Then, Now and Every Job in Between

So I was having a conversation with a friend of mine the other day. Apparently his ex has a serious issue with me, and has had it for quite some time… It’s interesting to me that for some reason the same inspiration I instill in some, is the same level of jealousy and insecurities that I instill in others.

This person actually went so far as to call me “unattractive” and claimed because I can’t spell, that she is in fact smarter than I… Well, not to toot my own horn, but I don’t honestly know many people who would be willing or able to fill my shoes. If you think I am haughty in saying so, you might be right, I recently have begun to think a lot of myself, and rightly so… But I happen to think I am pretty amazing to have come from so little, have the amount of student loans that I have, and still manage to live in one the toughest and most expensive cities in America for the last 6 years of my life. I have shown a lot of strength through some extremely difficult obstacles. Being confident does not always equal snobbery. And by the way… in case you haven’t read the foot notes on the Chronicles of Olivia, I am not ashamed to be a struggling painter… or ashamed to admit that I can’t spell… I mean really? That’s why spell check was invented, honey. But obviously this juvenile comment has no merit, and simply shows that they are still immature and narrow minded. This person has something called “tunnel vision”, and has probably done very little to step outside of the box they have built around them. Which is one reason I have much admiration for those who try to see the world outside of the one they grew up in. It makes you more aware of what is out there in the “real world,” and relate to others. You can do this in different ways. You don’t have to be a world traveler to extend your mind and views. I do think a bit of moving around can help you do this though, getting away from your comfort zone helps… Those who are usually afraid to take chances in life, are often bitter and resentful because they secretly wish they had the guts to take a chance.

Robert F. Kennedy once said “Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly.” Well maybe he ended up shot and dead, but I stand firmly by that claim. This doesn’t mean that I believe staying in a situation of comfort and security is the wrong choice, but don’t be bitter about the choices you have made. Or belittle those who choose to do differently with immature attacks on their person.

My lack of math and spelling skills have never stopped me from being revered as a well spoken and intelligent individual. In high school it created a few problems grade wise, but didn’t prevent me from getting into several colleges, or prevent teachers from telling me what a great student, writer, and artist I was, nor did it stop me from getting a presidential scholarship to my first college in Baltimore, and the Hope Scholarship my second year at UGA. So this self proclaimed artist hasn’t done so badly for herself.

My last year of high school, I was selected to give a speech at the baccalaureate ceremony, (kind of like a prequel to the following weeks graduation commencement). I was never heavily involved in high school academics, and was even turned down to write for the high school news paper. However, strangely enough, I don’t recall any of the writers from my HS newspaper getting chosen to speak? And I am pretty sure some of them auditioned. When I tried out for the speeches, they saw and heard something they liked. Something raw and genuine that text book knowledge couldn’t convey. And out of god knows how many tryouts; I was among four people chosen to speak. Strangely enough if I am so illiterate, as this girl claims, then why have four different English Professors, from all three colleges I attended, told me that I was an extremely talented writer, and that if I chose to do something other than my painting, that I should pursue my writing? Can you tell this had been a sore subject for me? Yeah I'll admit it, it burns my biscuits a little when people say things against my intelligence level... Why? Well let me tell you...

I was not very good at academics as a child, and I always felt very insecure about it. When I was in first grade my teacher told my mom I might have some learning disabilities, so I was taken to different specialists and it was determined (twice I might add) that there was in fact nothing wrong with me… I didn’t have ADD, and was actually told that I paid very good attention. But then in 6th grade I wasn’t allowed to take a language because some IOWA test in 5th grade that said I hadn’t progressed in my reading and language skills… I still hate Iowa for this... A big sore spot for me was how smart my sister was. My sister was on a fourth grade reading level in kindergarten!!! and me... well my mom had to do… I mean “help” me with my homework just so I could pass 8th grade history… For a long time I felt stupid, so yeah it rubs me the wrong way when people get on my case about my bad spelling and or whatnot. It's something I do resent, and have not moved on from. Even if it I know it's a cheap shot.

