Hi Dyson, it’s me, Casey.

You have to understand that when I picture your product development meetings you have a giant photo of me with a goofy grin at the head of your boardroom. A huge picture of me with a giant sign off to the side stating “THIS? THIS IS WHO WE’RE SELLING TO.”

Because Dyson? I’ve bought it.

I dare you to find someone else who had “Use a Dyson Airblade” on their life list. Not only have I used a Dyson Airblade, I may or may not go out of my way to dirty my hands if only for the chance to use the Airblade again. I may have even once scolded someone in a public restroom for using paper towels instead of the marvel of hand drying that is the Airblade.

And don’t even get me started on your vacuums. If I could? I would buy another Dyson just to detail my original Dyson. The pioneers dreamed in acres, I dream in square feet (of carpet.) Although, if you could find a way to make vacuuming my stairs less of a swear inducing task? I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.

So as I stood in BestBuy on Saturday and watched my husband stick his hand in and out of your new fan, the Air Multiplier I wondered, have you taken it too far? I mean, the commercials claim that my current fan with blades is unsettling me with buffeting, and that I don’t even realize that this unpleasant buffeting is occurring. And that I won’t  realize the utter unsettleingness of it all until I’m in the presence of a Dyson Air Multiplier.

I WANT TO BELIEVE YOU DYSON!

After all, I was doing the same thing in Target on Wednesday. Sticking my hand in and out of that darn fan JUST BECAUSE I COULD. Wondering if maybe, deep down on some level I was becoming a calmer, less buffeted person simply by being in the presence of this fan.

Are you to the point now where your consumers are so loyal (hi, me) that you could go all Emperor’s New Clothes on us? That you could make a fan, charge an astronomical amount of money for it (A FAN!) and trust that after my near religious experiences with both my vacuum and the Airblade I will just go for the Air Multiplier no questions asked?

IS THIS YOUR BRILLIANT SCHEME DYSON?

I mean, look at Apple. If they started making baby monitors that looked super cool and promised you that you never even realized how well your baby could sleep until you used an iMonitor,  you bet people would be lined up for days just to get one.

Even though really?

It was just a baby monitor.

That looked cool.

I’ll bet you there would even be people who would get pregnant just so they would have an excuse to purchase one.

.

.

.

So give it to me straight Dyson. Are you lying to us?

Because the only buffeting I’m aware of involves a big warm bun, a huge hunk of meat, medium rare with mustard ‘be nice, Heinz 57 and french fried potatoes big kosher pickle and a cold draft (root) beer.

That kind of buffeting? I can totally handle. And really, there’s no unpleasantness there at all.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

xx-Casey

I have this local friend named Daniel Incandela.

Daniel has one of those jobs that, really? Not many people can compete with.

I *gesturing around* do this.

Daniel? Does this (producer of online media strategies for the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and IndyCar series.)

Daniel’s a creative guy. I’m a creative girl. We both like to take pictures and we both like to use our words.

We also both really enjoy taking pictures of ourselves in shiny surfaces which I didn’t realize until after we started working together…but it basically secures his place as the brother I never had.

daniel…

me…

So we started a little project together. We both really like it. And we’re going to keep on doing it because it’s a brilliant creative outlet for both of us. Plus? It has a snappy URL. See?

We’ve done four posts so far. And we’re both really happy with how it’s turned out.

We take turns posting a picture we’ve taken and we write about each picture separately and then post them together.

Pretty simple right?

(I’ll give you a hint. Yes.)

We’d both be honored if you’d check it out. Maybe even take a little hit of the creative inspiration that’s flowing like fudge through the pages. In fact? I’ll bring the sprinkles.

The winner has been chosen and notified! Thank you for all of your entries! Be sure to check out and enter the other giveaways running through the 23th here.

Continue reading “win a lenovo A70z. (contest closed.)”

Hi,

Addie has asked me to approach you on her behalf and plead her case. She has recently fallen in love with Will’s harmonica and would like you to bring her back one please. Evidently, playing it for hours at a time at my house has changed her life forever and she can no longer imagine a harmonica-less existence in Indianapolis. Fortunately, for the physical safety of your daughter, I have trained myself to be immune to the highly aggravating noise such a devil instrument can make as I have gone through this process wtih EVERY. SINGLE. CHILD. OF. MY. OWN. You will find out how to do this approximately 3-5 days after presenting your offspring with one.

Addie is not above bribing you with kisses and cuddles. Or threatening you with sulks, shrieks, or shouts. And she has asked me four times to get in touch with you about this sensitive subject, so sadly, I believe she is in earnest about this whole harmonica business.

Good luck,
Ami

So,

Addie asked me why I make Trinity do “chores,” in a tone that left no doubt as to her feelings on the subject. When I explained to her that Will and Trinity have chores so that they can help me, she then replied, “Yeah, but you see my mom already knows how to do these clean up jobs so she doesn’t make me show her.” OUCHIE!

Love,
Ami

So hi,

How ya doin’ (or say it in your best Joey Tribiane voice “How you doin'” but without the sexual innuendo). I, my friend, am mostly swell. I finally bought a pair of jeans in a smaller size. I am down from gigantic, elephant size to regular elephant size and I am quite proud about that. Long live ellipticals and catchy Britney Spears’ songs! (Incidentally, when we listened to the CD you made me on the way home that Sunday, Will said, “Mom, Casey knows you so well.” He then proceeded to lobby for a boycott on Justin Timberlake’s “I’m bringing sexy back” because it made him feel uncomfortable hearing the word sexy that much. I have given birth to a future televangelist or Benedictine Monk.)

