dannydmc

The last few months have left me scratching my head and asking a very single question; "What's Going On?" Because of that, before you read this long journal entry, why not enjoy one of the most appropriate songs ever written about my current state of mind!



So, you listened to it? Good! Now keep that chorus in mind as you read this blog; you may well be asking yourself the same question before its all over



introduction

I have been meaning to write this post for months now. Every time something hectic, exciting or just plain weird happened over the past several months, I declared that I would finally have to update my blog and fill everyone one; after all, nothing odder was likely to happen. Then, naturally, something even more weird would come at me, and I'd be left in shock, and deciding to put the blog off for a few more days until that last event had sunk in, and I had some time to reflect. After all, certainly, the newest oddity would have to be the last. *rolls eyes*
The problem, of course, is that the weirdness never stopped; it hasn't stopped since I first began hanging out with my two friends in Fargo. We first met in January or February of 2008, although the friendship wasn't cemented until roughly April or so. Since that time, my life has been a roller coast of odd occurrences, and weird happenings that, if they were to be written down in novel form, would leave critics scratching their heads an muttering about the unbelievability of the story. The fact remains, however, that this is not a story, this is my life, and everything I'm about to lay out for you actually happened!

In the Beginning ...

Where to begin? At one point I would have told you that the weirdness really began in November, and there is some truth to this, as things began to accelerate from that point onwards, but there was one incident that happened back in July which really did, in my mind, kick-start the epicness of the past year. I won't go into a lot of detail because my lone journal of the summer covers the events quiet well. Suffice to say, my two friends and I took a road trip to Northern Wisconsin and the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and had a possibly paranormal experience which left us badly shaken and, in the case of one of us (not me), terrified and questioning his own faith. (Oddly enough, the experience did more to confirm my own view of the way the world worked; there was a certain shock of having it rubbed directly into my face, but also an excitement of having something like that finally happen.) If you want more details, I suggest looking at my old journals, or my post on the SUpernatural group; it remember it being a good write up!
After our run-in with a possible "little person" as recognized by the Ojibway people, things fell quiet for a time. The summer ended and I began my third semester of Grad School at NDSU. Having gotten Straight As both the semester before and during the summer, I was looking forward to more of the same; especially I was taking a Mediaeval History class, as well as one on the History of Modern Europe. Also, after a summer of heavy partying and building up a social network, I was feeling confident enough that I thought trying my hand at finding a girl would be a good day.
I can't remember too much odd things which happened from August through the beginning of October. I was busy, not only with class work, but also with two History conferences that I was presenting papers at. Those papers, and the traveling that went with them, were having a negative impact upon my checkbook (as was, I admit, the beer I kept buying; I really do like my beer!), but they were well worth it; my goal was to pad my VITA in preparation for my eventual applying to a PhD program. I worked hard, partied hard, and was having a great time.

And then things began to get weird.


Weddings and Armed Stand Offs!

