The Andy Cohen Diaries (14 page)

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2013

I had a sleepless night and woke up Wacha early and he was alternately like, “Why the fuck
are
you up?” and really gentle and huggy. We had quiet morning time. I'm extra in love with him knowing there's something wrong with him and he may soon be wearing a cone, which is to me worse than having surgery.

I put toothpaste on a massive zit last night before bed (does that work or not?) and took Wacha out at 7 a.m. and ran right into Cameron Diaz, whose trailer is in front of my building. She is shooting
Annie
, and it seems Annie lives on my block in the new movie, because you just can't walk anywhere without running into that crew. Anyway, I talked to Cameron for a minute, asked her an inappropriate question about Naomi Campbell which I immediately regretted, and went upstairs to realize I had a clump of toothpaste on my face the whole time. Lovely. At least Wacha looked cute, and she noticed.

It turns out if you wanna know the way to
Sesame Street
you just take the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge. Why is it kinda perfect that
Sesame Street
exists in Queens? Wait—is
Sesame Street
actually set in Queens? Am I just figuring this out
?
My gentle morning put me in a sweet headspace for my early call. They had written a cute sketch involving me teaching Elmo the word of the day, which was “popular.” There were also a bunch of Muppets that were takeoffs of reality characters. During breaks all the Muppets stayed in character and at one point I called one of the Real Houseplants of Atlanta a bitch as a joke and quickly learned that you don't curse at the Muppets. I loved doing the scene with them. I felt upbeat and sincere. I never got the appeal of Elmo until I met him (him, right?) in person. He is very charming and cuddly and almost as cute as Wacha. Almost. It was so cheery doing something with dolls for kids. I asked when it airs and they said September 2014. Um. I hope I make it till then. Seriously. Jeez.

I had a Friends In Deed board meeting. We're planning a photography auction in the spring and our dinner later in the year. I'm trying to dose Wacha with doggy dolls until his doctor's appointment on Thursday because I'm now overly worried he's in pain. Robin Quivers canceled and I think Patti took out a hit on her.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 4, 2013

Started the morning with Cameron Diaz again. This time Wacha raced right up the stairs of her trailer, and just as he got to the top, the door opened and out she came. At least I got to tell her that the toothpaste all over my face yesterday was to clear up a zit. She certainly did not seem to care or remember. Appropriately. But she hugged and kissed Wacha for a good five minutes. Meanwhile I don't remember a time in my life when
Annie
was not being shot in the West Village.

Had a massive blowout with my driver about crossing Fourteenth Street to get to the West Side Highway on the way to the dentist. In his rant to me he called Bloomberg a “Jewish Nazi,” so that didn't go over well and I let him know it. Then I stopped speaking to him and then he clearly felt bad and he gave me two hot stock tips to make up for it. Now I can retire.

At the dentist my hygienist told me she is positive that I should be a blond, which is insane.

I spent all day at 30 Rock, where it's mayhem because of the tree lighting. As I was leaving I said to a cop, “Who would want to come to this?” And he pointed to all these people and said, “Them. But if you ask me, they're all retarded.” Can a cop say “retarded”?

I went to Bruce's and had to reintroduce myself to that fucking doorman. “Who may I say is here?” he says.

Mariah Carey was performing at the tree lighting and I emailed Cindi Berger begging her to bring Mariah on
WWHL
. I got a reply immediately, saying “Great idea!” and now I think it's going to happen, as our Christmas finale! Would that not be a great way to end the year? Am I not the luckiest person?

Patti Stanger was on my show. Somehow she started talking about how Jewish people start developing Jewish jaws and chins and I wondered if I had one and she said, “You don't look Jewish,” and started describing Jewish features, like a big nose, and I stopped her before the Anti-Defamation League killed us all. Then on the after show a blind woman called and said she had a boyfriend and started to say that she “had a hard time—” and Patti interrupted her, saying, “Seeing him?”

So today I had an un-PC cab driver, cop, and guest. What kind of trifecta is that?

