Maybe someone spilled something.
I know they add garlic odorant to propane (that was sort of part of my dad's job for a while, he has a big old story about the time some not-yet-odorated propane got out into the pipeline and he was getting flown around in helicopters to literally sniff out how far the problem had gotten) but I don't know about natural gas, except that something is added because otherwise no smell and that would be very dangerous. I don't think I even know what kerosene smells like, which is hamstringing me in brainstorming what else could cause that smell.
It definitely smells like paint thinner out in the hall, so maybe they left supplies outside the unit or something. It's a mystery! But one I am not going to worry about.
Every time I try to explain to someone (in person) that one of my cousins was used as a "hook" in a Nigerian-style scam, they interrupt me and say "Yeah! They hack your address book and..." NO. "She got hacked, that's awful!" NO. I mean she's the Nigerian.
My Dear Friend,
My name is Mr. Diane Abbott I am a member of parliament...
And it even uses the Houses of Parliament logo. That's
her.
But no one lets me finish explaining.
Except you!
In person people are missing out, that's fascinating. What a peculiar type of fame to have thrust upon you - not you, her, but more broadly all the hooks out there.
Egad, ita, does she have any kind of recourse over that?
does she have any kind of recourse over that?
They're pretty untouchable, so unfortunately not. I did once google the name in one of the ones sent to me, and it was a guy from...Southern Africa, I think? But however I thought I'd grasped that, it wasn't a fraction of "Hey, isn't this your cousin in England? Why is she giving me money?" I mean, when did they switch to Western names? She is pretty dark-skinned, though. Maybe that was it. Har.
(She has been in the press for insulting Nigeria, but that was after the email)
Totally crackpot.
I'm tidying so the cleaner can actually clean my apartment, and I found some of my packrat artifacts. You know when you bump into stuff you can't imagine packing from place to place to place? This is fight choreography from Michigan when I was hanging out with high school friend P (we weren't friends from high school--he was
in
high school for some of our friendship) and "filming" for an "independent" "movie" some genius was trying to put together. Apparently independent meant he wasn't paying anyone--he put out the word to martial artists to come in and take roles as gang members for his story of vengeance and romance (starring himself).
I was the only woman who answered the fighter call, and the guy was *beside* himself. I mentioned it to P, and he was kind of my protector there--the guys would hit on me and generally bother me if I was alone, but he had alpha dog over them, so it was terribly heteronormative. Except part of the protection was also being my opponent in most of my fight scenes.
The writer/director/actor wrote me an actual role, he was so happy to see me and my tits--I was a mute-through-trauma rape survivor who lived in the lead's attic, and I kind of trailed around behind him killing people he got into conflict with (when he beats the bad guy in the climactic fight scene, I end up killing the baddie when he does his "not dead yet" lurch).
Anyway, really exciting context. P and I decided our giths were going to be primarily capoeira (oh, he got cast as the leader of the bad guy fighters, since he was the best fighter who showed up, so we had parallel cleanup killer roles).
So...lots and lots of technique terms, with some acting...notes, you could say? Things like "look at each other (pissed off)" "crouch->do our thing" "serious looks on faces". But my favourite section goes:
t separate
look at each other in disbelief at each other's skill
t re-engage
I ended up fucking up my knee big time on that premature ejaculation of a "movie" (so many air quotes tonight). Pfeh. I google the guy every now and again to see if he actually got a movie made or did anything creative, and so far he's still unrealised beyond some really high end (no more energy for scare quotes) fashion photography.
It was called Legacy of Angst of Rage of You Killed My Wife Rage. Or something.
P is the only thing I miss about Michigan. He's married with two kids and is a personal trainer/gym owner now.
I have discovered the most wonderful, addicting things. Dark chocolate covered coffee beans. They are a thing of glory and terror, even more alluring that sour cream and onion potato chips.
