The End

The Very End.

A year ago, I began three things. Flossing regularly, crying in the shower, and writing this blog, a collection of my most unusual encounters with the occupants of my apartment Complex. If this is the first time you’re reading this blog…where the hell were you the past year?! This was 8 peoples favorite part of every 4 months…because if you’ve been with me since the beginning, you know that while I’m consistent in judging the people with whom I make my community, I’m inconsistent with posting on this forum. I ambitiously named my first post “Week 1” under the assumption I’d write every week. And I un-ambitiously retracted my commitment to write every week while maintaining each post’s title as “Week X”. I make the rules! I’m the decider!

But, if you’ve read any of these posts then you and I have been through some interesting times together. Experiencing trauma together can deepen and fortify friendships. That’s why I’m still such close friends with the people I saw Beaches with. So, in a way, you, my readers are my closest friends. And to be honest, we already knew that because every time I post, I text my closest friends and ask them to go like this on Facebook.

Like every sports movie you ever hated, I thought it’d be fun to do a little “where are they now?” sequence with some of this blog’s key players.

Do you remember Cowboy? He was the first person I met here and I initially believed I’d see him more often, but in fact, I never saw him again. Something he said has recently come to mind:

He commented on my dodgers hat and asked me if the cubs would ever win the pennant.

I know little about bears but I know cubs are baby bears and I figured they probably wouldn’t win much of anything, so I said no. Clearly I know very little about baseball as well. It was a lucky shot, though. Similar to baby bears, the baseball team ‘the Chicago Cubs’ will likely never win the pennant and there’s a thing about that, so, Cowboy and I bonded in that regard. – From Week 1

If you’re like the house key I have hidden just in case I accidentally leave the other one at a Wendy’s again, then you’ve been living under a rock. And you don’t know that the baseball team, the Chicago Cubs, won the World Series this year. I imagine that I’ll never forget watching that game at Coin Laundry, thinking about Cowboy and where he might be. I wonder if he was thinking about me. And then, depending on where he is, if that’s sweet or creepy? No! We liked Cowboy. He was welcoming.

In fact, many of the people I met at the Complex ended up being kind and welcoming. Of course you’ll remember our friends Bridgette & Rick? I first met them in the hot tub and in each encounter afterward. Bridgette and Rick were, probably besides me, the most consistent fixtures in the Complex hot tub. And in the same way I counted on them being there almost every time I visited, I could also always count on their colorful stories.

I never heard about their friend Squirrel again, though I hope he’s figured out his little situation.

Bridgette and Rick; however, are doing great! Shortly before my lease expired, Bridgette and Rick announced their pregnancy to me! They’re expecting a little boy they’ll name Mason (you may remember one of my first stories involved a Mason) and have moved out of the complex. They’ve purchased a lovely little home where Bridgette can entertain all of her Pinterest projects. They’ve also done something very admirable in quitting smoking and drinking, to prepare the way for their new little one. Despite going dry, Bridgette and Rick still have some pretty colorful commentary on life.

“Were you glad to hear it’s a boy?” I asked.

“You bet!” an emphatically giddy Bridgette responded. “With a boy, I’ve only gotta worry about one dick,” she added.

“With a girl, you gotta worry about everyone’s dick,” Rick clarified.

“Well, do well now and while you raise the little guy, and I’m sure you won’t have to worry about anything!” I encouraged them. They hugged me and said goodbye, noting it would likely be the last time we’d see each other except for the odd run-in at Von’s or the like. I will miss them.

And then there’s my buddy, Adele.

I last left Adele naked in the Hot Tub. No no, that’s not what I mean. I left because he was getting naked. And I actually never saw Adele again. Due to some uncomfortable Beginner’s Acting Classes I took at community college, I typically don’t like to entertain hypotheticals. In the case of Adele, however, I’d like to imagine where he might be now.

