The Internet won’t shut up about Lena Dunham, actress, writer and mastermind of HBO’s series “Girls.” Dunham’s fat, Dunham’s racist, Dunham hates Rihanna. Hey, Internet: I don’t care. Dunham is hilarious.

It might be because I’m smack in the middle of the series’ target audience – 20 years old, terrified of the real world, with three best friends who love me even though I show up late to nearly everything – but I can’t get over my love affair with “Girls.”

“Girls” is scarily relatable. I couldn’t help but see myself in Hannah, Dunham’s character, as she sat on her bed, learning to cut her bangs from a YouTube tutorial. What a perfect reflection of 20-somethings today. I’m pretty sure my parents got out of all kinds of parental duties, like teaching me to put on lipstick and curl my hair, because I asked the Internet instead.

The second season begins in signature “Girls” style – full of subtle humor, confusing relationships and enough skin to make me uncomfortable while watching it on my laptop in Panera (St. Louis Bread Co., sorry).

The show is young, though, and it still has time to drift from its realistic, grounded center. I can feel the characters slipping a little, getting more and more insane. When they’re so crazy, and I can no longer identify (they have a ways to go, I’m sure), I’ll stop watching. But until then, “Girls” has my heart.