Articles: Two Jewish Gals and a Guy--How We Made the Most of Internet Dating

This article originally appeared in Clever Magazine, a general interest online magazine featuring essays, short stories, humor, poetry, recipes, an advice column, book and film reviews. CleverMag has been in continual publication since August of 1998. This article was published in 2002 and quickly rose to be in the Top 5 most-read articles of the year. It was written by Jamie Kiffel, "Miss Gemini," and became the precursor to the Gemini & Scorpio website.

"All I want is a sweet, smart, artsy Jewish boy," I sighed to my friend, a tall Jewish 20-something with reams of chestnut hair that swish around her knees. We rolled up our yoga mats and sighed.
 
"We've gone over this a thousand times," grimaced my friend, who--for the sake of anonymity--will go by "Scorpio." "If there were a nerve center for fabulous Jewish men, we'd be there."
 
As a busy sculptor and graphic designer who was also seeking someone to overwhelm her with creative fireworks, Scorpio, too, had become disillusioned. We'd tried the traditional routes: bars, temples, classes. All we got from bars was other people's smoke stink and the occasional minty toothpick. The religious tack wasn't going to do it, either: although my rabbi told me he has a "running list" of eligible, interested bachelors, I have yet to spy a single Jewish man of my generation attending services. (I have creeping visions of older couples telling the rabbi that they know "a nice Jewish boy for that single girl we see so often," then running home to call their son in Antwerp...and bribe him to "dump the shiksa.") Truthfully, I did attend one Jewish singles night; if evenly distributed, there was approximately enough male hair in the room to coat one cranium. As for our classes, the estrogen count was phenomenal.
 
Although I'd dated non-Jews, frankly, one can only date for so long before the inevitable "I want to raise my kids Jewish" conversation belches in to destroy young love like a religious steamroller. It's like asking a first date's salary "just to see how well my kids will be provided for."
 
It is worth noting that in spite of the fact that I never went to Hebrew school, didn't attend temple and only celebrated high holidays as a child, my Judaism is extremely important to me. I sense a kinship with Isaac Bashevis Singer---especially the Chelmites. I've always said "oy" a lot and I owe a deep debt to God for my ability to smell Loehmann's within a five-mile radius.
 
I also want to be able to invite a man to temple without his checking inside the yarmulke for Super Glue. I want a date to attend a seder with me without fearing a midnight visit from a mohel. I couldn't help my heart from sinking when a non-Jewish date assured me that he couldn't live without bagels--the Lender's kind. Somewhere, my grandmother was rolling toward H&H in her grave.
 
So it was that one night, I was noodling around on JDate, the Jewish dating website, when Scorpio came to visit.
 
"You didn't tell me you were doing that!" she said, pulling up a chair.
 
"Yeah, I did," I said, scrolling through a page of men. "Remember, I signed up a year ago, went on a couple of blah dates, and basically gave up on it." If you don't sign on, I yawned, your profile drops to the bottom of the pile, and you stop getting responses from interested JDaters. But occasionally, some seriously determined Jdater would find me, and I would look up their profile "just to see."
 
"The last one I met took me to a diner where he emptied sugar packets, jelly, ketchup and pepper on my dessert," I said.
 
"Oh right," she vaguely recollected.
 
"I decided the whole thing was kind of sketchy."
 
Both of us tried to look nonchalant as we continued chatting. And yet neither of us could ignore one thing: the computer screen. Before we even realized what we were doing, we'd clicked on the "search" function.
 
And now, something quietly sparked within us.
 
Fever.
 
Shopping fever.
 
And the more we searched, narrowed our criteria and read profiles, our pulses quickened as we realized...
 
We had found it. Ebay for Jewish Men.
 
We were hooked.
 
Granted, just as with the online auction site, there were plenty of duds.
 
"This one says his mom calls him Alexander and so should we," commented Scorpio.
 
"What's his real name?"
 
"Chad."
 
Under "Things I can't live without," another wrote: You.
 
"He must be dead then," I shook my head.
 
But then there was one who had...potential.
 
"Ooh, look! Look!" Scorpio squealed--and she never squeals.
 
He was a continental traveler, a Jewish Brit with a haughtily intellectual, deliciously academic profile. It was full of scholarly jokes, witticisms and clever asides.
 
For months, she and I had been talking about finding fabulous brainy types with whom to start holding literary salons.
 
"He's just the kind of person--"
 
"We could really talk to!" Scorpio finished.
 
We looked at each other.
 
"So..." she grinned, "let's ask him out together!"
 
Strange? Maybe. But Scorpio and I always have so much fun on our own, why not add to the mix a guy we both find potentially intriguing?
 
"It's so weird, it could actually work," I nodded.
 