Peter went back to work this week . So I have gone back to work as the sole housekeeper here. My four months of sloth and procrastination are at an end. Today I tackled the entire linen closet. Everything has been examined, streamlined, and organized. It is a freakin’ work of art. Like the Mona Lisa of Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Then tonight Peter had the gall to ask me where the heating pad was. As he’s staring right at it. Within inches of physical contact.

Will still loves football. And I have a feeling if he could, he would stalk Peyton Manning. After the game on Sunday, he casually remarked, “I bet Olivia is really happy right now.” When pressed for information on who Olivia was, we were informed that she is Peyton’s mom of course. Of course she is.

Eden is addicted to “Finding Nemo” right now. And we watch it everyday. And every damn day I cry. Twice. Once in the beginning when Nemo’s mom is killed and then again at the end when the music swells, and the climactic moment comes when father and son are reunited. URGGGG.

Trinity asks me daily when we can go back to your house. She has tried to insinuate that you may cry if she does not make it back there in a timely manner. She then alluded to the possibility that events of apocalyptic size and scope could occur if I didn’t get on the ball.

I have to go now because Peter is watching the State of the Union and I am becoming increasingly violent. I need to flee here posthaste.

Much love,
Ami

I have always wanted to use the word “posthaste.” So there is life goal #211.

I wish everyone could have an Ami.

Last year the BlogLuxe awards were giant  jewels etched with bragging rights.

(Photo by Beth)

Oh man how I wanted one. I still do. Like. Really.

I may have held one. Stroked one. Pretended to accept it all Roberto Benigni style.

Fast forward to this year.

I’ve been nominated for a BlogLuxe award.

For most Inspirational Blog.

Dude.

I have a folder in my email labeled “warm fuzzies.”

From the emails I’ve saved over the last year one would believe I have “most inspirational” in the bag.

Then I checked out the other nominees.

You guys. I’m included on a list with Stephanie, Heather, Arianne, Steph, Tanis, Kim, Blair, Heather, Grace, Mishi, Anissa and ZOMG MAGGIE. (And 61 other amazing bloggers.)

I’m going with “IT’S JUST AN HONOR TO BE NOMINATED.”

If you would have ever told me I would have made it onto a list with those ladies I would have told you to shut up because lying is mean and bad.

However I have people like Jen who say her daughter is alive because of something I wrote.

“But one night…I stumbled upon a blog post that changed my life at that moment….that very second. It answered my prayers. It saved my baby girl’s life.”

I have a doctor who thanked me for doing what he has always tried to do for his patients.

“What I could do, I did on a very small scale. What you do benefits thousands, tens or hundreds of thousands maybe. Thanks so much for what you do.”

I never ever ever thought I would be here. I was telling Allison at EVO that I feel as though I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. And again, had to you told me that exactly what I am supposed to be doing is writing too much about my life on the Internet? I would have asked you to check your facts a little better.

You say you are here for my writing. But I am here because of you. Every single one of you.

You have saved me more than once.

I would never be here without you. And I don’t mean on the Internet or on this list of inspiring bloggers.

I literally would not be here.

I wish there were a category for best readers, because you, my friends would win it.

(this is a picture of my newest felinephew Wesley. I have always felt what my blog truly lacks is more cats. so here you go, a picture of a cat. he’s cute right? Oh, and if  you do feel like voting? You can vote once per day through July 12th. Thank you for even considering it. Seriously. Nomination. Dude. Amazing.)

Friday I taught a class about photography. To a room full of people.

As if that weren’t enough to cause panic and emotional destruction attending the class required an 11 minute gondola ride.

Brittany thought “Gondola? BOAT!”

Brittany quickly learned that in Utah gondola means “bouncy suspended death cage!”

As did I.

I rode up alone.

Up. ZOMG with the up.

And then there was the service guy walking to the tower  was about to pass over. No thank you. No.

Thank you.

Once I crested the top I figured I’d see a lodge and in my mind I was thinking “11 minutes? Pfft. Apparently SMT (standard Mormon time) applies to gondola rides as well.”

Only here’s the thing.

Once you crest the top?

YOU’RE SUSPENDED HUNDREDS OF FEET OVER CERTAIN DEATH.

Which results in this.

Once I made it to the top I warned the gondola worker that a little warning about flying over the grand canyon would have been nice. He said he’d be sure to let them know.

I think he was lying.

So on the way back down Lindsey, Alexis and I treated it more like a roller coaster.

See?

whee!

This conference was fun.

Suspended death cage included.

More later….xo

A brokent heart has a very audible sound if you’re around to hear it.

It is a deeply painful and exhausting noise that manifests itself when there’s just not any more room left for hurt on the inside. It comes in waves. Long heaving sobs followed by quick uncontrollable gasps. Then a sort of relief comes, like you couldn’t possibly cry any longer.

But you are reminded of something…it could be anything involved with the origination of your sorrow.

And it starts again.

The problem with the sound of a broken heart is that they are rarely heard. Not because they are rare, but because they generally begin and end in private.

Those who don’t know the sound, those who haven’t been somewhere alone as their body is overtaken with such sorrow that nothing is a a motivation to keep going will tell someone going through a broken heart anything that sounds right and logical at the moment. “It’s going to be alright.” “Everything happens for a reason.” “They didn’t deserve you anyway.”

It may be true, but broken hearts don’t reason and they don’t do logic.

Those who do know the sound? They will just shut up and get to work.

In whatever way that may be.

When I think of all the sorrow I’ve seen come across my screen over the past year I think of all the broken hearts. Ones that will never be heard aside from a few words tapped out for us to read.

The mind has a way of numbing the pain of a broken heart, although I firmly believe it is never truly gone or better. Which leads us to suffer in silence occasionally, because to the outside world we should “be over it already.”

I’ve made the sound. I know the sound in a very intimate way. When I hear it the numbness around my heart is weakened.

Oh, how I know that sound.

And I’m so sorry that you have to know it too.