The Hoff

Yesterday, writing about Mario Lopez made me think of my few other, funnier, minor celeb run ins. Like when Mom and I were on "Geraldo." The greenroom was all a buzz that the Almighty One was on his way to meet us. Everyone was so excited. I was just kind of bugged. Because...well...Geraldo bugs. I was standing closest to the door and felt a hand on my arm. I turned and there he was, with the Kleenex still tucked around his collar, fresh from make-up. He was shorter than I expected. They almost always are. And his head was huge! Like, he was all head and then - belt buckle. He put out his hand and said, "You are?" I took his hand, shook it, smiled sweetly and replied, "I'm Emily. And you are?"

But I don't think anything quite tops the day my butt cameo'd on Baywatch and I inhaled David Hasselhoff's chest hair. I was already on set when David Hasselhoff arrived. He was far enough away from me that I thought for sure it was safe to sing the Knight Rider theme out loud. His head shot up, he pointed directly at me, smiled and yelled, "Hey! I heard that!" Later, I was bumped up from "Extra on Beach Blanket" to "Body Hopping on Hot Sand in Bikini" back and forth in front of the camera while Billy Warlock and Some Chick McGee did their scene. Then they decided to return from a commercial break to a close up of my butt (a million years before the fall of my fabulous ass-cake) and then pan out to my badly sunburned body waiting outside the First Aid station.

So, of course, this required a full body sunburn make-up job. I was waiting, alone, outside the make-up trailer and noticed Sir Hasselhoff inside getting his makeup done. He was staring me down through the mirror. I shaded my eyes and tried to focus. He couldn't possibly... yep he was, still, staring at me like he was gonna eat me for lunch. I looked over the the craft services table. Then out at the ocean. Then back at him. I smiled nervously and lamely shifted my weight back and forth in my flip flops. He suddenly stood up, turned around and looked right at me, walked out of the trailer, down the steps and directly into me. He didn't stop walking. He just plowed into me and put his arms behind to catch me in case I actually fell over.


He stopped moving and looked down into my face that was pressed against his chest. He was not shorter than I expected. He was very tall. And his nipple was almost up my nose. "Excuse me," he grinned. I looked up into his baby blues, grinned right back, cocked my head to one side and said, "There is no excuse for you!" He smiled bigger, then threw back his head, laughed and walked away. Later his assistant found me and asked me if I sang. "Yeah, I sing." "Uh...David wants to invite you over to his house for a night of singing. He has people over frequently to just hang out around the piano..."

I was only twenty one, Super-Mormon and super-scared. I actually think he was a pretty nice guy - all goofy things considered. And maybe his intentions really were to just have me over to sing and make fun of him some more but if I wasn't brave enough to go to a party with sweet little Mario Lopez I certainly wasn't going to go home with David Hasslehoff. Maybe I should have, though. It certainly would have given me a much better story to tell.

But somehow I suspect that's probably for the best.