it totally sucked trying to get it in!!!!!!! He kept slipping..... I guess there was too much lube!!!!!! So after switching back to missionary, he got on top, shoved it in, and spent the next forty or so minutes tiring himself out!!!!! We were fully making my bed squeak, and it was rocking heaps fast!!!!! I wasn't feeling anything, well I was..... it felt good!!!!! So now I feel like more sex!!!!! I really really actually like sex!!!!!!! It feels so good to have the weight of a guy on you! And the thrusting or whatever you call it, felt really calming and nice.... 40 mins isn't enough!!!!! So he sticks it back inside..... it feels good going slower, and he keeps asking me if I could go on top coz his legs hurt, if its hurting me and stuff like that..... we were timing how long we were going for!!!!

Occasionally we would stop, he would suck on my nipple, kiss my cheek, chest, shoulder, stomach, whatever or we would make out!!!!!! Then after he asked if it was hurting, I told him that it felt good, and to go faster and deeper! So he did, and that’s where it started feeling seriously good..... sumtimes he would stop, either to pull out to pull the condom up, finger me, ask if I wanted oral or to grope me...... he was having the time of his life!!!!!! I'm totally dreading getting my rags now, becaue I don't want to have to stop having sex! We talked throughout the whole thing almost!!!!!! We talked about anything and everything... how it felt, the songs playing, how fast our hearts are beating and can you feel it? How fun it was, how we have to do it more often!!!!!”

Go to the Somazone right now and read stories and questions posted by kids, many of whom open up their little hearts to the world... Then read all the cruel-hearted replies from their peers. It's alternately hilarious and totally depressing. Definitely something worth procrastinating over.

In my day, adolescent sex was as short and fast as a Blink 182 song.

Divine gets trashed! Shock new drug scandal: Alex found on bathroom floor after wild night out

Only Quasi Boho Alterna-Whatnot can reveal the latest crisis to rock the cosy world of "divinetrash" (a.k.a Alex). Sources close to the star say that after a night out in sleazy bars, Alex found herself paying the price, on her bathroom floor. Her messy morning is believed to be the result of undisclosed substances taken at Eurotrash bar and (the notorious) Lounge. "She was in and out of the ladies' toilets all night," a nightclub spy said. A party pal was more loose-lipped - as ever - revealing that it was her drug 'come-down' that brought on her illness. "It wasn't till 6am that she got sick. Before that she was totally fine."

Minders are apparently concerned about Alex's hard-partying ways, but she claims she's just "having fun".

QBA-W, spoke exclusively to a 'friend' of the star, who wanted to remain anonymous. "I was with her the whole time," he said. "When we got home, she was happy and chatty, watching T.V. in her loungeroom. Then she suddenly said, 'I'm just going to go straight to bed, without brushing my teeth.' Then she said, 'I feel sick; I think I might try to crawl to bed.' Finally, after trying to crawl, she jumped up and ran to the toilet."

When she got to the bathroom, things got from bad to worse. Instead of just letting herself throw-up whatever was making her sick, Alex tried to stop the vomit. "She seemed kind of paranoid," her 'friend' revealed. "She seemed to decide early on that she wasn't going to throw-up, and did everything she could to prevent it." Unfortunately, her attempts to swallow down whatever came up left her hyperventilating, according to pals.

Her 'friend' was left laughing at some of her demands. "She asked me to read to her to calm her down," he said. Ever the diva, Alex insisted, "Nothing postmodern!" as she lay on the bathroom floor. When her 'friend' needed to use the toilet, Alex apparently asked him to go outside, so she wouldn't have to move from the bowl.

Celeb-watchers are already beginning to speculate about when Alex may enter rehab.

In the hour that she spent clinging to the toilet, fighting waves of nausea, Alex became pale and shaky. She felt feverish and was unable to stop clenching her jaw and hands. Her 'friend' revealed to QBA-W that she also hallucinated, explaining that, "she could hear voices of people around her, and follow their conversations. It wasn't until she opened her eyes that she realised that there wasn't anyone there, except me."