It would definitely cut down on post-date catch-up time.
 
As for the danger of both of us falling for the same man, we weren't worried. Although we could get along with the same person, our relationship criteria are entirely different: I seek sensitive, serious, ultra-creative types while she likes cynical, wry, tough-edged intellectuals. In short, I'm an airy Gemini; she's a fiery Scorpio. After one "group date," whichever one of us clicked with the guy more could see him again on her own.
 
"So let's write to him!" Scorpio whisper-shrieked.
 
"Yes!" I said. But then I remembered why we'd never done this before: "It takes credits--we'd have to subscribe." Her face fell.
 
"We have to pay ?"
 
"Yeah, that's why I just wait for guys to contact me," I shrugged. "I'm cheap."
 
She, equally cheap, dropped her shoulders into a full-body sulk.
 
"Well...we could try something," I said. Her eyebrows rose. "When I first subscribed, the site was giving away free credits. I think I have one left."
 
Excitedly, she and I began composing a letter. Care to join in spirited conversation with two fabulous intellectual women? we wrote.
 
We weren't surprised when he--Jarron--wanted to meet us, cook for us, buy us things, marry us. He explained that he was a gourmet chef and that he lived on the upper west side. Oh this was good.
 
After many more e-mail exchanges (just to be sure), we drove to his loft. "This is a really nice neighborhood," I muttered as Scorpio searched for a parking spot. "I told you not to bring the wine with the screw-top."
 
"It's good wine! My family drinks it all the time!" she rolled her eyes.
 
"Yeah, and they eat sardines with salsa," I added as she pulled a fast U-turn in the middle of traffic and parked, to a chorus of angry horns.
 
"Yeah, and...?" she laughed in spite of herself.
 
We got out and started to walk. Then I handed her the brown paper bag with the bottle in it.
 
"Why do I get to carry it?"
 
"I'm embarrassed," I said. "Do you see these balconies? Those are real gargoyles over there. Look, his building has a doorman. And all the cars outside are Mercedes. Hide the bag. Sheesh."
 
"Will you stop?" she hissed as we entered the building and took the elevator up to Jarron's door.
 
We rang. The door swung open.
 
I don't think I visually registered Jarron for at least five minutes. I'd been blinded by the most stunning modern chic loft I'd ever seen. Swirling, blown glass vases, Egyptian artwork (really from Egypt, not Marshalls, I noted) and antique toys surrounded us. My eyes rested on a shelf filled with fine vintage wines. All with corks.
 
"Come in, make yourselves comfortable," he welcomed us.
 
"Thanks," I smiled, looking at the hand painted salad bowls and designer salt and pepper shakers on the Bauhaus table.
 
"I hope you don't mind if I finish cooking a couple of things while you have a seat," he offered. While we waited, he put out a plate of aged hard cheeses against which Scorpio still rates all cheeses to this day. In the meantime, we exchanged heavy conversation about film, literature, travel, cooking. He was continental, rich, genteel and Jewish. We nearly combusted for joy.
 
Just before the meal was finished, "Why don't you choose a wine from the shelf?" he offered.
 
I noted a bottle of top-level Perrier Jouet, and my tongue caught in my throat.
 
Then Scorpio piped up, "Oh no, we brought this," and whipped out the paper bag. I nearly dropped dead.
 
"All right," Jarron said (being of the utmost politeness, I realized).
 
He took a sip.
 
And then another.
 
We popped open the Perrier Jouet.
 
And then, as inebriation reared its honest head, Jarron's delicate nature dropped away. His conversation became more candid. And in passing, he mentioned something about being a "cheat."
 
"What kind of cheat?" I asked. At first, he refused to say, but I insisted.
 
He shrugged out a smile. "I cheat on my taxes, my friends, games, girlfriends." He went on to explain, brightly, how he'd carried on an affair with the wife of his Orthodox Jewish neighbor; how he'd seduced a friend's girlfriend; how he'd lied to nearly everyone he knew.
 
From that moment on, we knew we'd never see Jarron again.
 
But we didn't mind. Actually, we laughed.
 
Had either of us been alone on that date, we would have counted it a failure: an aborted attempt at a relationship. But since we were there in a lighthearted, joint search for entertainment, it became something totally new and different. We'd shared great conversation, seen the inside of an upper west side apartment and tasted $200 champagne. Whether or not Jarron stayed in either of our lives didn't matter, for we'd all enjoyed ourselves for a day.
 
Since then, we've made a tradition of meeting our Internet dates together--at least for the first time. We save time (two for one! Who could resist?), chaperone each other (intensive Charlie's Angels study makes us both feel safe), and send our dates home with a story to tell (if anyone will believe them).