January 26, 2011
He only writes status updates in capital letters, he seems physically unable to follow through on brunch plans, and he hit on my sister once which he thought I wouldn't find out about. (Duh! She's my sister. She told me right away.)
He'd get on my nerves if he wasn't such a good time during the night time. And, he kicks me free drinks when I swing by his night at Barbarella so there's that.
Just don't make the mistake of bringing him home at the end of the party. He'll tear the place apart looking for food and beer like a skittish, thirsty raccoon. In the morning, your kitchen will look like a bomb went off with crushed Sun Chips on the floor, sticky countertops from juice spillage, and the faint odor of burned pizza because he tried to bake one at 4am but kept passing out. It's not worth the hassle. He's called a party animal for a reason: he's best enjoyed in his natural habitat.