The last weekend of October, a good friend I had met in Ireland, got married to his old High School flame. Having been invited to the wedding, I found it impossible not to go; not only was Jack one of my best friends, but the wedding was to be in Georgetown in Washington D.C.. I can tell you, that I have never seen that much luxury in my entire life! Not only was the reception at a 200 + year old mansion, or that brunch the next day was at the groom's sister's house which happened to be ... you guessed it, another 200 + year old home, but the hotel I was staying at cost me a cool 300 bucks a night! This naturally did not do much for my finances, nor did losing my Credit and Debit cards within hours of one another (The debit card was an honest mistake, I was hurrying to get to the hotel and dropped it, the credit card on the other hand ... well, that was a bit embarrassing, and I don't want to get into the details right now. If you really want to know, ask me about it when I'm drunk; it certainly adds to my 'bad boy' image )
I returned to Fargo and spent a week recovering from the wedding, and catching up on work which had piled up in that time. I, likely, would have enjoyed myself more, had I only known what was around the corner.
It was the end of the first full week of November; in fact, it was Sunday night. I had just discovered that I needed to TA for a class at 9 o'clock the following morning, and I was attempting to deal with this news as best I could. The problem, of course, is that I am often not even awake by 9 in the morning; there are certain days in which I am not even awake by noon, as a result of my being a night owl and unable to fall asleep before four in the morning. Luckily, one of my two friends in the building had an idea; I should get some beer, drink a few, and then head to bed early. The alcohol in the beer would make me sleep and let me fall asleep at a decent time for once; and it would be cheaper, and more fun, than relying upon my favorite sleep medication - Nite-Quill.
At 11:30 at night, this was exactly what I had done; a quick trip to the liquor store and produced a 40 oz bottle which was sure to make me sleepy enough so that I could fall sleep and get a good night's rest. That was when my other friend called, obviously excited, to let me know that he'd just had to let the cops into our apartment building, and that I should come down for a cigarette, because shit was getting interesting. I needed no further prodding, I grabbed my pack of American Spirits and headed down the five flights of stairs to see what was going on.
The next image which stands out in my mind is of my friend and I walking along the building, smoking our cigs, and rounding a corner in time to see a cop walking down the sidewalk, hoisting a gun which appeared to be, to my untrained eye, an AK-47. I remember my stomach dropping, my balls shooting back up into my gut, and my eyes nearly falling out of their sockets. The Super Cop looked at us and said, "Boys, if you got anywhere else to be, I'd be there. This may take a while."
Seeing as how he was well armed, and we were not, the two of us just nodded our heads and agreed that that sounded like damn good advice, and we'd get right on that, sir! We fled across the street, trying to figure out what to do next.
And so began my night as a modern day Ulysses. For the next 8 hours, we wandered around Fargo in a maddeningly random pattern; we went to the pub for an hour to wait the stand off out, we returned to the building to see the SWAT enter, we drove over to visit a few friends of ours, we returned to the building but could still not get in, we went to a local restaurant for coffee, and then walked around town for several hours. To make matters worse, I'd received a new credit card in the mail two days earlier, but it suddenly stopped working, leaving me without anyway to buy food or seek some form of shelter.
Finally, at 7:30 the next morning, the stand off ended. The swat team broke through the door of the offending resident, threw in a flash and tackled the blinded suspect to the floor. They ended up confiscating an assault rifle, several boxes of ammo and drugs. There was much rejoicing in the building at large, especially from Friend Number 1 (he who I was drinking with that night) as the SWAT had used his girlfriend's room as their base of planning.
I would like to say that I returned to the building, world worry and in need of support, and to the arms of my ever loving and waiting Penelope. Such was not the case; not only do I not know anyone named Penelope, but I also still needed to TA two classes in roughly an hour and a half. So, instead, I road the bus to campus, begged a cup of coffee from a kindly coffeeshop lady (who I paid back several day later) and did my duty as a TA. I then ran into my professor for my first class of the day who told me he was happy to hear that I was okay, and also told me to go home and get some sleep. He didn't have to tell me twice.

Later Developments

Life refused to slow down after that incident. Several days later Barack Obama was elected president, and a grand jubilee developed in my apartment. Much beer was drank that night, many cigarettes were smoked, and a good time was had by all. The next morning was slightly less enjoyable, but thats the price you pay for celebrating in the first place.
Then, a few weeks later, another disaster struck. I was coming back from my friend's place, upstairs, when I got my finger stuck in the hinge of a heavy metal door in our stair well. I had thrown the door open and then put my hand back to brace it open so that it would not slam shut and wake people up (it was 3 in the morning). Unfortunately for me, I had not paid much attention to where my right index finger was placed, and so was utterly surprised when I heard the door shut behind me, following by a dry 'crunch' noise.
I looked over, saw the shut door, the location of the finger, and went "huuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh". I was, at that moment, completely convinced I'd just sliced off the tip of my finger. I opened the door and was much relieved to see that the finger was still attached, although obviously wounded. Then I noticed the blood. A lot of blood.
Luckily, as it turns out, traumatic experiences always make me go cold; I'm one of the least likely people to panic in any given situation. This was no different; the accident had immediately sobered me up, and I knew I needed to get that finger under water. I quickly walked to my room, opened the door, and fled to the bathroom where I turned on the faucet and began to rinse the wound. I was lucky in another way; my friend had not yet gone over to his girlfriend's, and so I was able to call him and get help bandaging the finger up as best we could (Excerpt: Me: AHHHHH! Friend: "Is that bandage too tight?" Me: *wincing* NO! Tighter!")
My finger has since healed and, although it looks as ugly as sin, I've regained movement in it and it does not hurt much in the least. Also, much to my surprise, I have yet to loose the finger nail, making me believe it may stick around after all. On the brighter side, there is a good chance I'll get a groovy scar from the wound; everyone, I believe, needs a good war wound from their wild and crazy days. Now I've got mine, and it could have been a lot worse.

So, was that the end? Of course not! Several days afterwards, my car gave up the ghost and died. Since repairs would have cost the same as what I paid for the car, I bid the poor thing a fond ado, much to my sadness. I loved that car.