My argument (if any) was that I was prematurely born and was hooked up to an incubator for a while. My mom believes the heat from that summer coupled with my prematurity played a hand in my learning complications... Which according to many studies today on the unborn fetus, is probably true... I harbored a lot of anger growing up because I was never in any honors classes, or any magnet courses, like most of my friends. My mom always told me if I’d tried a little harder I could have done it. But I know now that I didn’t do well because I didn't try, because I didn’t care, about much back then. I didn’t care about myself. For a long time my peers treated and rejected me everyday, and it directly affected my grades. But I didn’t know that then, I just thought I was stupid. I realize now my mom was only trying to help, she knew in her heart I could do it, but at the time it felt like an attack, and it hurt a lot to feel dumb. I never participated in study groups cause who was I supposed to study with? When you have limited friends, it doesn't leave you too many choices... My mother finally realized how bad the “teasing” was for me later on, when my best friend actually told me she didn't want to be my friend because I wasn’t “popular”. It was a real kick in the head to be made fun of every day at least three times a day, going to the bathroom to cry on a regular basis, and making your mom call out sick for you because you can’t go to school for fear of being made fun of. Teachers and schools really don’t take that stuff as seriously as they should. But that's another blog... My art really took flight when I began to have faith in God, it was all I had to turn to, and I believe that God gave me my gift at an early age to help me release and reflect the sadness and anger I felt in my life. When people started noticing how good it was, I kept doing it, because it was a means of acceptance. Eventually I was doing my art because I loved it, and it wasn’t really until college that I realized I actually could do well in academia land when given the opportunity to join study groups and the like.

Anyway not to stray too far, but the fact that anyone would say that they are smarter than me is the kind of thing that disgusts me about the world, and directly correlates with my last blog, “what defines” a person. Just because I didn’t go into business or some related field does not make me less intelligent. It’s this way of thinking that prevents people from living better lives, and being kind to others. People who studied art and acting are often perceived as less intelligent by people of stature and money. What people like this tend to forget is that people like myself, also went to college, and also got degrees. It not only takes a great deal of determination, but it takes a lot of blood sweat and tears to study something you realize you may never be able to make a living doing. Not because you aren’t good enough, but simply because there is so much competition. We mere artists are also very quick witted, just because we decided to study or do something creative, doesn’t mean we couldn’t have done something else. What you study is a choice, and should not define who you are, or your capabilities. I recently met a guy who got a job making 75K a year, but quit because he didn’t have time to pursue his musical endeavors, and now makes probably about 10 dollars an hour at a musical lounge helping with sound equipment. Now you might say “that was a stupid choice”, but when you have a passion for something, you make sacrifices. For me I make the sacrifice to work full time, so I can support myself. I do what I need to do, to do what I want to do.

I currently work for a company heavily involved in finance and wealth, so far it has taught me something valuable. The people here have a good work ethic, and I barely ever hear them complain about the ridiculously long hours they put in. Because this is their career path, their goal, just as painting is mine. I can only hope non of them would be so immature as to say they are smarter than me, or work harder than me because it’s a dead argument. My intelligence shows in my tenacity to life, and the work that I make on canvases. When people look at my work, they know they could never do what I do. They realize it takes a lot of skill to do what I do. Unless of course they had studied and invested 13 years into making art as I have. And even then I am not sure…

I honestly think you are born with certain traits and talents. If you are naturally gifted in something, study and time only makes you better. I have never had a natural interest or knack for math, I know I would struggle working in finance. It’s not that I couldn’t do it (because I have had to finance a good bit in my life), but I never bothered studying math because I knew in my profession, I would only really need to know the basics. There is something similar about math and art though, every culture needs them. I mean you’ve heard the saying “money doesn’t grow on trees”? Well paintings don’t either. Songs don’t magically manifest themselves out of your radio… Can you imagine how awful life would be without artists? All those stressed out business people would start yanking out their hair if they didn’t have their favorite song to unwind to at the end of the day… So really all those stuffy business people artists think they hate, really support their habit… lol. I mean who else would buy my paintings? Bottom line, it takes just as much intelligence to write and produce and sell ones art as it does to market and trade stocks. It’s just a different kind of business. It’s tough to be a painter, market myself and invest time and money into what I do, because it’s a profession that does not always reap its benefits, so it also involves a lot of emotional ups and downs, you have to love doing it, and realize it’s something you want to do, even if you never make it. It is a selfish and selfless profession. Just as making money is. However most artists are usually happy when they are making art, I highly doubt someone in finance could say they are always happy on the job.

