So, while in Philly this week, I met up with my good friend for a girls' night out before I left for Cincinnati again. The guy friends we were originally supposed to hang out with sort of stood us up in that they showed up at a bar for about two seconds, just to announce that they have to get up early the next day and they had to leave. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Slightly pissed off at the overall situation, my friend and I decide to switch our drinking locales and we head over to a bar a few blocks away. As we enter, one particular guy catches my eye right away and I try to do my best not to visibly show my amazement. The guy looks JUST LIKE THE ARTIST. I mean, everything - his body, his face, his smile, his style - everything was looking pretty close to identical to The Artist.

I had to share my immediate sentiments with my friend. "I must get his number," I confided in her, "I gotta forget for a second that I am leaving the city in about 48 hours. I NEED his number."

After a few sips of my my Red Bull and vodka drink, I get hit on by some semi-pleasant and semi-hot guy but I just can't keep my eyes off The Artist Look-Alike. I juggle my priorities between making pleasant conversation with the Semi-Hottie and the man I truly want.

At some point The Artist Look-Alike is told by one of his friends that I practically can't stop starring at him and the guy begins looking over his shoulder every five seconds and smiling at me. Oh Jesus Christ, my initial reaction was right - his smile is as radiant and sexy as that of The Artist.

Without giving it a second thought, I give the Semi-Hottie my number and he leaves the bar with his crew. At that point the bar is about to close down so everyone begins to proceed to the exit. As The Artist Look-Alike and his friends walk by me, he paused for a second and flashes his smile at me. I am freaking smitten and I just walk over and say hi.

Jesus, what am I doing? I am leaving the city on Sunday and here I am talking to this drop-dead sexy guy, here I am getting invited over to his place.

Wait.

Getting invited over to his place?!

My head is spinning in a semi-drunken whirlwind and I stare at the boy for a second longer.

"Are you gonna give me a ride home in the morning?" I say before realizing what I am saying.
"Of course," he replies, and out of the corner of my eye I see the worried look on my friend's face.
"Don't worry," I tell her candidly, "I will be okay. I will text you and let you know how everything goes."

I leave with The Artist Look-Alike, against my better judgement and his friend drives us around through a maze of tiny street of the Philly suburbia, until we finally get dropped off at his place, which turns out to be a typical little house with a white picket fence. He clearly lives with his parents, which raises a question...

"Hey, how old are you?"

"Twenty one."

Jesus, why do I like them so young all of the sudden.

We make out on his couch for about three hours until the sunrise. I make an excuse of "I don't usually do this kind of stuff with guys I just meet" and I hate myself for saying that cliche phrase. The guilt quickly dissipates though and I pass out on his chest with my shirt off.

Around 6 am, I open my eyes in a dream-like state from the noise I hear. I look around the dimly lit room just to find, to my complete shock and embarassment, the guy's father coming down the stairs to take care of his miscellaneous business. I do nothing but lay still, with my bare back turned towards the father and silently wish that I could teleport myself to my own bed.

The father seems to be taken aback by a semi-naked girl laying on top of his son on a couch, but says nothing and quickly grabs something out of the mini-fridge. I close my eyes and drift away into dreamland again.

At 9am I get woken up again by light kisses on my forehead and neck. The Artist Look-Alike smiles at me as I open my eyes and I have to catch my breath for a second because the boy looks just like The Artist himself. Throughout our morning conversation, I find out that his birthday is the same month as The Artist's. They are truly clones of one another.

At 11am I politely ask him to drive me home, and on the drive back to my parents' place I find out that the boy is going to be in Vegas the same week I am vacationing there. We exchange numbers and make plans to meet up in a month, in Nevada.

"Call me if you're ever in Cincinnati," I say, as casually as possible, where all I really want to say is, "You are the most amazing man ever, what do I need to do to be with you?"

"I don't think I will ever come around that way," he says, oblivious as to how those words crush my heart, "But call me when you're in Vegas."

I nod and kiss him in a hurry before getting out of the car.

And yet again, I begin to regret no longer living in Philly. And yet again I have to remind myself that work comes before men for now. My 4.0 this quarter and my new appointment as a graduate assistant to a professor need to keep me on track. Otherwise, I am lost, for I, like everyone else, need love too.