Sexy Weather.

Saturday night and the weather was pret-ty "sexy" (ah - the birth of a new Chip-ism, using "sexy" to modify "the weather". For those readers who aren't acquainted with the great Duffman, you probably have in your vocabulary at least a few Chip-isms that have infested popular culture. While currently out of rotation, urban legend has it that he is the origin of the inexplicable use of the phrase "da (a/k/a "the") bomb" and I am relatively certain that kids in middle America are now telling their friends how "zeused" they got last night.) But enough about the weather....

Took the virgin voyage of a Saturday night PATH ride to Newark. Usually I'm headed in the other direction and for good reason. At the Square I get the obligatory freak (complete with facial tattoo - Bonus!) squeezing into the seat next to me and immediately striking up a "conversation". He mentions how great the weather is. Yep. Pretty sexy - kind of like the white, wide-legged cropped pants he's rocking - an obviously psychotic fashion choice.

...And I'm having the "weather conversation" with the freak on the PATH train. Just adding some self-esteem lowering action to my Saturday night PATH train ride. Alone. As if not already painfully apparent, law school has rendered me completely incapable of carrying on a normal conversation in virtually an social setting including this uninvited one on public transportation. If the other person isn't using words like "affirmative" or "antithetical" I can't comprehend - and I'm not 100% sure I even know how to correctly use the words "affirmative" or "antithetical" in ANY sentence. Great.

Arrive in Newark. Freak #1 is harmless and seems to accept my answer that I have a "man". Which isn't a complete lie, because I AM headed to Brendan's birthday party and he is "someone special". Then, as I'm exiting the train, Freak #2 magically appears to welcome me to Newark. He wants to know my name and where I'm going. How considerate. The Newark Chamber of Commerce must really want me to get an "authentic" taste of what this city is all about, because Freak #2 proceeds to scare the shit out of me by following me through Penn Station and out the door. I pull a few ninja moves and manage to lose him, which is a challenge since I'm wearing 5 lbs. worth of bangle bracelets on my left arm. It's not easy being fashion-forward AND a skilled ninja.

Walk down Ferry Street to the bar. Again, this is my first Saturday night foray to the inner depths of Newark. I'm comforted by the Reggaeton soundtrack being provided for my walk by the passing cars. Reminds me of home. Shout out to the JC.

Survey says that Walgreen's is the-place-to-be. It's packed and folks are so anxious to get into the parking lot I'm almost run over - twice. There might be valet parking. I march on, undeterred by the temptation of the most popular Walgreen's on the planet.

Time to party. Or not. Because I arrive during the awkward post-dinner, pre-debauchery fun of dividing the check. I sit in silence. I learn a new phrase. Sexy weather.

Head downstairs. Sit in a circle on small upholstered cubes and woven baskets. I'm pretty sure this means the place is "hip". Freak #2 "The Newark Representative" did not tell me about this "hip"-ness. Thankfully I finally have alcohol in hand. Start to chat. About what?......law school. YES! Pretty sure it's indisputable, likely to lead to a conviction, evidence of brainwashing that I'm voluntarily talking about buying business suits on a Saturday night. I'm pretty sure this is against my religion.

Speaking of religion, the topic of conversation nicely segues to talk of tattoos. The sexy weather influenced my outfit and the crane/Star Wars/Wu-Tang tattoo on my shoulder is exposed. I learn I'm going to Hell for inking my body. I don't take it personally. If it wasn't the tattoos sending me to Hades I'm sure the nipple ring (and all the implications of why one would want a nipple ring in the first place) would secure my place in the fiery pits. That's okay. I'm sure the weather in Hell is REALLY sexy.

We pass around Skolnick's watch. This is actually fun. Skolnick has a REALLY big watch. You know what they say about guy's with big watches....And it's solar-powered. Sexy. Weather.

Zucker materializes (apparently he was at an NBA playoff game. Bastard.) Zucker IS "The Nicest Guy You Know". He immediately asks me if I know who Fabolous is - accurately enunciating the "o" so as not to be confused with someone merely fab-u-lous. I assume he's speaking of the Fabolous who spits lyrics such as:
I done copped coke and started droughts before
Shit Platinum out the door
Now I drop the top down just to shout to hoes

Zucker, (a) do you know who you're talking to? (the correct answer is "DJ Victorious!"), and (b) have you been drinking Sparks again?

I soon learn that Zucker is pretty much BFF with the man who likes to "keep a chick's face between limbs" and there are photos to prove it. Zucker also claims to be tight with Ne-Yo but this shot is not so up-close-and-personal so I retain a bit of skepticism.

These pictures lead me to only one conclusion: Zucker is moonlighting as a paparazzo covering the East Coast hip-hop beat. Which leads to a second conclusion: God (and by God, I mean the one that hasn't eternally damned me for having tattoos and body piercings) is telling me to follow my dream of "dancing" in a rap video and Zucker is my "in". Therefore, I am currently seeking volunteers to make it rain like Pacman while I practice for my audition. Shower of dollar bills - now that's what I call sexy weather.

The sexy weather seems to have gotten to Chip and he's making out at the bar. Wait. No. Change in weather alone can't explain the phenomenon of the year-round, knows no seasons, Chip bar make-out. Maybe the weather in Chip's world is sexy all the time. Kind of like how they say it's always sunny in California. "Californiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaa....."

And it's time to go home. But not before Chip tackles Tessa through the glass front door of the bar. There's no blood, but the two men competing for the title of the poor-man's Tony Soprano who are guarding the door of the bar send a silent threat our way (most likely symbolic conduct that would be protected under the 1st Amendment - see, it's compulsive. I hate myself).

Alas, the night just wasn't the same without Smurftastic. I guarantee the "social" posts will be more entertaining with her contribution and when Schewe hasn't been drinking water all night. Stay tuned.