What many people probably don’t know about me, is that I have always been different from other artists, in the way that I am very extroverted, and have a good head for business. Some (if not most) artists like to keep more to themselves, and don’t feel comfortable talking about their art to the public. I on the other hand have extensive people skills. Mostly because I have always been a “social butterfly”, but also because I have thrown myself headfirst into the world of meeting and having to befriend strangers in order to survive. To be a successful artists, it’s not all smiles and paint, it’s hard labor, and you have to know how to effectively write and talk about your art. For me personally I have to know how to juggle and maintain a website, apply to galleries, work full or part time, and somehow manage a social life. To support myself as an artist in New York, and otherwise, I have had many jobs which have given me structure and guidance in how to effectively juggle, and deal with all types of people. I can now work a whole gallery of people, and freely go up to complete strangers who I find admiring my work, and tell them more about what they are looking at.

A lot of people know me as a nanny, because it was my way of supporting myself for a couple years after I finished college. And before I go off on my extensive list of work experiences, let me just first say you have to be a very trustworthy and capable person for someone to want to hire you as a nanny or babysitter. They trust you with the things they gave life to. Their very safety lies in your hands. While I did start working as a sitter at the age of 13, I started my tax payer working career as a telemarketer for Hilton Head travel Desk and Bureau in Atlanta at the age of 14, and because I didn’t have a car I often took the bus. Which if you know Atlanta very well, you will agree this is not a fun thing.
My sister also took the bus in Atlanta for many years, and one time while waiting for the bus when a man tried to mug her to take her bag, so she kicked him in the nuts and bashed his head a few times on a nearby tree. Yes… us Williams women look sweet and dainty, but don’t mess with us, cause when it gets down to the nitty gritty we know how to get scrappy. Must be the Irish in us.

I then worked at a very busy sandwich/bagel shop in Atlanta through most of high school. And because I didn’t have a car, I usually walked home. Luckily for me I lived two streets down. Little did I know it would be good practice for all the walking and dodging cars that I would end up doing 10 years later in New York. At Einstein’s I quickly moved from ticket taker, to cashier, to drive thru girl; which only people with exceptional multitasking abilities were allowed to do. You had to be the whole package: tickets, drinks, and cash register (while also restocking your station). I was like a one man band. I became a staple of the Einstein Brothers Bagel Shop on Roswell Road. People would actually drive to my location because I entertained the impatient crowd of bagel lovers with morning jokes, and gags at the drive-thru microphone. I once introduced myself through the speaker as a radio station DJ, “99X you’re on the air!!!” the guy laughed so hard I had to turn down the volume on my headset.

My best friend in high school used to refer to her jokes as “ham”, she would often say “can you handle the ham?” As in “hamming it up” or being a “ham” So when people started making their orders I started saying “do you want Ham with that?” my regulars knew what was up, and started saying “Yeah give me some ham!” in turn I would say “can you handle the ham?” they thought it was great. But one day someone new came through and denied “the Ham” saying “no..? no ham, just cream cheese on a bagel”, and I repeated “you sure you don’t want some ham? It’s pretty good”… getting annoyed he proceeded “NO HAM PLEASE… just a bagel with cream cheese” so I replied “Okay well, I’ll give you some ham on the side, free of charge.” I heard what sounded like a hint of protest, “eh….” And then nothing, and he drove around to the window. When he got to the window, I gave him his order and said “okay here’s your ham” whipping out the Pulp Fiction joke about the Tomato Family, and he thought that was pretty good “ham”. Next time he came through, he specifically asked for a side of Ham at the window. Till this day I am told that I should do stand up, but that’s another story.

