Tomorrow is June 21st – The official first day of summer. An overly welcomed turn of seasons as this year has brought us a brutally harsh winter followed by an annoyingly schizophrenic spring. Sure, it’s mid-week and tons of folks are working, but just seeing that date on the calendar is a bit of a reassurance that the weather is going to start getting AWESOME: Camping trips, beach days, random excursions to arbitrary destinations on a whim… yeah. That’s the kind of shit summer is made of. I’m not as stoked on it though, gotta say. Why’s that? I’m getting surgery tomorrow.
Nothing life-threatening, no worries, it’s just my shoulder. That wily sonofabitch just won’t stay put, and after years of slipping out over and over, the muscle keeping it in place has worn thin. Actually, if you look at the MRI slides, you can see a golf ball sized void where muscle should be where it just… isn’t. So, that’s a problem. Of course when this comes up in conversation, the question of how this came to be comes into play. That’s when I think back to one of the most out of control shows I’ve been to in all my 25 years.
Deströyer 666 remains a band that, musically, I’m very fond of and for a time considered them among my absolute favorites. Back in 2006, Phoenix Rising was what I considered a perfect album and so when I heard they were touring the States, I knew I had to go. They kicked off their first ever North American tour in NYC, and a trip down to see a band that I loved was no big deal and certainly nothing I hadn’t done many times before. September 29th, they were playing Metal Kingdom in Queens and I hopped on the Fung-Wah with my boyfriend at the time and a few others, tickets in hand and booze sufficiently hidden until sporadic opportune moments to imbibe en route presented themselves.
Oh, P.S. I forgot my ID. That was an unfortunate realization getting to the door and being turned away time after time. I waited outside, damn near begging to be let in. Not in tears, but pathetic and convincing enough in the end. They let me in just in time to see the headlining band I traveled down to see, and by that time all of the openers had left the stage. I didn’t care, I was happy enough at that point to be out of the cold and on my way to seeing a performance I had been anxiously awaiting for months.
I wish I could tell you exactly, song for song, what the setlist was, I really do. Unfortunately, I don’t remember that far back. All I can tell you is as per usual for me back then, I was up at the front, fists clenched in the air, screaming back all the words KK Warslut was venomously spewing out. It was amazing. The crowd was intense and I hadn’t felt that engulfed in an audience since being pushed against the guardrail at an Anthrax/Motörhead show until my ribs cracked. There were more bottles being broken over skulls than you could shake your leather laden fist at, more fist fights than spikes on your meticulously planned out gauntlets. It was downright violent, and was I surprised? No. And only mildly concerned until a mass of drunken flesh and bone came at me like a battering ram, forcing my shoulder from it’s socket.
So… I’m standing there. Still in the crowd, dumbfounded. This has never happened before, and it fucking KILLS! Some big burly dude pulls me by my left a/k/a not fucked up arm to the back to try to figure something out. We’re all kind of sitting there; they’re asking me if I need anything, I’m trying to figure out how to fix the situation without causing too much of a stir. I was vocal enough about forcing my way into the venue, I wasn’t going to be “that girl”. So, I did what any other rational little lady would do. I popped it back in place myself.
Now, I know this isn’t an uncommon occurrence, limbs getting displaced and all. I’m sure you know that once it happens, it’s best to stay away from situations where it could happen again, especially immediately following. You’d think I’d take the hint after it popped back out a second time standing in a crowd such as this one, and to a point I did. In my defense, after that, I stepped back and removed myself from the front where most of the action was happening. Unfortunately, the front wasn’t the only place people were getting rip-shit bananas and POP, there it goes again. This being the third time within an hour, the pain is damn near unbearable and I saunter off to the very back to wait for the show to end. Mwap mwap.
That was almost five years ago. During this time, my shoulder has taken a liking to its rolling stone lifestyle, and removes itself from its otherwise suitable abode when it sees fit. Below is a brief list of some activities that my shoulder is pretty much against:
- When I’m… uh, you know. Like… with a dude. Heh.
- Doing my hair
- Picking up pieces of paper
- Taking off my pants
- Walking up stairs
So, after years of dealing with a bitch-ass, good-for-nuthin’ shoulder, I’m getting surgery. This unfortunately means that I’ll be in a sling for a month, and prior to that, drugged up on painkillers in my bed for about a week. Not to worry, folks, I’ve got what I like to call my Pissed Off One Armed Meal Plan aaaall taken care of.
Sure, it’s better to get this done and over with while I have pretty decent health insurance. And, yeah, I’ll have some summer to enjoy after the fact, both arms flailing in the sun which is a completely normal pasttime, I assure you. Admittedly, my mindset has been going from “meh” to downright bitter more frequently as the days have drawn closer. I mean, that’s less time I’ll have to spend at the beach, forget about rock climbing or all the heavy lifting I wanted to do this year. I can’t help you move your couch or even a coffe table this summer, and that breaks my heart! Looking on the bright side, maybe this’ll be the summer I can finally conquer ambidexterity. Or at least catch up on Dexter.