I know what they say about you.
They say you’re not sexy.
They say you’re not hot, you’re not hip, nor cool, slick, smooth, sultry nor any other adjective that describes the fucktastic.
You’re not the glitzy glamazon of glossy magazine spreads. You’re the buttoned-up brains. And not in the cute, hot-once-you-get-the-glasses-off-librarian-fantasy kind of way. People say you’re boring. They say they know what you have to offer and that it’s not enough.
They say that’s why people leave you.
They say you’re not sexy because you’re not the right size.
Fuck that noise, Ottawa!
You are sexy. As hell.
Sexy isn’t the exclusive privilege of big-city Toronto, New York, Paris or L.A. The reality of sexy places (and sexy people) have nothing to do with the prescriptive and tragically narrow ideals of mass-media.
They say we’re a government town; that we’re super conservative.
I say, so what if we are? A day job says nothing about a person’s extracurricular proclivities. Even those who’s night lives are as predictably routine as their day jobs aren’t exempt from sexy. Reliable 9 p.m. relations with the lights off and the sheets pulled up is hot as hell to some people.
Sexy is that which arouses an interest or urge for sex. People everywhere do that everyday.
Even in Ottawa.
Buttoned up staffers and bespectacled tech geeks lock eyes and libidos rise. Passengers indulge in lurid fantasies prompted by the rhythmic vibrations of the OC Transpo. A bike ride along the canal or a stroll through the Market’s cobblestone courtyards can make a body feel vibrant and alive.
Ottawa, they say you’re not big enough to be sexy. They say you’re not vibrant, that you lack a certain that polished cosmopolitan flair. And I agree, you’re no metropolis. But I think you’re something else!
Ottawa, I think you’re beautiful and interesting. I think you’re technical, political, artistic and athletic. I think you’re waterways are spectcular and your downtown is charming. I’ve been with you for twelve years and though you’ve become comfortably familiar, you still manage to surprise me every now and then.
You speak two languages. Fluently. What’s not hot about that?
But most importantly, at your core are your people. Ottawa, you have The Man of Mans who all kind of sexy and gives me the feelings. I have a host – nay, a cavalcade of alluring people in my life. Folks who fantasize, flirt, kiss and have lots and lots of sexy sex within city limits.
I once came so hard I fell off a counter – right here in our nation’s capital!
Ottawa, you can’t let haters bring you down. Haters be hatin’. It’s not what you look like that makes you sexy. Your soul makes you sexy. And the soul of a place is the people. I’m one of your people, Ottawa. And if I can accept – if we can accept your unique hawtness, you will shine like the sexy motherfucker you are.
So, Ottawa…how YOU doin’?