While my drive thru days were pretty rad, my favorite memory of that job was when I first started, I was just a ticket taker back then. Wearing a green Einstein brothers extra small t-shirt that still looked two sizes to too big on my gaunt little 89 pound body, coupled with a grey baseball cap that covered my Christina Ricci size forehead. I looked like an elf. One of our customers, an elderly man named Ben Labowski (yes like the Big Labowski), used to come in everyday and order the same thing. A bowl of the “soup of the day”, and a plain bagel. The first few times I took his order, I noticed he didn’t seem real happy. In fact he seemed down right grumpy, so I remembered his name after taking it down a couple times, and when he came in one day I greeted him with a big smile and a “Hi Ben, small soup and a Bagel? ” he perked up immediately, I think he realized he was not a forgotten soul in the world.

While recently discussing possible options on my life with my mother, I mentioned I might like to do something that could really change some ones life, like joining the peace corp. My mom told me that I make a difference in the world everyday I am in it by smiling, and treating people the way I would like to be treated. It was definitely in that moment that I changed Bens life a little. He ended up becoming something of a friend to me, and we would talk about my life, and my dreams of becoming an artist. He made me a figurine out of Popsicle sticks, wood blocks, glue and paint, and I loved it. It was a little man marching. I was touched when he ended up attending my high school graduation, and even brought his ex wife. I knew I had done something right in this world by becoming friends with Ben. I realized he was a very lonely person, and all he needed was a friendly hello. Which is why I am so harsh on many people in customer service who do not support the idea of being the light in some ones day, because you never know what someone is going through, and if you treat them like crap or that they don’t matter, you never know how that can effect them. Before leaving that job I was one of the highest paid employees working at Einstein Bros. How did I know? My boss, (who was like a second father to me) told me, and told me I was worth every penny.

At 21 I moved back to New York to finish school, it was like starting from scratch. I didn’t know anyone to help me get the hook up with a new job. It was a while struggling on chump hostess wages at chain restaurants until a fellow student at SVA told me how I could make a lot of money, but that I would have to be willing to work really hard. She tried to almost scare me away from doing it, probably because she wanted to see how serious I was about making money. Well another thing about me, is that when someone tells me I can’t do something, or doubts me, I work five times harder, just to prove them wrong. That’s the competitive artist that comes out from time to time. It was working on the streets of Soho as a vendor, selling hand made gift cards and Italian leather journals, for one the shrewdest money driven people I have ever met. My first day on the job I was only 10 minutes late, but there were no first day exceptions in her book… noooo way. She yelled at me and swore at me, explaining how if I wasn’t on time it could cost her a whole days wage. As in Soho we had to deal with crazy vendors who would stop at nothing to get a vending spot. Once I even saw some guys car lit on fire because he was trying to horn in on some ones sidewalk space. I witnessed some serious fights and police involvement because of the shit vendors would stir up. Aside from dealing with that, I had to set up and break down shop every morning and evening, which involved a table, cloth, not so stackable shelves and a lot of duck tape. From time to time I also pushed a dolly of probably 300 pounds of books and paper products in giant sized industrial bins, which had to be strapped down and secured with bungee chords. Stacked up, this construction of books and cards was taller than myself, and very hard to see around. Did I mention I had to actually put all the products in the bins, fold up the table and strap it down myself? I had to cart my man made monster of goods 8 blocks through thin sidewalks saturated with tourists and shoppers. The streets of Soho are not paved with gold, but rather have a lot of pot holes and “cobble stone” streets, which look lovely in movies, not so much when you are trying not to kill anyone with what feels like a 2 ton tractor. One time a helper (also my ex-boyfriend) almost ran over Kirsten Dunst with the cart of heavy containers… imagine the lawsuit on that one if it’d happened? Down Spring Street all the way from Broadway past West Broadway and on the other side of Varick. If I ever felt like a week-ling, that was the moment where I proved everyone wrong. All this, while having to manually write down every transaction made through the day, adding tax when Credit Cards were used, and accounting for all products sold or stolen and account for all funds received. In any given day I sold (by myself) 1,000-2,000 dollars worth of product. I dealt with stalkers, intense heat, and bad weather. Not only was it the most labor intensive job I have ever worked, but it was the kind of job that takes some serious patience, physical endurance and brains. I was told by the shrew herself that I was the best worker she had, that I sold more than any of the other people working for her. Why? Well because I made a commission on what I sold, so I actually tried to sell, because I knew the more money I made for the shrew, the more I made for myself.

