My neck! My neck and my back!

It all happened so fast. Perhaps as all car accidents do.
Some pedestrian (or stupidestrian, as I like to call him) decided that it was a good idea to take a leisurely stroll across Howell Mill during rush hour. Not at a light, mind you, but at a randomly placed crosswalk in the middle of the street. (I blame the city of Atlanta for painting that there.) The van in front of me didn't see him crossing the street until it was almost too late, so he slammed on his brakes. Which, in turn, made me have to slam on my brakes. But thankfully, I stopped before I hit the van. Unfortunately, the guy behind me wasn't so lucky.

I finally had my first car accident.

And let me just say that Saturns ROCK! The other guy's car was all messed up. I mean broken headlight, scratched up everywhere, and what looked like a broken hood. My car, a lovely little Saturn VUE, had no dents, no scratches, no nothing really. I saw a little scrape and that was it. And I was fine, too. I instantly had a headache but I think it was from the stress of being in an accident. I told the guy I was okay and that we didn't have to exchange information, considering that his car was the messed up one. At first, he seemed as though he was trying to act like it was my fault. Saying stuff like, "Don't worry about it..." and "Thanks for pulling over." I'm thinking to myself, YOU HIT ME, BUMHOLE! Get over yourself! Geez. But anyway, I'm fine. My back is fine. My neck is fine. And some nachos that I had just purchased from Willy's were also fine. (I did the "Mom reach over and save the passenger" move.) YES!

Planned Parenthood

**My male readers might want to run and hide from this post, but it's not that bad.**

Planned Parenthood. Just the name alone makes me think of an old dusty room packed with teenagers, pregnant teenagers. But when I stepped off of the elevators, that's not what I found at all. The place was nice and clean; there were females (and males) of all ages. I even saw a cute young couple who were there to get HIV tested together (smart girl, I thought). I only went there to get my annual exam and HIV test because one of my friends told me it was cheap for students. And it was. Yay!

Let me just tell you, I'm not a fan of being naked on a cot, feet in stirrups, with all my business out there for some strange person to inspect. In fact, I've been going to the same gynecologist in Mississippi since I was 17. He knows I laugh during the breast exam because I'm ticklish; he knows that my cervix is tilted (oh the horror stories I have with other doctors trying to get that damn cervix). But I have to say, my experience at Planned Parenthood was THE BEST exam I've ever had.

The wait was horrible, though. I waited an hour and 15 minutes in the waiting room and another 30 minutes one I got into the room. But when the nurse practitioner came in, we talked, mostly about the history of breast cancer in my family. During the breast exam, we talked (and I didn't laugh), while she tried to get the right angle to find my cervix (didn't take her long), we talked, during the pelvic exam, we talked. And I didn't mind. In fact, it was great, and before I knew it, it was over.

In the end, I only paid a little over 75 bucks for a flawless annual exam, 3 months BC, and an HIV test. Score! So, if you're a full time student, like myself, I highly recommend the downtown Atlanta Planned Parenthood for your next annual exam. Plan to be there for at least 3 or 4 hours though. teehee.

Girlz Night.

Hey, hey, hey!!! We finally went out and did something with our bad selves.

Aisha, Lynn, Kuh Reel Yuh and myself all went to Verve Lounge tonight. It's down Peachtree and is basically 3 floors of clubbing fun. You tired of reggae on the second floor? Go upstairs. Wanna hear live music? Go downstairs. It was fun. I thought I was cute:

I had on my contacts (which I NEVER wear) because I didn't want to be bothered with my glasses. Me and Kuh Reel Yuh took pictures, myspace-style:

It rained a little bit, but we make anythang look good:

Lynn drove..

...and took my place as the "drunk man magnet." Teehee.

We danced:

We didn't know that when we got back to Lynn's car her tire would be flat.

We called Triple A and had to wait another hour after we left the club in a parking lot. Which would've been okay if we weren't fighting off homeless guys and crackheads. One crackhead, might I add, was sent over by an oh-so gentlemanly guy who was on his cell phone sitting on the hood of his car the entire time we waited. He didn't want to help us, so he told the crackhead to see if we needed help. Thank you typical Atlanta guy, thanks.

