"Just because you can't dance, doesn't mean you shouldn't dance." - Alcohol
On the 6th of July, Bad Bitch Claudia turned 18 years old. We partied it up at *Manjocksville until the wee hours of the morning, delighting ourselves in shots of Cane (I still remained true to the Blue Bracelet Vow), 2am boerewors rolls, idle chit-chat, numerous trips to the lumo paint station, more shots of Cane, and out of control dance floor invasions. And hey, you're probably thinking that that sounds rather chilled for an 18th birthday, but you'd be wrong. Let me tell you something about the Bad Bitches: When they go out, this is what they do:
Before you take a look at a few snapshots from the evening, I would like to take this opportunity to give a shout-out to my feet, for getting me through the night/morning and the eighteen holes of golf the following day. It was a rough weekend, buddies, but together, we made it through, and I will never take you for granted again, and I know that you're still feeling the pain, but it will be over soon, I promise. And to you, lovely readers, if you're ever in the cluuurrrb and you're wearing those gorgeous stilettos and you want to cry and there's liquid in your shoe and you don't know whether it's alcohol, a popped blister, or blood (hey, we tell it like it is here at Ignoreland), just do what I did, and keep telling yourself this:
And here's the photographic evidence:
*Pseudonym
(Video clips were taken from Jenna Marbles' video: White Girls at the Club)
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