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 5, 2013

I dropped off shirts at the cleaners on Eighth between Horatio and Jane quite possibly for the last time. I'm done with them. This lovely old couple used to run it, they were there for years—in rain or shine—and now, somehow, they have disappeared. And every time I go in and ask about the old couple, the young people behind the counter suddenly can't speak English and pretend they don't know what I'm talking about. Are they tied up in the back? Are they dead? I'm trying to rally the neighborhood to look for them. Unfortunately, the alternative is that mean tailor on the corner of Jane. I am about to be a man without a cleaners.

I took Wacha on his first cab ride, which he loved, to the doggy hospital, which he tolerated. The waiting room is a trip—all dog and cat people (obviously) but they are in various stages of freak-out about their animals, to which they are extremely attached. Some disaster was sitting next to me carrying on so,
so
loud about her little dog's heart condition or something. She said, to no one, she has to come in three times a week. She was a river of words but
nobody was listening
! The doctor said Wacha does have hip dysplasia and needs hip replacement surgery. They are so nonchalant about it (99 percent success rate) that I am choosing to be too, but my heart is breaking for the pup because he doesn't know what's coming to him. And the doctor was coy about whether he'll have to wear a cone, which I know means he will. A dog in a cone, nothing sadder. Sigh. He has another appointment with the surgeon next week. I had a mini Shirley MacLaine moment waiting for his drugs at the checkout counter—probably not my last.

Bruce came by in the afternoon. He saw the Madonna book that Grac had given me and said that he bought it for me, so now there's officially a surplus and we're all frozen. Do we keep what we have or go through with the exchange? (By the way, the book isn't even so amazing, just photographs of her from her early days.)

Went to Laura Linney's baby shower. I brought a huge Snoopy, which always kills at a shower. She is beaming with her big miracle baby inside! I am so happy for her.

Whoopi Goldberg was on my show and not only brought me a vape pen as a gift(!), she taught me how to do something (on air) that I still haven't gotten the hang of: roll a joint (with oregano). Then I got a massage for two hours, and I always fall asleep when he does my legs, and then wake up when he says we're done. So I ask, “Did you do my legs?” He says yes and then, I don't know … it's a whole trust fall. I
guess
I believe him.
Did
he do my legs? Does it matter?

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 6, 2013

I got paparazzi'd walking Wacha wearing mismatched everything and no underwear under sweats and unfortunately I looked down after the guy left and my dick looked like a thimble. Basically, like an outie belly button. So I'm convinced I'm going to be on a “talk-show hosts with small dicks” website. I would prefer a week of nose-picking photos. For the record I'm quite pleased with my dick.

GMA
ripped off the vault again. They didn't even get their own graphics. It's our vault and it says
GMA
on it!

I brought Wacha to the gym. He loved it. He watched me box but got very upset when some lady was doing crunches. Unclear what the issue was there.

I was interviewed for this year-end NBC special all about everything that happened in 2013. They wanted funny opinions about everything “big” that happened. Unfortunately, I didn't care about anything that they considered “big.” I don't care about Miley twerking. I don't care about North West. Or selfies. I was not as enthusiastic as they needed me to be. Like, “I love that Kim Kardashian!” I started wondering what I
do
care about from the year. Basically Wacha and what's going on in my neighborhood. I guess I'm all about me and the little box around me, just like our apathetic country. Then again, caring about twerking would not make me a better person.

I continued cleaning out my office at 30 Rock and put together boxes of stuff Daryn's gonna throw in a conference room and see if anybody wants. It was bittersweet going through everything, but mainly a pain in the ass figuring out what to do with all the
shit
I've accumulated.