Singing to a stranger? Bobbing in the hot tub in the buff? Doing a line of coke off a bicycle seat? It’s hard to imagine anything that sounds realistic given my few interactions with Adele. Was I witness to his life’s most eccentric moments or was I simply experiencing Adele at his most natural and consistent? These are the type of questions that linger, fester and prod since my extrication from the Complex. If nothing else, I wish Adele the absolute best.

As for some of the other featured players, it’s hard to update. Many of my meetings were one-off interactions, especially with those college students interning in town in the short term. I imagine Annie and Hannah are doing alright, though I haven’t seen them since they left me alone with Tebow Mambo, unfortunately. I’d like to know there wasn’t any lasting damage.

I can only hope Dirk is doing well in school. And I can also only hope that I never see Ricardo or Bachelor #3 again. As for what happened, I won’t hold it against Bachelor #3. In fact, I think that’s precisely why he was frustrated with me.

At the beginning of this endeavor, I told you

“Here we are. Discounted rate. Pool. Hot tub. A parking spot you don’t have to murder for. Oh. And ‘300 child actors and their moms’ a year.”

I’d like to address now what I only lightly addressed at the beginning of Week Four. Where are all the adolescent thespians? Well, I guess that’s what I get for naming something before knowing what it’ll become, a sentiment usually reserved for the parents of Chaz Bono. But the fact is, I didn’t really meet any kids. And if you really think about that, it’s a good thing. Kids shouldn’t talk to strangers. Done.

And, so, here we really are. At the end with just a few things left to say.

I realize I’ve yet to address the big question. Who peed in the pool? I’ve asked myself this question often this week as I’ve contemplated putting this conclusion post together. If taken literally, I have to say, I don’t know. I spent little time in the pool. But I don’t think that’s what this title is really about.

When I ask Who Peed in the Pool? I think I’m asking, in essence, “Who is responsible for the weirdness at this place?” I’ve spent a year taking inventory on a score of unique, uncomfortable, and unexpected encounters with, let’s be honest here, weirdos. I’ve changed their names because they’re real. I’ve made friends with some of them. I’ve even been inside one of their apartments in an encounter I actually cannot write about, for privacy purposes (not my own). And at the end of the day, the answer to this question is also the biggest lesson this year has taught me.

Me. I peed in the pool. I am responsible for the weirdness here.

No I didn’t infuse the hot tub’s chlorine filter with trace amounts of an experimental rave drug that makes normal people highly suggestible to odd behavior. I am responsible for the weirdness here because I’m the only one measuring it. This blog represents my year of recording the symptoms of people’s histories, not communicating their essences holistically. And while I don’t find that problematic for the purposes of this collection, I would like to point out that what has ended up posted here is a fraction of the stories I’ve heard at the Complex and never the full-extents to which I learned about each person reflected here.

The people at the Complex are only strange under my microscope and are victims of my restlessness to type. They’re living their lives and making life-changing decisions in the way their experiences have taught them how, just like you and me.

Nowadays, it’s not unusual to hear anyone my age relish in cancelling plans or shriek in fear at the thought of meeting strangers. And when we do meet people, who, measured against our own experience, appear strange, we write them off (or write about them). WhoPeed has taught me to see people and enjoy doing so. We live in an extremely colorful world, and if you’re a fellow Angeleno, an even more colorful city. We have opportunities every day to hear the stories of those passing by or give a hearing to someone who’s voice yearns to be heard. Take out your headphones. Put down your phone. Engage with the world around you. Ask a homeless man if he knows how to fly. Flag down a traffic-guard and ask her where she bought her whistle. Meet Cher at a Michael’s. Wherever these encounters make sense, you might learn something undeniably valuable. Wherever they don’t make sense, you can start your own blog.

So there it is. Who peed in the pool? I did.

And maybe, if I get a job as a stand-in on The Middle or the housing market comes crashing down around me,  I’ll have the pleasure of peeing in the pool again.