When she stopped feeling vomitous, she curled-up in the foetal position, pressing her overheated face against the cold tiles. "It was the only place she felt cool and comfortable. She refused to come back to bed for another hour and a half," her "friend" explained. QBA-W asked Alex's father, John, for comment. He explained that her bad reaction was proof that she hadn't followed his philosophy on drugs. "I've always said that you shouldn't take anything made by criminals," he explained, when asked for comment. A big drug-taker in the 1970s, John said that he "always knew who made [his] drugs." His advice for Alex in the future is, "to stick to pot and speed, and you won't go wrong. I'm 65 now, and my brain works fine."

-----
OK, so, despite that being a tribute to the style of "journalism" employed by my favourite trashy magazine, NW, the above story is actually what happened to me on Saturday. I thought that, because I'm such a clean-livin' gal, I should make a tribute to the repercussions of what was only the second time I've dabbled in class A drugs! Everything described is true (yes, even the bit about me going to the Lounge), and my dad really did give me that advice. That is his idea of what a drug lecture should be like but, then again, he is a nutcase and seems to have no idea about what the drug scene is like in modern times. I'm thinking of hiring him out for the 'Life Education' van that goes to primary schools, as a fill-in for Harold the giraffe.
P.S. The pictures of me are based on this oh-so flattering portrait of John Mayer:

Nice catch, Jessica.

I Stole Ashton Kutcher's Hair! and other reasons I haven't posted in ages...

So, where have I been? Well, let's just say that my 4 month (!) absence more or less proves a contention of mine from an old post that blogging is one of the ways I sublimate my sexual energy. On a less gross note, I also have well-publicised issues (well-publicised in this blog, anyway) with procrastination. Basically, once I was on holiday from uni work I had to find something else to put off indefinitely. Between the both of these factors, Quasi Boho never stood a chance...
Then, the other day I took a good, hard look at myself and realised that my lack of blogging was having a physical effect on me. My eyes were dull and sunken, my coat no longer shiny, my lips had adopted a perma-sneer, and my once glowing skin had become oh-so pasty. Observe:
The author looking grouchy, confused and pallid; the terrible effects of spending her uni holidays away from blogging.
This revelation spurred me into action. The time had come to attempt to put fingers to keyboard, and start churning out more cyber-dross for the piggish and undiscerning masses! (Or, a couple of bored friends.)
Plus, y'know, uni has started again and I need something to do when I should be, like, learning or whatever. *Ahem*
But on to more important matters... Do you like my new haircut? Of course you do; it's terrific. The mere fact that it was not created by an Ugg-booted hairdressing student (unlike my recent tri-colour, Rogue-esque semi-disaster) was enough to leave me beaming with rapturous joy at my new 'do.
That was until I saw this picture:

'Twas then that I realised the horrible, horrible truth... I now look like Ashton Kutcher.

I guess there's a lesson in there for all of us. Namely, that one should not, for any reason, look at any part of ELLE Magazine. Yes, even if the cover boasts this article; "COCKTAIL-PARTY CHEAT SHEET: How to sound smart." (Sometimes my enjoyment of vacuity actually works against me. Who would have thought?!)
I'll leave you with the information that on the 28th of January, my li'l blog turned 2 years old! Awww, how sweet. Three cheers for Quasi Boho! Hip, hip...

The Death of Jean Baudrillard Did Not Take Place

Today in my Museums, Objects and Spectacles class, the tutor informed us that Jean Baudrillard had died on Tuesday.

"But did he really die?" I quipped.

"I hope not!" she replied.

(... But I think she's the only one who feels that way.)

Jean Baudrillard: He may not be dead but he sure was annoying.

Kitten with a Whip

Meow! Here's another shameless attempt to keep people reading my blog; some photos of me dressed as Catwoman. (It's not as bad as it sounds, I was dressed as Catwoman for a reason. Well, if you can call the Melbourne Uni arts ball a reason.)

To reduce the tackiness of this post, I've thought up an angle. Here it is. During the night I forced every guy dressed as the Joker or the Riddler to have their photo taken with me. (Surprisingly, they were most obliging.) This post is thusly a photo-gallery featuring pictures of me with complete strangers in good costumes. Enjoy!

