Ooh La La

I'm listening to Lady GaGa's new jam "Bad Romance" and thinking about the Man Haters Club. Around three, I got a cappuccino and sat in the student lounge with my homework. I was scowling, trying to read a poem, when one girl exploded. She couldn't take it- she was done with her man. All of a sudden, everyone was in a rage. (The boys were m.i.a, probably hiding near the urinals, one ear pressed to the door). This one's boyfriend was a prick and that one's hook-up was laying the groundwork and wasn't he such an asshole. I put my pencil down and scowled for a second. Had we started a Man Haters Club unknowingly? The rage was palpable; the poor man refilling the vending machine seemed a little frightened. I found it curious that each girl felt similarly neglected, beaten down, sad about her situation. Why the miscommunication? Can't romance be easy? Roses and some chocolate? A hug? Lady GaGa would say assolutamente no. The conversation carried into Italian 301. In broken speech, we tried to explain ourselves, and to reason our way through our experiences. We didn't reach any conclusion, shocking I know. I had to laugh: at 21, my life is a bad romance. But hey, the girls will sing along.