My name's Stephy. When I grow up, I'm going to teach typography to eager college students. I'm also going to freelance design on the side. First, I have to finish up my Bachelor's, then it's off to grad school and finding a "real" job. Then, there's that issue of finding reasonably-priced real estate in a big city. I'd like a loft, and I'll make walls out of books and canvas and all sorts of odd things. I so don't plan on growing up.

I write letters to people in my scrawled, girlish handwriting.
I bite my nails.
I compulsively mathematize any numbers I encounter (11 and 19 are my favourite).
I make up words as I need them.
My grandmother and I do puzzles together all the time.
I thoroughly enjoy really bad jokes, especially if they're a little pretentious or cheesy. Ideally, both.
I'm really bad at miniature golf.
I make jewelry out of acrylic stuff and polymer clay.
Two of my cats are named after literary figures.
I love stripes, polka dots, and seamless patterns.
I bet I can beat you at Candyland.

Bukowski once explained that “an intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way; an artist says a hard thing in a simple way.” A designer’s job, then, is to say things in a frank and unique way – and without even speaking a word. Colors and typefaces are languages on their own. Both of these things surround us, for better or for worse, and if I am to live in a world with messages shouted out from signs and moving parts, I’d rather surround myself with something inspiring and beautiful.

The biggest multiwidthyblend I've made, and with the colours of 26 ColourLovers!

I have the best presents ever.