One of the benefits of working in New Yorks melting pot, is that I got to feed my long time obsession… celebrity personalities… I saw and met some of my favorite actors and actresses. To name a few: Famke Jansen, Mark Fueirstrein, Connie Neilson, Kate Hudson, Norman Reedus, Mike Myers, Natalie Portman, Sarah Jessica Parker, and many more. I also knew two guys who were paparazzi and rode around on bikes. I met them because on a couple of occasions they thought I was somebody and started trailing me… Tall skinny girls in big ass sunglasses were always suspect.

I only wish I had tried to save some of my money, but because it was (at the moment in my life) the most money I had ever made, ever, I indulged myself that summer with 5 star dinners, expensive couture, and lavished my skin with pricey skin care. Oh and did I mention I was also taking 2 classes that summer as well, and got A’s in both classes?

Before school started back up for that September, I had had enough of the job, and needed something I could manage while going to school full time. So when I got the job at Bath and Body works it was a walk through Central Park. The only things I ever really had to contend with were the super needy people from the methadone clinic down the street, semi annual sale mayhem, and holiday havoc! After two years I was the highest paid sales associate there, and was even given the option of becoming an assistant manager. I was again a power seller, and the company always made more money with me working the floor than behind the register, so that was my place. How did I learn to sell so much? Because the customers trusted me, if I felt what they needed was Neutrogena Acne Face Wash, and not Rice skin serum, I would tell them, “this ain’t gonna work for you, go across the street to Walgreens and get some acne fighting face soap.” They appreciated it, and would generally buy something anyway, or even come back again. What’s funny is that I love so many of the B&B products that when I go in there to shop, I inadvertently end up selling products to other customers. My old boss Ingrid was wonderful, I valued her guidance and friendship, and even though I would come in late, call our last minute, come in cranky, and dress inappropriately, they couldn’t afford to fire me. Even now when I go visit Ingrid, she always gives me a winning smile, and a “you know… you are always welcome to come back and work on the weekends…”

Living as a creative person in New York, you have to have some smarts. I am now “street wise, I can improvise” in the words of Dodger from Disneys “Oliver and Company” would say. You have to be willing to say “yes” to life, and find out how to hold your own when the chips are down. You have to appear strong when you are at your most vulnerable. You also have to learn when to say “no more”, and realize you aren’t a failure or sell out for taking care of yourself. It’s true what they say though, “if you can make it here (New York) you can make it anywhere.” Why do they say that? Only special people can learn to adapt to New York, without losing their identity, and their marbles (this does not mean I haven't lost my marbles). You meet and deal with people from every walk of life, you deal with situations you never thought you could get yourself into, and find out how strong you are when you wriggle out of them untouched and alive. What many “intelligent” people lack in life are survival skills, which sorry IV leaguers, is very different from the world of academia. Having these kinds of strengths make you realize when it’s all said and done, you’ll still be standing when the world comes crumbling down. You’ll be the one building the homes, and painting them, because no one else will know how. Which could be a reason why I have always felt strange about allowing a guy to take care of me financially or otherwise; because in NY, you find your inner strength, your independence, and after years of being the type of person who holds the world on their shoulders, you come to realize you aren’t you if you hand it over for someone else to carry.