N.B. There weren't any other Catwomen there. Sure, there were a a couple of girls in lingerie and cat ears, but neither of them put in any effort.

Here's me and my first victim, Joker No. 1. Before you ask, no, his lipstick wasn't smeared because he'd been kissing me! We made out after the camera went away.


Joker No. 2 offered me some desserts he had poached from other people's tables while they were off dancing. He was really in character that evening!


I look very bad in this photo, but so does Joker No. 3, so we make a good team.



I appear a little pie-eyed in this picture with Riddler No. 1, but actually I only managed to drink one glass of sparkling wine during the whole evening. I was too busy chasing people dressed like Batman villains and making them pose for pictures to get any serious drinking done.

I'm oh-so smug in this picture with Riddler No. 2 because I had just finished collecting the whole set of Jokers and Riddlers at the ball. I was truly the cat who got the cream.


Here's me being a real smart arse on the dancefloor. You know how in Batman Returns (i.e. the greatest Batman film), Catwoman uses her whip as a skipping rope? Well, I used a skipping rope as a whip on the night, but here's me using my skipping-rope-as-whip as a whip-as-skipping-rope! Meanwhile, did you know that it is actually quite hard to skip in stiletto boots? I found this out very quickly.
--
Thanks to Lucy for the first photo!

Whom Should I Call? Dr. Harry or Dr. Freud?

You know how they say that as soon as you get a boyfriend or girlfriend, you instantly become more desirable to others? Even those who wouldn't have had a bar of you when you were available? When I was recently single, I was a veritable leper. All the bright young things preferred to keep their distance, regarding me with haughty disdain or malign indifference. But since removing myself from the market I've become keenly aware of the aforementioned phenomenon. And this unwanted attention has become more pronounced since I have been housesitting for my boss (he’s presently cavorting about with his ex-wife in Europe). Unfortunately, I haven’t been getting vibed out by the pool boy, the maid, the gardener, or indeed any other homo sapien. Instead this obsessive lust has been emanating from the household dog, Nigel*.

Before he met my boyfriend, Nigel was vaguely offhand with me; friendly without being enthusiastic and really only excited to see me if I was holding a leash (for the purposes of walking him, not the purposes of sex-play). But when he discovered that he couldn’t have me, he started behaving very strangely indeed...

For instance, he began humping my leg very passionately at every available opportunity. This behaviour got more and more intense (and more vigorous, I might add) until finally one day my boyfriend tried to give me a hug and found that a very eager Nigel was mounting him from behind. Thankfully, this attempted (and rebuffed!) threesome seemed to represent the climax (so to speak) of this behaviour and it has subsided. In fact, he's been quite discreet, waiting patiently outside my bedroom all night until the opportunity of a door left ajar allows him to leap, mouth foaming and tongue dripping, onto my bedsheets. (I now have to wear pajamas to bed as a kind of protection.)

Nigel is also a snowdropper of the worst kind. He once stole a pair of my worn underpants and turned them into a mid-afternoon snack. I actually walked in on him in the lounge room with his muzzle firmly pressed to the gusset, licking away, like it was the last supper. Needless to say, I have since made sure that the lid of the laundry hamper is firmly shut to prevent further molestation of my undergarments. This doesn't prevent him from attempting to extract my knickers from my person. He quite frequently creeps under the computer desk while I'm working and will then, in a surprise attack of the most shocking kind, try to stick his head between my legs.

He will also, creepily enough, fish a used condom out of the bin, if he gets half a chance. He will then proceed to chew on it, like a bacon flavoured Schmacko, all the while waggling his little tail. The other day I had to chase him around the garden for a good 10 minutes in an attempt to wrestle one out of his mouth. I’m not sure exactly what it is about condoms that he finds so appealing. Is it the taste? The texture? Either way, I can confirm that Nigel likes to swallow. (And he’s single, fellas!)

Too much information? Possibly. But I think you can now properly grasp the extent of the violation that has taken place. It’s strange because, apart from these perversions, Nigel is a very pleasant pooch.

---
* - The name of the spoodle in question has been changed to protect his privacy.

As you can see from the sleazy wink this pup is giving, dogs like to make love to the camera (and my leg) when I'm around.