Dating Daze

And a certain 6’7″ German bodyguard happens to be the sole reason for that. I’m not just using the word “bodyguard” figuratively either. He’s an actual bodyguard, a life-saver, a people-protector if you will.

It was obvious that his job training had permeated his personal life too. He guarded me on our date like I was the queen of Germany. Wait, do they even have queens there? Or have I just been living in LA too long?

Anyway, the bar we went to was absolutely packed. Packed that is, for everybody but Cherie Amour. I had ample elbow room. I could have done the Running Man had I felt the urge. He kept doing the quintessential protection move of surrounding me with both his arms stretched out too. It was actually kind of exhilarating, I can’t lie. I almost wanted something to go down just to see him in action.

He’s so European too. He had the typical European fake Mohawk ish hair that ends in something of a tail at the bottom. And every time a good song came on, he would do the European pursed lips and neck thrust, where the neck goes back & forth like a turtle’s. I really wish I could do a visual for you; something must get lost in the translation from neck thrust to words about said neck thrust.

Did I mention that he’s really really tall?. Tall to the point where people stop and point at him. And I’m talking grown people, not just little kids who don’t know any better. Duck under doorways tall. I was well-prepared though. How often does a 5’9” and a half girl like me get a chance like that? I wore the highest stilettos I could possibly find. This was my big moment. I still had to stand on my tippy toes to talk to him too. Pure heaven.

Unfortunately, however, I think that our height was the main thing we had in common. It was evident from the get-go that he’s a big partier. He kept asking about the best places to “make party” in LA. And I do love going out every now and then, but every day? That’s a bit much. Sometimes a person just doesn’t feel like “making party”.

I also started feeling a little put off by the fact that he was perfectly content being someone else’s bodyguard. Didn’t he have goals and aspirations of his own? Was he really content being known as “so & so’s muscle?”

Apparently so. Apparently he was perfectly willing to take a bullet for some little miniature spoiled brat star who’s blown all out of proportion by people like me who buy Star and Us Weekly on the regular. Plus, if I ever became his girlfrliend, I would just be known as ‘Leonardo’s bodyguard’s girl’. A two-degrees of separation title. And I can’t go for that. No can do.

Don’t get me wrong though; I still had a great time with my bodyguard. As soon as I got to the bar, he greeted me with two glasses of champagne, which he said in Germany is perfectly normal. You know how we are here though. We save the bubbly for special occasions, and I was instantly transported to a New Year’s Eve state of mind.

I guess that kind of explains why before I knew it I was making out with him like there was no tomorrow. In the bar. It actually seemed like a really good idea at the time. But now I see that it was the fault of that champagne. I should not be held responsible for my actions. It was New Year’s Eve, for Christ’s sake! Who better to celebrate with than my bodyguard, a trusted member of my innermost circle?

There was one little glitch in our holiday celebration though. My bodyguard was dressed to the nines, and it was evident that he liked to look good. So needless to say he was none too happy when my cheapy Forever 21 gray sweater shed all over his black jacket while we were “hanging out” at the bar. He said,“I can’t believe you wore a cheap sweater on our first date!”, and then added that he was going to send me the dry cleaning bill. Ooooops.

If only he knew the half. That I was salsa dancing immediately beforehand and had been sweating glowing. I hadn’t had a chance to take a shower, I had spent a grand total of 10 minutes readying myself, and a trip to Pink Cheeks was definitely in order.

He never would have been the wiser either had it not have been for that darn sweater. Oh well. You live and you learn. Now I know that Forever 21 cannot be trusted.

This entry was posted Sunday, March 4th, 2007 at 6:05 pm and is filed under L.A. Dating, The Dating Game. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.