These are just some stories of how my intelligence comes through in my day to day life. I know how to deal in a pinch. And somehow (no offense to anyone living inside the box), but I am sure that miss "little town" GA, wouldn’t last 3 days in my life without throwing up her hands and saying “I quit!” Because I didn’t just get to where I am without a fight, and to survive in this town, it takes more than just brains. A smart person (and this is totally opinion) lives their life to the fullest as best as they can. I have never let money stop me from going out and having a good time. Even in my darkest times, because it’s the fun times that lifts you out of the shadow.

So I recently got this new job… not exactly what I want to be doing for the rest of my life, but you know what? It’s exactly what I needed, and not a moment too soon, and I am grateful to be making more than I have ever made in my life, have health coverage, it’s actually liberating in it’s own way, because I can finally take care of myself, pay down some of my loans and continue living my life. My life is far from perfect or glamorous, but that’s not going to stop me from partying like a rock star from time to time. I’m living my life, the choices I have made and am making are teaching me how to manage in the world, something no school or college will ever teach you behind their sheltering walls. So you tell me, with all this behind me, do I really need to learn how to spell anyway?

What Defines a Person?

What defines a person? Money, marriage, career, schooling, your car, religion, or something just as basic as the color you dye your hair? I good friend brought this question to the forefront of my mind, and I have been thinking about it all day, and wondering, who am I? How do people perceive me? And what exactly defines me?

Over the last three years of my life, I have changed in a variety of ways, from my political stance, to my objectives as artists in a world of finance and money. New York City is the embodiment of the elite, the fashionable, the cream of the crop. How have I managed to find my niche in this superficial world of which I believe very little in? Well maybe I haven't. Maybe I just live a double life, or perhaps I realized like Kermit the Frog in "Muppets Take Manhattan" that if you can't beat em' join em'. I mean why should I not live the life I deserve to live? Why should I be bitter at the world for something neither I nor they can control? Why should I punish people for their status? These are questions I asked myself a long time ago. And the answer is, I shouldn't

Growing up I was faced with financial hardships and discrimination. I had (what I considered to be) really nice birthday parties, but kids as young as 10 would shit on my life by saying my house was too small. In fact there was this one girl who would torment me in middle school about my moms old car. I had to start carpooling with my neighbor Rachel to get to school because the humiliation made me cry everyday (thanks Kathy Reid). All my clothes were hand me downs or from a garage sale, but I never felt like I dressed unfashionable, and when I look at photos of myself and my sister I always think, what good looking snazzy kids. My mom busted her butt to make us some of the prettiest Sunday and Easter dresses. But I had never felt insecure about these things until I entered the public schooling system, and kids started pointing out my shortcomings. I always thought I had a sweet life, with an awesome house, an amazing yard and my own creek to play in. Reality kinda messed that up for me in my head, and nothing I had was ever good enough or the right thing because I was constantly comparing what I had to others. So I started working at an early age to buy clothes and things that I thought would make me feel better, but it never did. So in High school I guess I just stopped trying to fit in, and thankfully met people who's lives didn't focus so heavily that stuff, and treated me as an equal even if their parents had money.

It was those few special people in my life that grew up in big lovely homes and never wanting for anything, who opened up their lives to me, and for that I am eternally grateful. I saw that you don't have to be a snotty stooge if you are well off.

Unfortunately at that point it was too late; the damage of preteen drama and squalor had taken its toll on my young and impressionable mind. It's like having a family with two children: one is your own flesh and blood, and the other is adopted. The one, your flesh and blood, gets the shiny new bike and brand new clothes, while the other only gets hand me downs and whatever is left over. How could a child or person not feel some resentment or anger at the world for giving him/her the "short end of the stick" as they watch their sibling get everything he/she too would like to have? It's a harsh scenario, but the reason I use this one in particular, is because for my uncle, that was his whole life. Much harder than mine. He (my mother and aunt) was orphaned due to an alcoholic family situation that turned ugly in the 1940's, he (my mom and aunt) was never given any luxury, as back then most families only took in children for the extra paycheck. Their real child always got new things, including a fancy new bike, which was flaunted in front of my uncle. He dealt with abandonment issues, nightmares of being taken away from his home at 3 years old, and then on top of that never feeling equal in the world, or in his temporary home. Over the years my uncle became a bitter young man, reckless and violent, and personally I don't think he has ever fully recovered from the feeling of being under appreciated and angry that he didn't have the life he deserved. And can you blame him? Childhood trauma is harder than people realize to overcome and move on from.