Guy after guy walked past, no one offered to help us. But as soon as the AAA guy got there we heard, "Y'all need some assistance..." "Oh, I didn't know y'all had a flat tire..."

Mmmm Hmmmm, save it fellas. As much as I hate Mississippi and have vowed never to date someone from there again, I can say one good thing about it. In Mississippi, we wouldn't have had to call AAA, somebody would've helped us.

*shaking my head* Step yo game up Atlanta guys. Geez.

We went back for more.

And we survived! Ty and I went back to Dance 411 today for the beginner juice class we took a couple weekends ago (Ty has been going every week). Remember the teacher I talked about (thought her name was Mia)? Well it turns out her name is Neo (Isn't her hair fabulous?), and she read my other post about her class. When we walked in and put our stuff down, she turned to us and said, "I liked your blog." We were like, "Whaaaaa?" I was semi-embarrassed (why? I don't know), but excited at the same time. She probably made the class a little more bearable for us elderly folks this time around (no knee slides), but we made it through without anyone reverting to the fetal position. We must join.

Dance 411, or should I say 911?

Today my classmate Ty and I went to Dance 411 for a beginner hip hop class called Juice. As you can see from the picture we were hella excited and ready to be all Hippy and Hoppy. On the way there we even sang a little diddy that went something like, "We going to hiiiiiip hop, it's gon be fuuuuunnnnn, and we gon liiiiiiiike it..."

Upon arriving we paid our first time class fee of $10 (not bad I must say) and waited for the Reggae class to end. And that's when I saw her - a girl walked in with the EXACT hair I want. It was natural, curly, wild, long, and uber-cute; turns out, she was our teacher. Before class started, Ty and I were kind of just standing around while all the younger, more agile dancers gyrated to the music. Some people were talking, some were stretching, some were biting their nails and smiling nervously (uhhh, that would be Ty and me). We warmed up and the teacher (I think her name was Mia) had us doing crazy push ups and ab work. My energy was already spent before we had learned a single step.

The dance was hella difficult; it involved scoops, knee sliding, kicks, pointing and all sorts of other dancy-goodness. Ty and I held in there (in the back of course) trying not to look too elderly and out of shape amongst all those youngins. She wouldn't allow the air conditioning to be turned on, she said, "Y'all supposed to be dancers, you're supposed to be sweating." I begged to differ. We sweat so much, my pores are exhausted. And as the class continued, Mia's clothes got fewer and fewer. When class first started she had on two shirts, a scarf, sweatpants, etc. That scarf got thrown probably 5 seconds into class. The first shirt maybe 10 minutes into class, and the second shirt left her shortly after. Now she had on a bikini top and sweatpants. I wish it were me. So not only did she have the hair I want, but the body as well. We learned the dance in sections and kept adding on until we'd learned the whole thing. Then she broke the class up into two groups, Ty and I were group 1. We went back and forth doing the entire routine alternating groups (somewhere in the middle of that Ty disappeared). I loved and hated it at the same time because I wanted to get everything down and some moves just weren't clicking with me. I finally spotted Ty, almost in the fetal position in the corner. He'd given up on life. He said he felt light-headed, and really I did too - but something made me keep going. He joined back in for the cool down though. The class totally kicked our butts. Most of the folks in class stuck around for "Advanced Juice" which followed, but Ty and I hauled ass out of there. And remember how happy and excited we were before class? Well here's us after class:All and all, I don't think the class was beginner level. But it was fun nonetheless. It was what we wanted: an hour of hip-hoppy goodness - we just didn't expect to be so close to death afterwards. Dance 411 has so many fun-sounding classes on their schedule (Salsa, Jazz, ATL Crank, Pole Dancing, etc) that I can't go to because I have school. But the weekend ones I can (and will) definitely try out. For bustin' my butt, they get an A++.