Roast of Stacey Jay Age 2-19

People! I, Julie, have an important announcement! Stacey's 2nd young adult novel, UNDEAD MUCH, has just hit bookstores! Have you seen its adorable cover on the side of the blog? It looks like this:

And a preview of its awesomeness looks like this:

Q: How many guys does it take to make your boyfriend wild with jealousy?
A: Only one, if he's UNDEAD.


Megan Berry had a perfectly average new-sundress-and-boy-obsessed life--until her power to settle the Undead returned. Oh, and then her best friend tried to kill her--and ruin homecoming--with a bunch of black magically raised zombies. At least she got a spot on the pom squad and a smokin' boyfriend (Ethan). But now Megan is in deep fertilizer all over again.

Why? Well, let's see...

· Feral new super-strong zombies? Check.

· Cheerleader vs. pom squad turf war threatening half time as they know it? Check.

· An Undead psychic hottie (Cliff) who's predicting a zombie apocalypse--and doing his best to tempt Megan away from Ethan? Yum. I mean, Check.

· Earth-shattering secrets that could land Megan in Settler prison for life? Um, IT WASN'T ME!!!

Everyone thinks Megan's at fault for the new uber-zombie uprising. Looks like she'll need the help of both Cliff and Ethan if she's going to prove her innocence before it's too late...

To honor this this occasion, I thought it might be nice for everyone to get to know Stacey a little bit better and she has stupidly--er, I mean, graciously provided me with some childhood photos, which I will now proceed to mock mercilessly. Because that's how we build intimacy here at ZIT, by making fun of each other. If anyone would like to send their childhood pics, feel free. We'd be happy to make fun of you too.

Awwwwww

So cute!! Look at her little toes! And her big blue eyes! She was so adorable. At first.

Fortunately, Stacey's parents were able to save up enough money for the operation to correct the giant clown mouth that dominated her face by age 3. Her pipe habit was eventually broken with the help of hypnosis. Sadly, the hobby horse succumbed to the temptation of the liquor bottles constantly hovering over his head and became a raging alcoholic. He will be eligible for parole in 2015.

Freed of the giant clown mouth, Stacey left home and joined a band of roving fairies.



However, a magic unicorn and strange, phallic-shaped balloons soon led her back to the place of her birth.



Once home, she embarked on a rigorous course of study and quickly mastered the Art of Awkward Hand Gestures

. . .

...as well as the Art of Monochromatic Dressing and Big Hair.

By the time she reached her teens, she had mastered the Art of Really, Really Big Hair, which caused her to acquire a host of female enemies who wished to steal this magic for themselves.

Heeding the old adage "keep your friends close and your enemies closer," Stacey defeated these evil females through a lethal combination of inappropriate holding and replacing their heads with black squares.

To celebrate her victory, Stacey performed a lyrical dance in that most sacred of places--the parking lot.

(Stacey aside: That's actually miniature golf course. The only place for lyrical dancing, lol.)

Tired of mousse and hair picks, Stacey chopped off her locks and headed west where she began a new life as a spokesmodel for chain-link fences.

And then she wrote an awesome book called UNDEAD MUCH, which everyone should go out and buy because it's awesome. Did I mention that it's awesome? For real. So go buy it. Now. Or I'll have Stacey show me how to replace your head with a black square.

xo

Julie

(Stacey: Hope you all will still read my book after learning the tragic history of my clown mouth syndrome and awkward hand-gesture-itis.)

Stylin' in the Afterlife

Let's talk about coffins. An uncomfortable subject, perhaps, but--like it or not--most of us are going to end up in one. Or an urn. Well, except for the woman I once did an estate plan for who wanted her ashes scattered "maybe on a sidewalk in Paris, or perhaps in the ocean, on a sunny day, while the dolphins are frolicking." I'm not even making this up. That's actually what she said.

Not that there's anything wrong with having your ashes scattered on a sidewalk in Paris or on top of frolicking dolphins but you need to: a) pick one or the other. Dolphins or Paris. Otherwise your loved one(s) will argue and/or feel confused; and b) actually NAME a loved one to perform the scattering.

Because I hate to tell you this, but requesting merely that "someone" fly your ashes to a different continent and dump them out pretty much guarantees that your final resting place will be the inside of a vacuum cleaner. Especially if you don't leave any money to pay for "someone's" travel expenses. I'm just saying.

