October 27, 2011 | 10:31 am

Being There

Posted by Elliot Steingart

I remember looking at the new faces in my freshman dorm and immediately identifying who in the room looked the most Jewish. Tall, skinny dude wearing Giants cap, I may not know his name, but that’s my boy. Many of my best memories from my first year were spent playing catch baseball with Ryan right down the hill from our dorm room on UC Santa Cruz’s East Field overlooking Monterrey Bay. We ate most of our meals and drank most of our beer together, and triumphed as part of the “Poke Checkers” checking line in intramural floor hockey.

I was in Ryan’s dorm room when a sparkly blue-eyed blond haired gal named Sierra from his Sonoma County hometown of Healdsburg, California popped in. Ryan didn’t have to tell me he liked Sierra in high school and never stopped. It was obvious.

Well, as luck would have it, Ryan and Sierra basically shared a room sophomore year, the same room I also just so happened to share with Ryan. They eventually moved in together which made the most sense for everyone.

Despite these memories, I couldn’t decide about attending Ryan’s wedding. We had only seen each other a few times since graduating in 2007. The wedding was a far drive and I’d have to take time off work. He was my best friend in college, but we didn’t talk all that much. Plus my best bud, Vivo, the Poke-Checkers all time leading goal scorer, wouldn’t be there.

I struggled with this decision and sought advice from family, co-workers, retail employees—whomever would listen. A few beers deep on a first date I asked Abby her opinion. “Would you want him at your wedding?”

So, I drove up to wine country with Todd, my freshman roommate. We spent hours in the car together listening to his same Rage Against the Machine album on repeat like we were roommates again. We spent a night in San Francisco with our friend “Shappy,” who we convinced to join us at our camp site along the Russian River.

Ryan and Sierra’s post-college friends—farmers, fisherman, and townies, arrived at the beach with some of the best groomed mustaches west of the Mississippi. Nate, our new zucchini farming friend passed a bottle of whiskey around as we introduced ourselves as Ryan’s college friends aka Ryan’s Jewish friends. Shappy, now shirtless, was the only person at the campground wearing a Star of David. To fit in better, I was hoping the Star of David that could reverse into a Cross. Also not helping matters,Todd forgot his sweatshirt. It was like man vs wild. Well, more like Jewish man vs wild.

And then I met Blair –tan, with thick brown hair and remarkable lips, my love interest for the weekend.

At night we sang songs like “Jolene” around the campfire. I sat in a foldout chair hoping Blair would come close since I didn’t want to give up my seat. Instead she clung on to Raj, a salmon fisherman from Alaska who had drifted to Santa Cruz. When he wasn’t catching salmon, he was crashing weddings and stealing hearts. Ryan rounded the circle like a joint until finally reaching my chair. “What’s it feel like?”

“It’s surreal knowing everyone came here just for us.”

Todd and I wondered how we would shower before the wedding since there were no showers on site.I put my head under a spigot where I conditioned my hair and shaved my neck. I changed my pants inside the tent and kept hitting my head on the top flap. I stepped out of the tent to see Blair looking sexy in a royal blue dress, a similar color to the bridesmaids dresses. If one of the bridesmaids went down Blair could easily step right in.

The wedding was held at a vineyard overlooking Alexander Valley and a nearby reservoir. The sun set over the valley with Ryan and Sierra underneath a hoopah handcrafted by Ryan’s dad and the four groomsmen who I presume never before wore a yarmulke nor built a Chuppah. Ryan’s Uncle Mike officiated the ceremony. The microphone was about a foot taller than Mike and it took him a good couple of minutes to realize that the mic was not turned on.

Sharing their vows, Sierra expressed her love using index cards while Ryan took his bride in his hands and said “Sierra when I am with you I am free. I promise to be good to you always. You are my love, my only love and I will forever be there for you.”

Blair was sitting in a row next to several other naturally beautiful Bay Area natives, the kind of strong-minded, independent women you’d want Occupying Wall Street. These proud women were now sobbing uncontrollably. I was more than ready to borrow Uncle Mike and take Blair under that same Chuppah.

Raj reeled Blair in so it probably wasn’t going to happen. Besides, in the two days I knew Blair the extent of our conversation was “Nice to meet you too.” 

And so with my cabernet in my hand I took a walk as the sun began to set. One of my best friends in college was now a a married man and there I was at his wedding watching the sun glow from the body of the reservoir thinking about how this might be the end of our friendship. I wouldn’t see him much anymore, not like I saw him much to begin with. That thought passed quickly when I realized that Ryan and Sierra’s love was pretty special, and I witnessed it from its earliest stages to its climax (literally).

