Those who know me would almost certainly agree that the "Ottawa Diva" nom de plume is perhaps less apt a handle than oh, say "Ottawa Obsessive-compulsive-who-makes-lists-listing-the-lists-she-needs-to-make" might be. A Planny Plannerson, or killjoy, if you will. Case in point: Not once in the six years since I moved to Ontario have I ever
I've been back at work for a month. The transition has been scarily easy; my days quickly became bitterly concerned about documents and events that mere weeks ago merited no more than a polite nod whenever someone in my company would mention them, mostly because I'd lobotomized myself against the lexicon of bureaucratese. Like most of the
Ottawa Diva is a spoiled bitch. The idea for this website came to her during a three-month stint in Paris in 2009. She put down her Grand Marnier and Nutella crêpe only long enough to ask, "Why don't I love Ottawa like I love Paris?" And then she kept eating. The answer, she thought, was all about attitude. Paris has it; Ottawa... well... not
