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The Phoenix Rises from the Ashes; I wanna go please please oh please!!!
9:44 AM, Thursday, 26 October, 2006
Ok so my jeans didn't go flying after all. They turned up in Kristen's wardrobe. Drama averted. It turns out they got mixed up and hung up and we didn't notice yesterday morning while I was running around the house, wailing about my irretreivable loss. I did have an interesting conversation via email with Kym about it yesterday, though:
Kym: I VERY VERY VERY much identify as my BEST JEANS IN THE WORLD were stolen in Enga in 2002 and I spent the next 3 months scouring EVERY SINGLE jean-wearing mutant for my long-lost one-of-a-kind fit-me-perfect JEANS and I KNOW if I'd seen them, I would have MURDERED the person wearing them. Alas alack they never came back to me. Only a woman can know what the 'perfect jeans' means. Many condolences. Even IF you were Right!
Carolyn: I am very sad about my jeans. The ones I am wearing at the moment are just not good enough. Alas. Alack-a-day. SH it is. Though I do think that they were not the perfect jeans, and that maybe it was fate taking them away so that I would find the perfect pair. They were my favourites of the jeans that I had, although they were not perfect. So they were bound to be knocked out of place at some point by the perfect pair. This rationale does not dull the pain of the loss, though.
Point being that I'm still going secondhand shopping soon so that I can buy the perfect pair of jeans. I know I'll find them.
In other news, I am now going to rant about 'no-go-zones'. These 'no-go zones' are places that the funding body deems to be unsafe for lovely little ladies with pink ukuleles, despite what they might or might not be doing there. So, I'm Not Allowed to go secondhand shopping there. It also means that I'm Not Allowed to work there, too.
There is an amazing organisation here called 'The Friends Foundation', which is a friends of people living with HIV/AIDS kind of thing. They do lots of great stuff like give people household goods, food, care and friendship. They also help out the local hospital, where the morgue is filled to the brim with the unclaimed bodies of people whose families are too ashamed, because of HIV, to pick them up. The Friends Foundation raise heaps and heaps of money, and give these people a proper burial. The other day they buried 29 little babies. And I have a whole house full of Stuff to give them, from my last house. And I have work to do with them. And their office is in Gerehu. And I'm Not Allowed to visit them.
I'm also Not Allowed to go and visit Blacky in Morata. Blacky needs money so that he can open up a youth centre, and I can help him. Even though the whole community is scared of him because he used to be a rather nasty rape/pillage/murder type criminal (now reformed, some kind of god-action happened there I think), I am Still Not Allowed to go there. His youth centre would help other nasty rape/pillage/murder type criminals to do stuff with their lives other than rape/pillage/murder. Anyway, nobody would touch a HAIR of a lovely little lady with a pink ukulele if she was with Blacky, but I'm still Not Allowed to go there. No Ifs and no Buts and no Questions - no Gerehu, and no Morata.
It just goes to show that some of the funding bodies that think they look all snazzdabulous and spunky and all the rest really don't have a clue about what they're doing in Papua New Guinea with their one-size-fits-all restrictions and rules and stuff. Normally I wouldn't pay much attention to restrictions, especially such as these, but I'm being GPS-tracked all the time so they'll know, and when they find me out they'll ship me out of the country quick-smart - Not Good. Not that after my measly six months I'm an expert, but I do understand that if I'm with The Friends Foundation, or if I'm with Blacky, I will be ok. That's how PNG works - if you know the right people and go with the right people and do with the right people, it's ok. It makes me Super-Crankyorama because stupid funding body are stuffing up my work and actually being stupid crapheads with no brains, just crap in their heads, about it all. I Wanna Go To Gerehu and I Wanna Go To Morata. Cranky. Me. Grrrr!
- End Rant -
Filed under Crapola, Super Dooper
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Comments
Sounds like Blacky is a good bloke to have in your corner.
Posted by: Tori | October 27, 2006 9:42 AM
hey lady
dont 4get i'm gunna hijack you on satdee and we will attempt to address both the perfect-jeans problem and also the mightily stupid no-go thingmyjig.
xx
Posted by: kk | November 1, 2006 9:45 AM