Before I could reach the dance floor, Ryan grabbed my arm. “Horah—next song! I want you to be in there.”

I rushed to the circle joining the groomsmen in lifting Ryan in the chair until I could no longer feel my arms. I was glad I could be the Jew he identified among everyone else. More so, I’m glad I could be there as a friend.

October 21, 2011 | 5:27 pm

GifelteBitch

Posted by Elliot Steingart

Elliot Steingart

Since my last relationship ended two years ago, I have dated a lot of girls from OKCupid.  If OkCupid had frequent flier miles I’d have enough miles to fly to Bangkok.

I don’t exclusively date Jewish girls, but there are plenty from which to choose on OKCupid. It’s where I met Jaimie, a 30 year old Michigan grad from West Lake Village, a pale but attractive Jewish girl who posted pictures of her hair pulled back sporting big square frames and a turquoise cardigan.  Jaimie seemed less rebellious than other users, namely GifelteBitch, with her pierced lip and proclivity for drug use. When my parents have a nice Jewish girl in mind for me, I doubt it’s GifelteBitch. 

Jaimie arrived at the Dime, a popular bar on Fairfax, wearing the frames and cardigan, just as advertised. On a first date it’s important to see what you have in common and then build conversation from there. Jaime said she loves going to comedy shows and I told her about my upcoming comedy show that I host at Melgard. We ordered another drink and later agreed what an amazing football game Michigan played against Notre Dame. She cut me off, though I don’t think she realized I had more to say about Denard Robinson. After two hours of easy conversation I walked her to the valet. “It was nice meeting you. We should do it again next week.”

“Yes, definitely next week,” she said. 

I thought it was a nice first date, but her parting words “Definitely next week”seemed to validate that I put together a pretty impressive performance.  For our next date I invited Jaimie to The Pleasure Chest, a sex shop on Santa Monica Blvd. A comedy show takes place there so my invitation was not construed as perverted, just a bit weird.  We sat in the third row next to the panties. “Would you like me to put your glasses case in my purse?” she asked. Sitting next to the panties really brought out her maternal instincts.

When host Eli Olsberg introduced special guest, Sara Silverman I glanced at Jaime to see if she seemed enthused. Instead of locking eyes, she looked straight ahead with a blank stare. After the show we walked across to street to Bar Lubitsch for a drink. I pointed to a tall guy with a beard. “Hey, its Pau Gasol.”  “No, it’s not.” The rest of the time I tried convincing her to no avail.  I drove her home and as we sat in the car for a moment she leaned over and kissed me and then quickly crossed the street to her apartment.

We exchanged texts and agreed to get together the following Wednesday. I got us tickets on Goldstar to see “Ghetto Klown,” John Leguizamo’s one man show. I picked Jaimie up and opened the car door for her. While circling the car I couldn’t help but smile knowing how absurd I probably looked perfoming this act, especially since the car door wouldn’t open until the third time I pressed the button. We found a great place to park on Vine just south of Sunset but Jaime noticed a temporary tow away sign. “Should I chance it?”

“I think we should move the car to be safe,” she reasoned.

I wanted to open the car door for her again, but we didn’t have much time, plus we had to find another parking space so, in theory I would be opening the car door for her three times on the first leg of our trip which seemed a bit excessive. Once seated Leguizamo began firing one liners, among the best involving his snappy comebacks to Steven Sagal on the set of “Executive Decision” that led to a fist right. I looked to Jaimie to see if we would share a laugh. She stared straight ahead with that same blank stare.

When we arrived back on her street I asked if I should park. “Sure,” she said. “Cool!!!” I mistakenly said out loud. 

Once inside she opened a petite syrah which had soured. It tasted awful, but I finished my glass to be polite and gain the courage make a move. I guided her to her bedroom and got lost along the way at which point she guided me the rest of the way. Upon entering she explained, “Tonight we are keeping our pants on.”

“Even me?” I asked.

Given these parameters I did what only a normal 26 year old male would do—made love the best I could with my pants on.

I was hoping our next date would take place on a Saturday night. I texted her an invitation to get together. I didn’t hear from her so I texted her again. I spent Saturday with buddies drinking and watching college football. I crashed at 10pm and woke up at 2am with a taste of white wine in my mouth. I drank a tall glass of water and saw that I received a text message at 11:30pm.

“To be honest, I’m not feeling it and don’t think we should go out again.”

That’s one way of saying goodnight! Jaimie, who was no longer “feeling it,” whatever “it” was,  never once said my name nor did she ask how my comedy show went. The only real telling moment of our three dates was the time she held onto my glasses case.

So, her number has been deleted, and our short lived facebook friendship is no more.

Three and out. There’s always GifeltBitch.

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