About

August 9, 2011

I am not cool. I’ve never been cool and I’m not trying to be cool. I will never live in the cool neighborhoods. I’ll never know what the hippest new place is. I’m not “in the know.” I wake up every morning as an explorer and I build upon each previous day’s experiences.

I capture tiny moments of those experiences. I don’t claim to know how it all works. I’m frequently wrong. All I aim to be is self-aware.

Don’t use me as a travel guide. I don’t know New York like the back of my hand. Yet. But I do like coming home every day and seeing visitors marvelling at the street where I am lucky enough to live. Maybe I won’t always be enamored of other people’s fascination. But I sort of hope I will.

I like my career because it suits me and I feel like I’m contributing to something important and good. I love my family, David Puddy, and a few other close friends. I have always struggled with weight and body image. I care about people who are less fortunate. I worry about our country. I want to see more of the world. I miss having a dog. I reveal too much sometimes. I know I can be petty, but I’m as honest as I can be.

For my own narrative, “cool” isn’t where the story is. I like pop culture. I like regular people. I like the seemingly mundane and accessible. What would I ever have to enjoy in this life if I was focused only on all that is not touristy, or worse, jaded?

Maybe I’m not a real “New Yorker.” Maybe I’ll never be. But I don’t believe that there’s a certain time-frame that certifies a person as a true resident of wherever they live. My parents have lived in Orlando for forty-something years and they will never be Orlandoans (or Orlandi, as I have dubbed that group). I believe you are where you find yourself and it’s all a measure of the way you embrace it or not. Your home-town is all in your attitude. My home-town is in my head, and wherever I am, I am a tourist. And that’s working out just fine with me.

One recommendation: if you think whatever I write is going to get under your skin, why not just eliminate the negative and lose me from your bookmarks? Focus on what brings you joy, period, and not what brings you joy at someone’s expense.

July 6, 2011

Getting my act together, one post at a time. Still love my family, David Puddy, and New York.

January 16, 2011

I live in New York City now. Finally. Look me up.

The most awesome thing about this is that I look back at my profile from last year (below) and I did exactly what I said I was going to do. Write this down: I set a goal and I met it. Also, I met a really good, honest man who isn’t crazy and who doesn’t make crazy. Things are good.

Now I’m going to go out and enjoy New York. There are days when you write your bio and days when you live your bio. Today is the latter.

Archived Bio from 2010:

I’ve moved back to Florida… because my family lives here and I needed an Emergency Contact Person (i.e. someone who lives close and who can pull the plug).

I’m in downtown Orlando until I’m not anymore, but I do wish I could take my apartment with me wherever I eventually land. (Yes, it probably is my last year here. But if you really stop and think about it, it’s always your last year wherever you are in your life. For example: It’s my last year being 29.)

I am Deanna (pronounced “Deena”). I’m a natural-born Floridian, but I’m a big-city girl at heart. I lived in LA for five years I’m just taking a break before my next city stint. I’m thinking New York. Yes, I’ve always been thinking New York.

I’m looking for that one-in-a-billion man who will write my name in the sky AND spell it correctly. Even if I never find him, I will not squander this adventure.

I tend to write a lot about dating and relationships here only because it’s a natural tentpole. I’m not married nor do I have kids, but I’m proud to say that I don’t have Daddy Issues or Mommy Issues or Sibling Rivalries or Addictions or Obsessions or Hoarding tendencies or anything else requiring an Intervention.

My fatal flaw is this: I tend to fall devestatingly in love with emotionally unavailable men. (Dr. Katz told me that’s the correct term for them, however, I find these men to be very emotionally available as far as saying “I love you”… it’s the part that comes after that, the “hey, let’s try this,” that gets tricky)

Instead of lamenting what might have been with Astronaut Mike Dexter or Mr. Big, I’m going to focus on ME: What can I do differently next time? What makes me attractive as a date but not as a partner? Or should I just close the shop? It’s fun being single, but I’m thinking it might be even more fun if I had the right person with whom to share everything, especially if we lived in a really great city. (See Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs)

Back to me: I am a huge fan of baseball in general (although I can say that I prefer the AL over the NL, and the Detroit Tigers over everything). I try to go to a few games a year, both spring training (Grapefruit and Cactus League) and regular season. I truly enjoy college football (Florida Gators) and college basketball (again, the Gators), Wimbledon, the U.S. Open, and the Tour de France. I find the NBA and NFL to be nearly unwatchable.

My personal style can best be described as Betsey Johnson meets Me.

A person’s dress is very important because it’s the first thing other people notice. And let’s face it, many people will say that they don’t care what other people think, but they do: It’s another part of Maslow’s hierarchy. I do not think, however, that owning specific labels or spending a lot of money, is necessary to look fabulous. A confident smile is the first thing you should put on every day. (God, I’m gay. Plus I should start taking my own advice.)

Taking risks IS necessary, with everything.

I’d like to put in a request for my last meal: an omelette bar and a spicy bloody mary. If I’m ever really in trouble, I’d like Gloria Allred to be my attorney. If I’m ever really REALLY in trouble, I’d like to donate whichever of my organs anyone else can use.

About this Blog:

1. If I write something that offends you, I apologize in advance. Let your fingers do the walking over to someone else’s blog. Better yet, start your own blog just to get back at me.

2. I’ve already gotten the email that tells me how narcississtic and contradictory and ridiculous I am, so you can keep it in your drafts. And let’s face it, if you didn’t like me, you wouldn’t have come here in the first place.

3. If you’re obsessed with me and visit my blog 89 times a day, I don’t know about it, because I cancelled that part of this thing that tells me the IP addresses, because I was obsessed with who was obsessed with me. However, it might make things a bit easier if you just sign up for the Notify reminder in the box on the bottom right. WordPress doesn’t tell me who signs up, so you can still remain anonymous.

4. I’m not going to have an undercover blog with fake names because it’s hard to be elusive when you’re so in love with details. This might change because I might want a more important job eventually or might get stalked or something. I always reserve the right to change some details to protect the innocent or to increase dramatic effect.

5. Leave me a comment! Or feedback. Or something! And if you’ve never left me a comment before, it will go to moderation, because that’s the way WordPress keeps out spammers. I will usually approve the comment momentarily, unless you’ve said something mean about me or someone else. Because as Burt says, this is my piece of real estate and I make the rules. Lastyearhere dot com is not a democracy. I do support your right to free speech and you can speak as freely as you want on your own blog.

6. I’m not going to talk about specifics regarding my job because I actually really like it. But if you’re interested in where I work or what I do, email me privately and I’ll tell you. I’ll just say this: I’m lucky to be able to do the work that I do.

7. I miss California, but I’m happy to be wherever I am, and for now, that’s here. It’s warm, it’s easy, and the people who love me most live here, but then so do a lot of other crazy douchebags. I probably swore that I’d never live in Florida again, but I just can’t resist its quirky charms. As much as I believe I’m a city girl, I’m happy for now in a loft in a highrise in downtown. There are art shows and kabobs and beer fests and movies in the park and hobos who will tell you they were stabbed six times last week. There are swans and Shakespeare on the lake.

I live in the second most miserable state and I’m paying attention to the details. It might be my last year here. It might be yours, too.