While my situation was not so severe, (as I realized how much I did have later on), I too, as hard as it is to admit, resented people with money and whose parents could pay for things like college, cars, etc… It didn't seem fair. Don't we all deserve the finer things in life? Or even just the basic things? I had this subconscious hatred for those same kinds of people who made me feel like shit for not having these luxuries. It was hard for me sit back and watch the world reap its benefits, when I didn't, and get discriminated against for it to boot!

I recently joined a site called "YouTube" and I made a video about my teen angst and depression issues. Teens and grown ups alike have written to me in turn about their lives, and I will tell ya, when I read some of their stories, I think, "and what exactly was I complaining about?" My childhood was a happy one, and I got everything I wanted as a youngster. My mom got the enjoyment of watching my sister and I rip into boxes upon boxes of presents, with a real Christmas tree that we all decorated ourselves together as a family. We always had a ginormous feast every holiday, and presents were also adorned on birthdays, special occasions (like ballet recitals) Easter, and of course through the year. We had all this when my mother growing up had one box of belongings. Seriously, one box of things. I don't even know if people can imagine how that must have been, but like myself, my mother never wished she had more, she just wished she had a loving family. So she made one, and gave us everything she and my father could give us. Which to some kids wasn't enough, but for me and my life it was great.

I remember my dad and I going to rent movies on the weekends, which honestly I loved, and then one day I ran into a group of "them" the popular girls from my school while picking out movies. I consider it one of my finest moments, it was during middle school I believe, and I had just learned to kind start defending myself, so when the girls asked who I was here with, I proudly answered, "I am renting movies with my Dad…" girls looking at me like I am crazy, and a couple of them started to snicker and turn away from me… I just continued to say, "well I like it, and we always have a good time." And we did, I mean HELLO, awesome movie, awesome dad, and all the food we could stuff in our faces, it was great! And I mean I will never look back on life and wish I'd spent more time trying to impress some bitches… lol.

So some ass hole kids in middle school and high school made my life a living nightmare. So I would run out of class crying and go home feeling less than mediocre on a regular basis. I don't know what made those kids think and act the way they did. But Honestly? I had to just grow up, and get over it, and get over the fact that I wasn't a kid with a lot of excessive privileges. I realize half the people in the world with money have worked their asses off to get there... and then there's Paris Hilton...lol, but seriously, most rich people have a lot of problems that I will never have. I have friends, who are fortunate to be in better financial situations, have fiance's, and other good things in their life, I am only happy for them. I don't envy, judge or hate. And I am a happier person for it. I don't always understand why life hands me the tougher hand sometimes, but I consider myself lucky, for the opportunities I have, and what I always knew I had. Two loving parents who are still together, our own home, a way to get around (old car or not), memories of a a fabulous yard where I got to take cookie pans and slide down it's snow covered slope, summers in the creek, swinging in my back yard, a sister who will always be a best friend, a dog, my neighbors who were my second family, and a life of making art. Something that I have to show for all my years of living on this planet. I am immortal in my work… So right now I don't have a boyfriend, or a husband, or kids. I have other things going on. I am busy in my talents and ambitions. I have some sleep problems, and some depression and anxiety, but I don't suffer from any serious physical ailments, and for that I feel relieved. For now I am a pretty healthy girl, and I deeply sympathize and feel for people who have to struggle with sickness and routine surgeries. I have things that a lot of people don't have, an honest heart and determined soul, and who knows maybe they are bitter at people like me for that?

Unfortunately we aren't all born healthy, given the same set of parents, the same house and the same financial set up.