(Stacey aside: You are SO wise. Go on with your bad lawyer self. Really, ya'll, Julie is a for real life lawyer and knows some stuff about this kind of stuff. Heed her words and all that.)

Legal advice over. Back to the main topic. Coffins. Caskets. (Is there a difference, I wonder??) It turns out, they're not all just black and hideous and depressing anymore. In fact, some of them are quite stylish. Like . . .

Louis Vuitton handbag coffin

Julie: The sad thing is that this is the size of my actual purse.

Stacey: I think my purse is bigger. By the time I fit diaper bag stuff for baby and food for the 5 year old who is always hungry but will eat nothing but bananas and peanut butter sandwiches, I need a small carry on with me at all times.

A Laplander Sled Coffin

With this replica of a Laplander sled, Richard Mullard has created his own coffin that will enable him to be buried wearing his skis as if on a final expedition (Top Ten Crazy Coffins chosen by David Crampton, Director of Vic Fern Co. Ltd.)

Julie: So, basically they took a body bag and tied it onto a sled with a bunch of rope. This is a bit too creepy for me. People shouldn't be able to see the outline of your dead body. I'd rather just see it, you know? Otherwise my imagination conjures up all sorts of images that I'm sure are far worse than whats actually under there. So either keep your dead body covered up where I can't see your lumpy outline or expose yourself to the world so I don't spend your entire memorial service wondering if you look like something from the Mummy.

Stacey: Amen. What you said about that. But honestly, all bodies give me the creeps. I don't want to see your earthly shell after your soul is gone. I think cremation should be mandatory. But...yeah...I guess I'm weird like that. (My big sister insisted on an open casket during my father's funeral and that kind of scarred me for life. I just...yeah, I don't want to go there. I want to remember people the way they were. Alive. And shit.)

Some coffins are stylish AND functional.

Check out these offerings from The Old Pine Box --

The "Pioneer"

"The Pioneer may be purchased with a shelf option . . . to serve as storage or display for any of your fine articles. It comes standard with a removable lid that may be stored separately or if a cabinet style is preferred, you may order a hinged lid."

Julie: Is it scary that I actually looked at this and thought "Wow, what an awesome idea!"??

Stacey: Yes. It is. Actually. *scoots to the other side of the blog*

The "Vinters Vessel"

"The "Vinter's Vessel" will make itself extremely useful during your lifetime and after. When needed as a burial vessel, the interior framework slides out to be re-assembled as a free standing wine rack. This will allow your collection to be displayed at your wake, permitting your mourners to do as the coffin's medallion instructs: 'Celebrate my life.'

The "Vinter's Vessel" will house 19 bottles of wine in the lower portion. The upper third of the coffin provides space for your wine glasses."

Julie: Forget that deer statue I offered to buy you a few posts ago, Stacey. THIS is the ultimate housewarming gift, especially if the hubs gets into wine school in California. (Wine school? Is that what it's called? That doesn't sound right. Vinter's school?) A wine rack AND a coffin. How's that for dual purpose?

Stacey: I actually LOVE this! As long as my loved ones cremate me and just use the wine and the glasses to party after I'm dead. I want my people to party after I'm gone. (Because we had good times together, not because they're glad the witch is finally dead. Lol.) And yes, you can get this for me. I'd also like a pony if you're really feeling generous ;).

The "Chariot"

"A simply designed pet coffin with sliding lid and decorative trim . . .Until needed for its ultimate use, the Chariot can function beautifully as your pet's toy box."

Julie: Are there people who actually bury their pets in a coffin? Really? Is that a Northern thing? We just wrap ours in a trash bag. And by "we" I mean my husband. At least, in my mind he wraps them in a trash bag. I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what he really does--because I'm 100% certain it doesn't involve a neat little wooden box with sliding lid and decorative trim.

Stacey: This is why I don't have pets. It's hard enough to figure out what to do with my house plants when I inevitably kill them.

OR, you could forget the traditional and have yourself turned into something really useful like. . . a princess cut diamond ring. . .


Or perhaps a nice necklace.

"LifeGem is a certified, high quality diamond created from the carbon of your loved one as a memorial to their unique life, or as a symbol of your personal and precious bond with another. Because like the memory of a loved one, a diamond lasts forever."

