. . . because people RESPECT redheads!

. . . because people RESPECT redheads! 

I dyed my hair just in time.

Not only did I dye my hair, but I also wrote ANOTHER depressing divorce song.  
YAHOO for depressing instrumental divorce songs.

Ask Elisa . . . Again

    Once again, I feel the need to share some of the funny ways people have found my site, and I'd also like to answer their questions.  
    

    These are the search keywords that have brought them here.
Note: The Search Keywords are in black.  My lovely comments are in red.

Are mimes worse than clowns?
Honestly, it depends on the mime and the clown.  For example, which one of these people would you rather meet in a dark alley?

#1

or #2?

How about #3  (Which I find VERY creepy--is this what happened to Quasimodo after he died?)

or #4?

These two just look like nice people.  (Except for how the one in the back is flashing a fake gun.)  But really, even I could beat them down if they proved evil.



Here's another search:

Ugly pimple lady
What the heck!  Why did that search bring them here? I'm a bit stunned . . . and sad.


Marsha Brady still sexy?
Yes, she's still quite pretty.  Take a look.

 

Puss in boots eyes surgery
Dear, sweet, person.  Yes, Puss-in-boots does have amazing eyes, but I don't think you need to have a surgery to get that same look.  Just buy black contact lenses and some mascara--vwa-la!

ugly man tall nerd
Is this the man you're searching for?
 


Who pees standing?
Great question.  In fact, I've written three blogs about this.  
And in answer to your fabulous search: Once again, it depends on the person.  

For example:

Book Lovers Pee Standing Click here to read that post.

 

Intellectuals Pee Sitting  (That link is here)

while

Manly Men Pee Standing (That link is here)

Got it?

Lady dragged by classy dogs?
Okay . . . what?  Dogs like this?
That's more terrifying than clowns!


Hotboxing pirates

I decided to conduct a search of my own,
and here are the pictures I found:

 

So high, they traded sexes.

No one is shocked by this handsome revelation.

Seriously, who is this guy?

And finally . . .

Wow, I really have no words for this picture other than:

    In the afterlife, will sister Mary Wana be judged for this more harshly than other nuns?  She breathed defiled air AND wore mascara on the same day--talk about a double sin!

Very lazy blogger
Why did you find my blog from this search--how rude!
    Come forth, you fiendish searcher, and tell me your name.  I may be a lot of things, but hopefully "lazy" isn't one of them.  I'd rather be called "an idiot" than have people think I'm a slug.



    On that note, I'd like to show you a screenshot I took today.  Pretty hilarious if you ask me.  I might have to respond to these searches next time.

Ask Elisa: Ridiculous Ways People Found My Site

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Can you tell me the meaning of this dream?

At sixteen, life is wonderful.  I'm running through the forest, trying to find a special place.  I know it's just past the Orc-like Copse and the Sycamore Woods.  I continue to run, barefoot and free, my strawberry blonde hair flowing behind me as I laugh . . . because he'll be there.  I turn, dancing through a bend in the road, and then chance upon a tiny stream.  It tickles my toes as I trace the water, making dozens of pulsing circles on its surface.
    That's when the birds fly away, and I turn.  He's arrived. 
    A man steps from the brush, looking happy and free, like a Greek God.  We hold hands and run to the top of some crazy hill that never existed anywhere except in my dreams.  Then my best friend from high school and I run and jump.  We smile and laugh as the wind hits our faces.  Our feet land in soft mud and we skid to the bottom where there's a gorgeous glade.
   And the whole time, I can't get over this feeling: having a friend who wants nothing more than to be friends with me forever.
    And that's where the dream used to end . . . until my life fell apart when I was seventeen.

    There's something strange about running away as a teenager.  It can make things worse, maybe even subconsciously.  I'm not sure if I should have stayed, with all the rumors and terrible things that happened right before I left Utah.  But what I do know is that the dream changed afterward.

I'm sixteen and I'm running through an ever-darkening forest, trying desperately to find a special place.  I know it's just past the foreboding Orc-like Copse and the spindly Sycamore Woods.  I run, barefoot, my matted strawberry hair is practically glued to my greasy forehead.  I turn, hurtling through a bend in the road before lurching into a rushing river.  It bites my aching feet and it doesn't even ripple when I try washing my hands in it.
    That's when the birds fly away, and I turn. But no one is there. So I sprint parallel to the water . . . alone.  I clutch my own hands to keep from shaking and dart to the top of some crazy hill that only taunts me in my dreams.  Then I jump off the edge.  The wind hits my face.  And when I land, instead of the ground being soft and muddy, it's filled with thorns and rocks.  I tumble to the bottom and cry.

You want to know something strange?  For the first time in 13 years, I had the first dream again.  What could this possibly represent?  
    I'm so confused.  Everyone says we can learn about ourselves by being alone.  Maybe I'm learning something new and my dream is trying to show me?

Verbal Judo, no a-worky for-a me...

I visited Workforce Services today--to BEG them to help me pay for childcare costs.  It's ridiculous, I know, but it almost killed me.  I wore my best outfit, something my mom bought for me to wear at my first big book signing, the one at Barnes & Noble.

In fact, if you google "ec stilson barnes and noble" these three pictures will come up. 

