MY WORLD HATH EXPLODED.
Because Amy, Amy Zhang, Amy Zhang who is my token Asian, Amy Zhang who I have known since we were seven, MY Amy, has a boyfriend.
There is a man, in this world, that lives up to Amy's standards. Consider that as a terrifying mistruth and sign of the imminent Apocalypse. The universe will be folding in on itself any minute now.
Listen to this dreamboat: 6 feet tall, curly brown hair, Major in Astrophysics, working on a huge (if not complete) scholarship, has a great body, runs about 6 mi a day, plays the clarinet, piano, mandolin, and guitar, and lives on the same floor as him.
AND SHE ENJOYS HUGGING HIM.
This is from Amy, "I'm not really a touchy person", "I'm not going to like my boyfriend touching me", "I have issues with contact" Amy. She doesn't want to hold hands, and they definitely have not kissed, but she ENJOYS HUGGING HIM.
Sao is probably scraping my brains off the walls right about now, or trying to brush the puddly goo all over my chair under the rug. Because I am having trouble forming coherent thoughts, or even typing correctly. I bet this entry is a wreck, grammatically.
Anyway, the long and short of it is this: Amy. Is. Dating.
And I am officially the only one of my friends not to have dated. I am comparatively lame. I feel like I'm going to have a stigmata that forms the words, "FAIL" on my forehead when I wake up tomorrow. And how can I happily go back to (avoiding) writing my essays now?! My innocent peace of mind has been irreparably shattered. There's no going back; I'm a hysterical mother and I can't be stopped.
I am going to vet this sonofa so hard, because no one but the best is allowed near my Amy. *glowers overprotectively*
But I digress. Goodnight.
There is a man, in this world, that lives up to Amy's standards. Consider that as a terrifying mistruth and sign of the imminent Apocalypse. The universe will be folding in on itself any minute now.
Listen to this dreamboat: 6 feet tall, curly brown hair, Major in Astrophysics, working on a huge (if not complete) scholarship, has a great body, runs about 6 mi a day, plays the clarinet, piano, mandolin, and guitar, and lives on the same floor as him.
AND SHE ENJOYS HUGGING HIM.
This is from Amy, "I'm not really a touchy person", "I'm not going to like my boyfriend touching me", "I have issues with contact" Amy. She doesn't want to hold hands, and they definitely have not kissed, but she ENJOYS HUGGING HIM.
Sao is probably scraping my brains off the walls right about now, or trying to brush the puddly goo all over my chair under the rug. Because I am having trouble forming coherent thoughts, or even typing correctly. I bet this entry is a wreck, grammatically.
Anyway, the long and short of it is this: Amy. Is. Dating.
And I am officially the only one of my friends not to have dated. I am comparatively lame. I feel like I'm going to have a stigmata that forms the words, "FAIL" on my forehead when I wake up tomorrow. And how can I happily go back to (avoiding) writing my essays now?! My innocent peace of mind has been irreparably shattered. There's no going back; I'm a hysterical mother and I can't be stopped.
I am going to vet this sonofa so hard, because no one but the best is allowed near my Amy. *glowers overprotectively*
But I digress. Goodnight.