Julie: People think I'm kidding, but I'm really doing this. I'm having myself turned into a diamond ring. And my husband into matching earrings. For real. I think it's the most awesome idea ever. Who wants to drag around a stupid urn or trek out to a depressing cemetery?

A nice piece of jewelry, on the other hand--well, who wouldn't want that? I think it makes much more sense to leave my daughter with platinum earrings and ring than a yucky urn or the hassle of a cemetery plot.

Stacey: And this is why you are wise and awesome and I turn to you in times of trouble. Excellent idea. I'll do that too.

Stacey and Julie Out!

People's Choice Awards: The Good, the Bad, & Johnny Depp

The People's Choice Awards!

We really couldn't care less who won what. We, the people of this blog, care only about the fashion!

Stacey: I'm not allowed to comment on this picture. Ever since I saw New Moon with my stepdaughters and confessed to how shockingly hot I found this boy, my husband has been prowling around the house in a werewolf-like rage. At one point he even called me a dirty old woman, which led to a big argument about the difference in our ages versus the age difference between Taylor and I and whether the hubs would feel like a pervert for finding a 22-year-old-woman attractive and then...well, it's just been...unpleasant. So yeah. No comment. (Hot!! So hot! And he's gotta turn 18 eventually!)

Julie: Control yourself, Stace, becauseaccording to Wikipedia, he's going to turn 18 in just FOUR WEEKS! (February 11th) Perhaps we should do a blog dedicated to him on that day with lots of pictures. Shirtless pictures. Did you see him host Saturday Night Live? He did a BACK FLIP. And a bunch of kung fu-ish fighting moves. Except I do have trouble letting go of the image of him as a little kid in Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

Stacey: Feb. 11th it is!! Wheeee!!!

Stacey: Grrr.....she does not deserve Taylor boy. She's too pure and perfect and busy singing about how the rest of we chicks "threw away our love on boys who changed their minds" while she achieved all her "big dreams". Suck it, Swift. You're not better than we are! And kissing around on boys can still be fun even when they--or you--change your minds at a later date. (Analogy: We might regret eating the chocolate cake when we can't fit in our jeans, but we can always go on a diet. You, however, will never have known the yumminess of the chocolate cake. We feel sorry for you, Taylor. We really, really do.)

Julie: She is pure and perfect, yet strangely--I love her. Normally I would despise her and make snarky comments about her squinty eyes, but instead I think they're cute. But you're right; she definitely doesn't deserve him. And she's apparently ditched him! (or so the gossip blogs are saying). Her stupidity is your opportunity, Stacey. You could comfort him in his time of need.

Stacey: Unfortunately for Taylor boy, I'm taken. But I'm sure my nearly sixteen year old stepdaughter would love to offer comfort! Lol!

Stacey: Her spiderweb apron is on backwards. I have the same one. Common mistake...when you're blond.

Julie: The dress is kind of--well, spidery but those shoes kick ass, I must say. I want them. Too bad they probably cost more than my car.

Stacey: I think she has some sort of weaponry strapped to her chest.

Julie: She's like the goth Princess Leia.

Stacey: What's she trying to prove? With that watermelon tummy and scrawny rest-of-her? The swollen-all-over, 200 pound woman I was a little over a year ago kind of hates her. A lot.

Julie: She's trying to prove that Teri Hatcher isn't the only one who can hide stuff inside her dress.

Stacey: Snarf!

Stacey: Is that a rat tail? For real? I'm...speechless.

Julie: You're worried about the rat tail? I'm more concerned about those black shiny . . . things hanging off her dress. What are they? Windchimes? Shredded paper?

Stacey: I don't care. The rat tail blinded me with its Scary and I hardly noticed the outfit.

Stacey: I'm depressed now. Their black and greyness hath brought me low.

Julie: I have no idea who these people are, but clearly they weren't invited for their sparkling auras and eye-catching style, so at least one of them must be famous, right? Or related to somebody famous? They're like Mr. & Mrs. Desolate. They should be on an anti-depressant commercial. "Depression hurts". . . my eyes.

Stacey: Why is he so shiny all over? He looks slippery, in the oiled pig kind of way. (And we Arkansas girls know what one of them looks like.)

Julie: The used car salesman you wish had sold you that Toyota.

Stacey: She's like a delicate, flowery dumpling. I want to dip her in sweet and sour sauce and eat her. Or maybe just eat her dress.

