Something about getting naked in public.

Eh, that placeholder wasn't actually supposed to be the title of this post, but it works.

Anyway, as every wife knows, you can put something on the to do list but that doesn't mean he's gonna do it. Well "Blog" was put on the list. Then a tornado came through and ripped the list of the fridge. Worry not! The list was recovered from the rubble. But then the hamster ate it. :/

Okay, that's only partially true. And by "partially true" I mean "completely false," but I felt the need to provide you with a reason for our hiatus. Hiatus. That's a good word. We're like an awesome TV show that completely devastates its viewership by announcing its winter hiatus. Or in our case our winter, spring, summer, and half of fall hiatus. Except we didn't announce it. And we can't promise that another hiatus isn't imminent. But we're trying.

So what happened? Mike (that's me...you do remember me, right?) moved to Canada and started graduate school. Kayla fell in love (I wanted to use the "L" word here, but Kayla pretty much threatened to rip my heart out through my nose because they hadn't actually used that word yet), started a new job, and finished graduate school.

So we were both super busy. Heck, we both are super busy (I'm avoiding homework at this very moment!). I was also distracted by my other blogging efforts which included a blog devoted to immigrating to Québec (RIP) and another devoted to becoming a published author successful ventriloquist. That latest version is still alive-ish, but I haven't had much time for ventriloquism-y stuff so I instead post motivational (ish...) gay ramblings.

Anyway, Kayla and I recently discussed the fact that ridiculous things continue to happen to us even if we live in different countries and they're not happening to us simultaneously. So, we've decided to return to our loyal readers (reader? Hi, Mom!) and tell you about the crazy shit (Hi, Mom...) that continues to happen to us.

So where to start for me? Well, there are a lot of challenges and mishaps that arise from moving to a new country. Cultural differences, a different language (I live in French-speaking Québec...hey, look, my bachelor's degree isn't so useless after all!), being accosted by street performers, and the list goes on and on.

Still, none of it compares to the horror of what I experienced today.

When writing this post I was shocked to discover the tag "working out" already existed. Turns out that once upon a time I posted about how I worked out (and my motivation). Well, that routine went the same way as the relationship I was in at the time.

Anyway, last week I enrolled in the workout room at my university's athletic facility. As part of that enrollment I was entitled to a free meeting with a personal trainer to establish a workout routine. I was extremely nervous. Mainly because 1) I'd have to interact with someone (and worse, probably a straight guy!) and 2) I'd have to know the right vocabulary. A gym-going, French-speaking friend told me not to worry, that all the terms are in English. I was relieved to hear that. Unfortunately, the trainer was indeed a young straight dude. I don't know why they terrify me so much but they do. I arrived at the gym early and actually found myself trying to act more masculine as I paced waiting for my appointment. Seriously. Even I told myself I was being an idiot. Anyway, the trainer was super nice and I was very happy to have my routine all planned out. Finally! A routine put together just for me! After the trainer had showed me how to use all the machines, I did my first workout. It was pretty much a success and I headed to the locker room.

I had gotten my routine, done my first workout, and was feeling very optimistic about the future. So I called my mom right away after leaving the gym and told her about my biggest accomplishment: "I SHOWERED IN PUBLIC."

See, after my workout I was, as one would expect, sweaty. I needed a shower. I had brought shower things but I knew I'd never do it. Shower in public? NO WAY. I could have just gotten dressed and returned home to shower, but my O.H.D. (Obsessive Homosexual Disorder) got in the way. See, I have a relatively modest wardrobe (read: I'm broke) and if I went home sweaty, then the outfit I wore to the gym (before changing into workout clothes) would get all sweat-covered (too cold to just wear the gym outfit home) and be unwearable after showering at home. So I'd be on my second outfit of the day. PLUS it's Friday night so it was possible that I would go out tonight and I wasn't going to get ready for that right after the gym. So, my going out outfit would make a THIRD outfit in one day. I couldn't handle it. So, I SHOWERED AT THE GYM.

Seriously, this is something I never thought I would do. Like ever. But I did. The gym has the classic big shower room with a dozen shower heads. Fortunately, it has four of these rooms...and one of them was unoccupied. So I raced to one of the corners, dropped my towel, and did the showery stuff. I hoped that the fact that I was facing the corner coupled with the sound of the running water would shield me from the knowledge of someone else entering the room. I got through my whole routine (okay, an abbreviated version...baby steps) before someone came in. By then I had towel in hand. SUCCESS! (As long as "success" means "hiding my man parts from other people at all costs.")

On an unrelated (or is it?) note, I need beauty tips for the gym because there be some hotties up in there and I can't be looking like my "I just rolled out of bed" self. Which reminds me...am I the only person that showers before going to the gym? Cuz I did. And I'll shower again if I go out. Three showers in one day, totally normal, right?

Also, I need a new inspiration board. Maybe an inspiration wall. I love working out. :)


UPDATE:
Guys... Guys... I was so nervous on Friday that I just ran into the shower without much thought...or observation. Well today (Monday) I went back to the gym for my second workout (despite the fact that I'm still in so much pain from Friday's workout that it's difficult to wash my hands) and the locker room was much emptier. Guess what I found in a less rushed stroll into the shower area? Private stalls lining the wall of one of the four shower rooms. *sigh* This is pretty much what it means to be me.