Through pouring rain and Christmas hell, I met Amy Sedaris in front of Sarah Jessica's play. Amy is carrying around this little phone that looks like an old Nokia phone, but it's wood, and she's screaming into it. She's doing the annoying-lady-on-her-cell-phone routine and people don't realize it's a piece of wood. And when they announced before the play for people to turn off their cell phones, she was making a big production, saying, “I'm going to leave it on vibrate. My husband's supposed to text me.” The play was great and Sarah Jessica blew me away. So good to see her onstage again and she gave a performance with velocity. She has a full-on breakdown ninety minutes into the play. It was like a happy slap in the face, seeing her do that. As instructed, we hadn't told her we were coming, and after the show we had dinner at Orso with her and Ron and Iva Rifkin. While the waiter was taking our order, Amy was screaming into “her phone” talking to “her husband.” For some reason I have a vodka trigger at Orso, and I can't think of anywhere else it exists. But I digress. Amy wound up coming over after dinner until 2 a.m. We talked about Wacha and smoked her electronic hash cigarette. Then she left and I lay nose-to-nose with Wacha, desperately trying to communicate with him with my eyes. At one point he put his paw on my face very gently. (I was trying to tell him I am crazy about him and I'm not going to give him up.) It was a more intimate moment than I have had with a human in some time.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2013

Who cares that—besides the Madonna books—I haven't bought one Christmas present? Who cares that my Christmas party is in one week and I leave for Brazil in ten days? I pretended it was January and watched
Gosford Park
under a blanket with Wacha and we took a two-hour nap. Took Josh and his daughter Molly to the Lambs Club, where I have never dined and nonetheless was flooded by “Good to see you again” and “Welcome back,” which in turn led me to pretend that I owned the place. The meal was very fair. I was pulling out all the stops for my cousin and his daughter, so we went to
SNL
, which was a blockbuster show. Paul Rudd hosted, with musical guests One Direction and cameos by Kristen Wiig and the
Anchorman
dudes, plus my current favorite character, Jacob the Bar Mitzvah Boy.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 8, 2013

Another lazy day when I should've been doing everything but did nothing. I watched the entirety of
The Parent Trap
. And started crying the second Natasha entered. Took Josh and Molly to see P!nk at the Barclays Center. I'm interviewing her Tuesday at the Billboard Awards and they wanted me to see the show. They set it up so Ray the Driver could go in the back entrance and down a huge elevator big enough for tour buses and trucks—it felt like we were in the trash compactor scene in
Star Wars.

The woman couldn't have been better onstage (the “So What” finale knocked me out) and nicer off. And she's a huge
Top Chef
fan. I took pictures with some of her backup dancers' abs. Went deep with her tour manager about the B-52s. He worked on the “Cosmic Thing!” tour and I drilled him with questions. That was their huge breakout success and it happened right after Ricky Wilson died of AIDS. He said Cindy was heartbroken the entire tour because her brother had not lived to see them become massive. So sad.

Kandi and Fantasia were on the show and the entire audience seemed to be made up of white auction winners from St. Louis. It was the wrong audience for a killer show. I bet we raised a lot of money, though.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 9, 2013

I woke up and took Wacha downstairs for his walk and was greeted by a heavy vibe coming off Surfin and the super, who were giving me the stinkeye. I asked what was up and they solemnly reported that the man who lived above me had passed away in the night. I swear Surfin and the super were looking at me like I had gone up there and killed him myself. I said I was very sorry and that I felt terrible. I reiterated to them both that I did not
wish for
this gentleman to die, and that it was a tragedy.

I then walked the dog and, because we live in a dog-eat-dog world, on the way in asked the super when the appropriate time to contact the building would be, as they, not the family, own the apartment. He said to wait a few days. I gave it a few hours, then emailed the building and said, “The timing is awful but I know how NY real estate works, and I would be remiss if I didn't say I hope you consider me first when you resell this apartment.” Then I took Wacha to the gym and he was so good, but while I was working out I had a flash-forward to the year 2043 when there's a gay guy with a dog living next door to me willing me to death. So, this will haunt me.

Some vaporizer company saw me rolling joints with Whoopi Goldberg and now the folks at VapeXhale want to send me a complimentary Cloud EVO, whatever the hell that is. (What it is is a perk I never expected.)

Before my show I saw
Times Square Angel
with SJ, Matthew, Hickey, Scott Wittman, Victor, Rainer, and the whole gang. A yearly ritual that never disappoints! Joan Rivers was the stand-in narrator for Julie Halston and there's something so beautiful and heartbreaking at the end when Charles Busch (in drag) sings “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” to the audience. Maybe I'm overly emo about Wacha, but I shed a tear.