Julie: You know what she reminds me of? One of those scented sachets filled with potpourri that you put in your dresser drawers. I want to tie a ribbon around her and tuck her in between my socks and underwear.

Stacey: YES! She would make your underthings smell like jasmine....or something.

Stacey: I was wondering where all the bows I bought for the kids' Christmas presents got off to. And here I'd been thinking they were lost in the move.

Julie: If only she'd had the guts to pull the whole thing together by wearing a giant, matching bow on her head, Minnie Mouse style. At least then I could have given her points for ballsiness. Go big or go home, bow girl.

Stacey: He's fourteen years older than I am. FOURTEEN! Yet, would anyone think it gross if I thought he was cute or he thought I was cute? NO! They wouldn't! So what's the big deal about the fifteen years between me and my werewolf? There is no big deal. So take that, hubs and the rest of you sexist jerks who are trying to make me feel bad for appreciating a younger man. Cougar, out.

Julie: Ahhh, Johnny Depp. On anybody else this outfit would conjure up words like "unemployed" or "homeless," but somehow he just looks hot. But then again, I guess that's why People made him Sexiest Man Alive.

Tune in next week for our discussion of stylish final resting places.

xoxo

Stacey and Julie

Break out the champagne!!

It's a new year! Actually, a whole new decade--2010, which I was pronouncing "two thousand and ten" until I read this article and learned that I'm supposed to be saying "twenty ten."

Really. There's a facebook page and everything. Two of them, in fact. I thought about joining one or both, but then I remembered that would require me to actually log in to my facebook, which would cause me to see the 96 messages and five million assorted requests I haven't replied to so I decided to pour a glass of champagne instead.

As the 1st day of "Twenty ten" we, the good citizens of the United States, are legally required by the Pledge of Allegiance/ Constitution/ every magazine article I've read in the past two weeks to compile a list of New Year's Resolutions. At least one of these resolutions must be a vow to lose weight and/or join a gym.

B.O.R.I.N.G. Maybe I'm just getting old and cynical, but this whole resolution thing just seems tired to me. Why don't people make more exciting promises? Or, at the very least, resolve to do stuff that's bad for them?

Julie's New Year's Resolutions

1.) Watch more TV. Like, 10-15 hrs a week. (Disney channel does NOT count) Because I'm tired of having no clue what people are talking about, particularly when it comes to who got eliminated on American Idol.

2.) Get my own gun (preferably pink) because my husband's are too heavy.

3.) Use gun to shoot chickens who refuse to die and keep pooping all over everything.

4.) Stop volunteering at daughter's school. It's never enough, so why keep putting out the effort? Sit home and eat bon-bons; that's what they assume I'm doing anyway.

5.) Read more trashy magazines, specifically "Stars Without Makeup" and "Worst Beach Bodies" articles to boost self-esteem.

6.) Curse more.

Stacey's New Year's Resolutions:

Damn, this is fracking hard. Unlike Julie, I already curse plenty and have no desire to own a gun or shoot chickens. We're not allowed to have chickens in my new apartment. (I'm sure if we were and if my husband insisted on owning chickens, then I'd probably want to shoot them too.)

But I do like the idea of low stress New Year's resolutions...

1. Delete my myspace page because I hate myspace. I always have and I'm tired of this abusive relationship in which I hate it and it still continues to exist.

2. Wear my boots in the house and dirt-worries be damned. I like wearing my boots. They give me the delusion that I might actually be in charge around here. (I'm easily influenced by footwear.)

3. Stop cleaning up my sons' toys. They just get pulled out again the next day. Why bother? I will live in a huge playpen and not worry about stepping on small plastic things that kill my feet because I will be wearing boots. (See #2)

4. Buy more boots to wear in the house.

5. Spend my money on new tattoos and buy my baby bargain formula. (He's supposed to be transitioning to milk anyway, but he refuses to give up his Enfamil. Big baby. Of course it could be some sort of baby crack the formula companies put in the powder to keep infants addicted to the age of three and thusly earn themselves more money, so perhaps I shouldn't judge the little turd so harshly.)

6. Spend more time indulging my conspiracy theories and writing angry letters.

7. Be late. When you're early you just sit there waiting for everyone else who's always late and wasting time you could be spending writing angry letters or walking around your toy-filled apartment in boots.

So what about you? Any low-stress resolutions?

Back soon for more ZIT in 2010,

Julie and Stacey