I just want to party.

Somewhere deep inside of me there is a college frat boy dying to get out.
This college frat boy just wants to party. I don't drink, but he wants to.
I don't smoke either. But he thinks he wants to.
He wants to play Ultimate Frisbee, Where I have no desire to do any physical movement. Ever.
He wants to be social and have a gazillion inside jokes about dumb things, where
I don't really care.
He wants to be the center of attention. I'm fine with the sidelines.
He wants to be the mistake you make tonight. I don't make mistakes.
He wants to mak' on like ten different people. In a row.
I don't do that.
Ever.
He's crazy. He has great ideas. He's got balls.
I am a woman. No balls. My ideas are greater. I'm not crazy, it's just the hormones. (Not really.)
There's a college frat boy living inside of me.
He wants to do beer bombs.
I don't really know what a beer bomb is.
He wants to drink an entire keg.
According to this little card I got at school after one drink I should be completely over the limit and extremely intoxicated.
He wants to go chill with the bro's.
I just want to sit home on my computer and type up a novel.
He doesn't like to read very much. (He can handle an attractive persons phone number, but other than that he's pretty helpless.)
I want to eat healthy, because I'll get sick if I don't.
He likes Burger King. A lot.
His idea of looking good is rolling out of bed and putting clean clothes on.
Mine is: shower, lotion entire body, brush teeth, put makeup on, put an outfit on that took me an hour or so to  pick out.
Basically there is a college frat boy inside of me who just wants to party non-stop. Drink non-stop. And engage in sexual activities. With multitudes of people.
But I can't. Because I am not a college frat boy. Nor do the things that he wants to do sound all that exciting.