Jayne Manslaughter here, representin' for the inland team: Rocky Mountain Roller Girls. If you don't support your local roller girl, you might as well have voted for Bush.
I'm a displaced ex-east coaster enjoying the understated, and yes, kinder, gentler city life Denver provides. I have friends who I'd lie down in train tracks for, a good job, an old-school pink cruiser, and I know how to rock the khakis with a cuff and a crease.
Personality tests indicate that should I be a dog in my next life, it will most likely be a Chihuahua--they're opinionated and vocal.
I dream of someday owning a nice piece of classic Detroit rolling stock. The kind that gets terrible gas milage.
I'm a few hours over my bad-boy phase, but I haunt local rockabilly joints looking for foul-mouthed, tattooed old style-drinking compatriats.
I have great luck finding apartments and jobs and horrible luck keeping cars and men. I've been searching for some sort of mathematical equation to explain this, but thus far, no luck.
I knit, cook, and play shuffleboard. I am only good at shuffleboard.
I drink a lot, and believe it's part of my birthright and just a side effect of my Scottish bloodline.
I don't think I share too many people's sense of humor. Chances are, when you're laughing, I'm crying. Or trying to be completely serious.
I used to fear people and now I fucking love them. Well, that may be an overstatement. I'm fascinated by how their minds work. I enjoy watching quietly when someone else is at their best or worst. Otherwise I'm loud.
People tell me things. Total strangers, bartenders, grocery store clerks, even my boss. They all tell me things. You can tell me things.