Thank you, Fran. *giggling* (This is her husband--and I'm not sure why he comes up when searching for my signing on Google Images--but it's EPIC!) 
Check out her blog HERE

Anyway, as I walked into Workforce Services, I held my five and three-year-old's hands.  I bit my lip, to keep from crying, and trudged to the line near the counter.  A woman standing just in front of me, studied everything about my appearance, grimaced, and scooted ever-so-slightly away.
    Did she know how far my life has fallen?  Is it that obvious?  
    After all, my full-time job makes just as much as it costs to pay a childcare provider for my four kids each month! Did she know how horrific the last month has been, with some family members and friends--and neighbors who I don't even know--judging me because of rumors that have spread.  From the nights I spent with my kids in a women's shelter?  From how desperate, scared and alone, this makes me feel?  

    As I stood waiting, I started to think about last night again . . . . 

    I had a dream that Cade held me like he used to.  I kept telling him, "Forget about all the bad things both of us did. Forget them.  I can't pretend in real life, but I can right here. Right now."  Then as if I knew I'd wake up, I said to him, "Meet you tomorrow night in my dreams again, okay?"  But when I woke up, I didn't want a tomorrow night or an ever.  And I stayed so angry, wondering why I dream about him even though it NEEDED to be over for so long--for BOTH of us.
    
Somehow I made it to the counter, trying to appear strong and independent, and for the first time in forever I swallowed my pride.
    It wasn't until I backed out of my parking spot that things unraveled.  My kids whined as the woman who'd stood in front of me in line earlier had backed out of her spot--directly behind mine--at the same time I went into reverse.  And by some crazy luck we didn't hit each other.  We stopped, parallel to one another.  
    I opened my driver's door, since my window doesn't work, and tried using the "verbal judo" I just learned about in security guard training.  But she didn't even let me say a word.  She just started screaming about how people like me shouldn't be allowed to apply for government support.  "YOU look rich!  What could you have possibly gone through?  And now you almost hit me!  I wish you would have, you F'n B****.  Then I'd get the insurance money and you'd have to pay more each month!"  She drove off, squealing, and my kids paled, having heard every word.
    Instead of driving off too, I pulled back into my spot, hugged the steering wheel as if it were life support, and started crying.  I tried looking nice because on the inside--right now--I feel completely worthless.  The outfit gave me strength, reminding me of my big signing, when I felt like I MIGHT be worth something, finally.  The cold air conditioning blew across my face and smeared my tears.
    "Are you okay, Mama?" my five-year-old boy asked from the backseat.  "What's a B****?"  
    I almost choked on my own tears.  
    "You K, Mama?" my three-year-old piped in.
    "I'm . . . fine, guys."  I wiped my eyes, but refused to turn around.  "This is tough, but we're gonna make it through all this crap!  And I swear to God, I'm gonna remember that woman--and that you never know what someone else is going through."
    I'd finally calmed down enough, I felt like I could look at my kids without crying.  "Always be nice to people, kids.  When they're mean, it hurts.  When we're mean to others, it hurts."
    So we drove away.  And I hope God will bless the woman who likes calling strangers the F'n "B-word," even though she has no empathy for people like me . . . people who are trying as hard as they can to be a good mother and just make it through each day--whether we look rich or not!

I wrote a song about my divorce: Walk the Fire Alone

I may be the goofiest goofball, but I'm having a terribly hard time with my divorce.  So after thinking about a certain idea myself and then receiving timely advice from Dee Ready (Coming Home to Myself Blog) I decided to write a song about my divorce.  It's rough, but I hope you'll possibly like it.

Walk the Fire Alone

Lyrics ©2013 Elisa Morris

There's a storm and it's coming for me.
Will I be strong enough, and will it set me free?
Carry me, I can't make it on my own.
But you aren't here, so I'll walk the fire alone.

The wind's a rustlin' and the ground turns to fire.
Soon I feel, nothin' but desire.
The flames are creepin' closer to my feet.
But I will walk the fire alone.

Burn with desire...
as I walk my own way.
Burn with desire...
as the fire takes my pain away.

There's a storm and it's coming for me.
Will I be strong enough, and will it set me free?
Carry me, I can't make it on my own.
But you aren't here, so I'll walk the fire alone.

Burn with desire...
as I walk my own way.
Burn with desire...
as the fire takes my pain away.

There's a storm and it came for me.
I was strong enough, and it set me free.
Don't carry me, I can make it on my own.
You weren't there...
so I walked...
the fire alone...

Making Divorce Easier on Your Child(ren)

Experts say we should help our kids identify their true feelings--and that's fantastic.  But I say, we should help them have fun.  And like an awesome friend of mine said, we need to make new memories with them.
    Soooo...when we passed some sprinklers that were running on Main Street, I made my four kids get out and run through them with me!

  

We got soaked!

 

But they'll never forget it!

     Then when we saw an abandoned shopping cart last night, we made this video.  I'm either the craziest mom, or the silliest.  But there's one thing that's certain: I LOVE these kids, and somehow we're going to make it through this divorce.



P.S.One of my best friend's books was published today.  It's better than Percy Jackson--honestly.  If you're interested, click on this cover and go check out the awesome reviews.