Schmidt: The target is Rachael. She's a Hebrew school teacher.
Nick: Crashing some random kid's bar mitzvah's the best way to get her?
Schmidt: Get her on the dance floor, a little bit softer now, a little bit louder now, sweep her off her feet, we'll get married, we'll have a son named Elon. At his bar mitzvah, I tell the story of how I met his mom at this bar mitzvah. Not a dry eye in the house. Jewish continuity, et cetera, et cetera.
Nick: Do you realize how long you were just talking?
Schmidt: There she is. Whew! A beautiful piece of hamentaschen.
Nick: What the hell is hamentaschen?
Schmidt: Problem is her dad is my rabbi. He hates me. So I just need to charm Rachael before he gets to her and tells her horrible-slash-true things about me.

Nick: What did you come here to talk to me about?
Schmidt: As I was saying earlier, I have a very difficult flirting situation here. I mean, it's a double black diamond: trees, moguls. And, as we both know, you're the best wingman who's ever wung.
[flashback to Schmidt and a wheelchair-bound Nick crashing an outdoor, woman's yoga class:]
Nick: Thank you, Schmidt! I'm almost glad I got in the accident so we can have more days like this together, with you helping me through this. How could a guy so rich be so generous with his time? Whoa. [wheelchair rolls]
[flashback to a book store:]
Nick: Excuse me. Are you the writer of So You've Mastered the Female Orgasm, Now What? Incredible. Can I have your autograph?
Schmidt: Of course.

Nick: Well, I can't wait to meet the mysterious Abby Day.
Jess: Not mysterious. Jet setter.
Winston: You know, I always imagined her with a French-speaking black husband, like a Jerome St. Pierre.