constantbabble's posterous

The Female Equivalent of Ski Bum is Ski Bum, NOT Ski Bunny.

The Blue Square Betty vs. The All Mountain Maven

- She is wearing an outfit from head to toe, matching at every layer.
- She has a grease stain on her shoulder and a hole patched with duct tape on her pants.

- Bought new boots to match her skis.
- Bought new boots because she packed her old ones out half way though last season.

- Hopes the boys will notice her.
- Hopes the boys can keep up with her.

- Looks pretty at Apre Ski.
- Looks hot on the hill.

- She has pretty hair.
- She has scratches on her helmet.

- Thinks power straps are for carrying her boots.
- Thinks power straps are her most important “buckle”.

- Collects lift tickets.
- Collects season passes.

- Asks her friends to wait for her on a powder day.
- There are no friends on a powder day!

- Comes in from a powder day looking like she has been abused. She looks scary with all that mascara running down her checks.
- Comes in from a powder day looking like she has just had sex. She is glowing and can’t wipe the perma grin off her face!

- She knows about avalanches. You wake up with a mean hangover if you drink too many.
- She has her own avi gear, and she knows how to use it.

There are two scenarios that will bring these two women together in more than just passing. An accident on the hill or a ski lesson. In both instances the ski bum will be the one in uniform.

Student Work

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Student_Work.zip (5 MB)

Lyme Disease Designs

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Lyme_Disease_Designs.zip (1.74 MB)

These designs were created for Lyme Disease awareness apparel, stickers, flyers and bags.

My Ample Bosom

“Did you wear a good bra?” Asked my sister.

We were about to head out on a shopping spree hoping to pick up some leftovers from black Friday.

“I don’t have one.” I replied.

My sister looked at me in horror.

I assured her that I do, in fact, own an over the shoulder boulder holder. However, pebbles would describe my chest more accurately than boulders.

My bras resemble the training bras you would expect a preteen to be wearing before puberty hit with full force.

I would like a big girl bra, I really would. At 32 years old, I am well past puberty.

So far as I can discern, a real bra is one with an under-wire and padding. Therein lies the problem.

The way a “real” bra works is that your breasts lay in the padded cups and over the under-wire. The weight of your ample flesh holds the bra in place.

Well, my mosquito bites are far from ample. Lifting my arms while wearing a “real” bra, results in its relocating itself halfway up my boobs. The under-wire happily finding itself directly on top of my nipples.

If you ever see me sticking my hand up my shirt, I am not fondling myself. I am returning my perverted bra to its intended position.

So why did I buy two “real” bras while we were out?

Well, they were so pretty and soft. They were on sale and they actually had my size. Also, to be quite honest, you can see my high-beams right through my “training” bras. They may be small, but when they stand salute, my girls draw plenty of attention.

How Do You Take Your Coffee?

OH TABOO!

Caffè Reverse Latte

Front side of an instructional postcard. Or maybe it's the rear? Everything seems to be bass ackwards on this project.

It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

It is a good thing I wore my running shoes this morning.

I was walking my dog. You know how that goes; sniff, sniff, pee, sniff, pee, nearly rip owner’s arm off, sniff, sniff... sudden butt pucker, frantic sniffing and circling looking for the perfect spot to “take care of business”.

It was at this point that some large insect flew into my hair. I was occupied by the assailant on my head when there was a searing pain in my elbow. WTF.

As I looked back toward my dog the buzzing sound reached my conscious mind. Holy shit, she was crapping on a hornet’s nest! A swarm was beginning to emerge from the ground beneath her oblivious ass.

The dog was obliged to wrap up her business on the run as I turned and ran for my life with her in tow.

I did not look back, much less return to scoop her poop.

Don’t worry we are both fine. I only suffered the one sting and the dog’s ego is only slightly bruised from the embarrassment of pooing in the street. I assured her that no one saw. I did not tell her that I was posting this, she would be mortified!

Metamorphosis of Text and Image

Aw, how cute I can make pictures out of my babble! You thought I was just all talk; blah, blah, blah. Nope I am filled with words and images, sometimes they collide. They always keep me up at night and often interrupted conversations and meals. Those pesky ideas pop into my head at the most inopportune moments. I promise, I am not trying to be rude, I am possessed.

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