I have really deviated from my original idea here… So… what defines a person? Well firstly, I think IF what we do, and what we have, and believe is what defines us, we are all pretty screwed… Cause if your career makes you a ton of money, you may be perceived as arrogant, greedy, or ungrateful for what you have. If you have no or little money you are considered a bum or low class… Bottom line, no matter what your status in life is, people will judge you regardless for who you are and what you choose to do with your life. Thankfully I have come to a point in my life where when and if I start to judge people, I stop, take a step back, and realize we all have different things going on, and no one should judge or define you for that. Just as I didn't like being judged based on my families income, I shouldn't judge someone based on theirs.

People judge people everyday. If you have a tattoo, if you don't have a tattoo, if you are a bar tender or a lawyer, a porn star, or a school teacher, no matter what people will judge you for taking the safe route or living a life of reckless intent and spontaneity. People will make fun of you for the way you look, if you are too thin or too fat, balding or your hair is too long. These are horribly superficial things but people do it anyway. We are all victims of judgment, whether we are aware of it or not, unfortunately I was just more aware growing up…

When people look at me they probably judge me. I was judged in high school because I did missionary work, people accused me of being a "Jesus freak," I grew up Christian, but NOW other Christians judge me for not going to church, and believing in other ways of spirituality and spiritual growth. I don't believe in one set religion anymore, because I am not trying to get acceptance from anyone but God, he knows my heart, and that's what my faith is based around. People judge me because they think I am a democrat, when I have never registered Democrat or Republican, I simply believe that we should all have equal rights to our bodies and that everyone should have equal health care opportunities, those just happen to be two democratic views. I also believe in corporal punishment and harsher laws for convicted felons, and I don't believe in public welfare checks for women who have too many illegitimate kids and who don't bother working, which are some very republican views. I am judged because I am a feminist, because I think it's important for women to be strong, know how to be independent, and ally with one another. But funnily enough feminists judge me because I still have no problem calling another woman a "bitch" if she deserves it. When I tell people I am an artist, some people probably see me as a failure, while others a great success. So… I cannot be defined. No one can be, because we are all constantly changing and growing, moving and shaking, and trying our best to be ourselves. I don't think a marriage should define you as a housewife, or that a career for that matter should define you, because a lot of peoples careers are not their passion, and have very little to do with who they are. And some people just gotta pay the bills. So does being a McDonalds employee define you? It shouldn't, does my job as a receptionist or a nanny define me? IT shows I know how to work with kids and people, but not because that's who I am, but maybe what I am conditioned to do, so I can support myself. So there, that is what I think. We cannot be defined. And next time you go on some lame ass job interview and they ask you the question, give me three words that define your personality, you give them these three words "go", "fuck", "yourself". Because there are no words for human individuality. Nothing can define your whole life, if that were the case we would each have our own encyclopedia I would be the OliviaCarolWilliams09291980AtlantaGeorgiaNorthSideHospital Encyclopedia, and next to me would be the other billions of Olivias in the world with their life story cause otherwise defining yourself is impossible.

Or maybe you could say I have not allowed anything to define me. I have broken the rules of definition, as don't we all as some point? I decided when I moved to New York, and finished school that I wouldn't let the hard times get the better of me, that doesn't always happen, but I fight the good fight, and realize, I don't want my financial status to define who I am anymore. Just as when I tell people I am an artist, I don't want that to be my defining characteristic either, even though my art is my life. Why is my art my life? It's not because it's my career, (trust me usually careers are what you make your bread and butter doing), art is my life because nothing else has come into my life to measure the love I have for it. All the men in my life have come and gone, but my art stayed with me. So it kind of, by default, became my one most important passion. But it's not the only thing I am… Because I love and do many things…

UG! This is going on way longer than I wanted it to be, but this question is probably about as hard as discovering the meaning of life. Maybe in this blog I am discovering the meaning of my life.

My conclusion: it's all relative, because no one can define you, and the people who try to, and try to judge you, it's just an opinion, not a fact. Some people will love you and think what you're doing is great while some will think you are wasting your time, and what you are doing is stupid. So none of it matters, the comparing and judging is juvenile and stupid. And I hope someday we can all come to an agreement on that.