While I have no reason to complain—I'm no Shaun Livingston—I was just informed that my "bum knee" is actually far worse than expected, and a few days from now I will be kissed by the sweet sweet knife of a surgeon. This means my next four to six months—also known as summertime, or, the only reason to justify trudging through a Portland winter—will not be spent on anything fun.
Farewell riding my bike to shows.
Farewell to my patented scissor kick (during my karaoke version of "Hot For Teacher").
Farewell dancing at shows. (Just kidding. Thankfully my arms feel fine, so I can still continue to cynically cross them while I stand in the back of the room.)
The good news: Pain medication. Lots of lots of magical pills that will lull the pain away.
We already have a "Drunk" category on this blog, can we add one for "OxyContin"?
No Age - "Ripped Knees"
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