Sexting With Ian Ziering

Raise your hand if you were a fan of the original Beverly Hills, 90210. Now raise your hand if your favorite character was Steve Sanders. I saw a few hands go down.

Well, I’m partial to muscle-y blondes, so Ian Ziering always did it for me, even if Dylan and Brandon set more adolescent hearts aflame. I had impure thoughts about the doltish surfer dude.

My regard for him only grew when his wife, Nikki, became a Barker’s Beauty on the “Price is Right” (I believe she was a Playboy Playmate before that), and a more pneumatic, plastic-looking thing you couldn’t imagine. I have an autographed photo of her, a tasteful cheesecake shot in a one-piece bathing suit, in my kitchen, to the right of my Price is Right clock. On the other side is an autographed picture of Our Father, Who Art in Bel Air, hopefully playing golf, Bob Barker.

The autographed photo of Nikki Ziering in my kitchen

My kitchen clock

The autographed photo of Bob Barker in my kitchen

So when a friend sent me a message that she would be seeing Ian Ziering at a party in someone’s house, I got a slight tingling. Never mind that it was one of those pyramid scheme sales “party” things. (Oh, Ian, has it come to this?!?) I was champing at the bit.

The only problem: I was out of town. So I asked my friend if she’d make him text with me. I’d do a three-question interview with the man who brought the Peach Pit a heaping helping of frat boy testosterone.

When I told my friend about my framed photo of Nikki in my kitchen, she had the gall to remind me that they were divorced, and that the topic should probably stay off-limits. Then she had the temerity to remind me that his name was pronounced “Eye-On.” As if I didn’t know! (And as if his parents shouldn’t have spelled it “Ion” if they wanted it pronounced that way.) In fact, Ian was so much a part of my consciousness that when I was driving in Beverly Hills in July, I noticed the name Ziering on the side of a synagogue on La Cienega and wondered if it was any relation.

So the following is a transcript of my texting with my friend (X) and Ian:

X:

“Ian is so nice”

“I’m going to give you his cell # in a few”

“Let me know u got this txt”

Me:

“Who is this?”

“X.”

“OMG!!! I screwed up and have been texting the wrong #!!! Is he there??”

“He’s right next to me.”

“Three questions: Bryan Austin Green—hung or not? What percentage of Tori is natural? Is Shannon Doherty intolerable? Luke Perry or Jason Priestley—who’s a better kisser?! OK, 4 questions.”

“He will not answer those. Sorry”

So there it is. The crashing disappointment. The heartbreak of being left to wonder. The suspicion that he’s saving it all up for a tell-all book. The shock that he hadn’t had enough to drink to answer four perfectly straight-forward questions.

Next time I’m invited to a party with Ian Ziering, I’m bringing sodium pentathol.