The Andy Cohen Diaries (20 page)

I went straight to
WWHL
for the Matt and Savannah pre-tape. It was perfect scheduling because I had to go to LA and they needed to tape early. As nervous as I was, Matt was lovely, really came to play, and I didn't sweat. The two of them were almost better on my show than they are in the morning.

I ran home, packed, changed, had quality time with Wacha for an hour, and hit the airport. Imagine my surprise when on a packed United flight the chatty flight attendant (blissfully
not
#BabyJaneFlightAttendant) came over to tell me she loves my show, never talks to people, and that she was more excited about my being on board than Madonna.
“Madonna is on this plane?”
I could barely get the sentence out of my mouth. She told me that the Material Girl was in seat 1A and I think that I actually pushed this poor woman out of the way as I bolted over like a flash. “I know her! I can say hi!” I protested—or justified—to her, but really to myself. The idea that Madonna was flying commercial, with
the people
, blew my mind. And there she was, small, in black, with glasses, tiny in her window seat. I asked her what the hell she was doing, and instead of answering she proceeded to make fun of my (yellow flannel) Gant shirt, which I love. “Are you
trying
to be noticed?” she said. (Hello, pot, this is kettle.…) She asked if I was “in front” and said she would visit me later. I said that actually she
wouldn't
come visit and she agreed that she wouldn't, but asked me to come visit her. I didn't know if I would be able to muster up another burst of blind courage to make the trip to her seat twice, and I returned to mine grateful for our moment. The plane was a little delayed for mechanical difficulties, so I texted her and said she looked great and tan, and she said tanning is for sinners. When I marveled that she was on a commercial plane, she texted that she does it all the time. She said she is “everyday people.” Uh-huh.

I went to the bathroom several times during the flight and stayed away from her but did notice a very handsome man seated a few rows ahead of me. Every time I went by, his eyes were on me and we gave each other many half smiles and nods. I pulled the flight attendant aside and asked her if she could find out his name, and while she was at it, if I could see how Madonna was listed on the manifest. Back she came in a jif with the documentation that I am sure is illegal to show passengers and there, in black and white, was “Madonna Louise Ciccone.” I had goose bumps. I mean I know that's her name but I didn't expect it all written out like that. The whole thing? I wanted to keep the manifest or take a pic of it but didn't want to push my luck. The flight attendant asked if I had a crush on the dude in the fifth row and I said I just thought he looked familiar (I am discreet, see) and wanted to remember his name. She read it aloud and I'd never heard it before, and by the time she left I'd completely forgotten it, so there went my chances of finding him on Facebook.

I did go speak to The Lady again right before we landed, and she was as nice and normal as could be. She said it's too expensive flying private all the time and that you can feed a lot of people with the amount it costs to fly back and forth from LA. (Madonna feeds people, people!) She said she was going to LA to do something small on the Grammys and I said nothing she does is small and she said she would take that as a compliment. We talked about Lola and her new boyfriend, and about my need for a new sound system in my apartment. I skedaddled back to my seat and on the way back saw a wedding ring on Row 5's finger. Figures.

He left the plane before me but gave me a few lingery looks on the way out before completely disappearing into LAX. He was husband material: professional, handsome, big and tall. He looked like a man. I didn't look for Madonna once we landed—I was grateful for the time we had. I'm a fanboy, but I only act that way 50 percent of the time.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 24, 2014—LOS ANGELES

I had a nice email exchange with Matt Lauer about last night. Frankly, I remain amazed that he even knows my name. That show is getting picked up everywhere because he told a hilarious “embarrassing moment” story in which he commented to Vince Gill about some girl's boobs and she turned out to be Gill's daughter, and Savannah discussed how awful Kate Gosselin is.

Shot the
Shahs of Sunset
reunion today and it was quite engaging and along with the usual histrionics there was a long and interesting conversation about Iran, the Middle East, Islam, and how it all related back to these kids—taking place around a feast of Persian food complete with an Iranian waiter named Farbat who I flirted with the entire day (and he back) until the very end when he told me he is married. This “married” thing is cockblocking me all over the place lately.

During my break, Diane Ronnau met me for lunch on her break from the
CBS Evening News
. (I guess she and I are the center of the Venn diagram of CBS News and the
Shahs
.) I miss working with her—she has the best spirit and the best energy. Very Elaine Benes. Got back to the Sunset Tower just in time for dinner with the Blums and Sandy and Brian. I felt triumphant showing Sandy that I had lost seven pounds based on his unfavorable weight assessment of me last November in the Hamptons. Lily Tomlin came to the table to say hi to Sandy and he introduced us all and asked if she knew me. She said she knew “of me” and an hour later I figured out that she knows “of me” because I am sure Dmitri blabbed to her who was at our table. Aunt Blabby. I hated not drinking at the Tower, which is like being on the inside of a whiskey bottle, but I feel thin!

SATURDAY, JANUARY 25, 2014—LOS ANGELES–NYC

I screened two episodes of
RHONY
on the plane and they were hilarious in that absurd
RHONY
way, so I had very few notes. It was hard not eating the nuts on the plane. (Or the cookie in the hotel room both nights. Well, I confess I picked at the edges of the cookie but didn't eat it all.) I went straight to Michael Rourke's birthday dinner so I didn't flip Wacha out by coming home and leaving right away. I felt like a dry drunk at dinner, aggressively boring and tired. So I was scintillating company.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 26, 2014

I weigh 170.5. How the hell I was able to lose half a pound over the last forty-eight hours of no exercise is beyond me. And how am I going to keep weight off when I start drinking again? I heard from Dave, who is in Vermont and going mental he can't have a post-ski whiskey. I'm actually in a zone and enjoying not drinking, I decided today.

I shot intros for two Bravo countdown shows, then did m'show and raced out of there to watch
Downton Abbey.

My gift to myself (as I am my own lover and long-term companion, I like to treat myself special every so often) last night was sleeping with Wacha. At one point both our heads were on my pillow facing each other. Disturbingly, I may be isolating myself from human contact by getting satisfaction from this dog. I ate all protein and quinoa today. There is some potential that I will go mental one way or another before this month is over.

MONDAY, JANUARY 27, 2014

I was at the courthouse at the crack of dawn this morning because I'd deferred jury duty three times and had no choice. I brought my boarding pass for my flight tomorrow and discovered that I was scheduled to a
two-week federal case
. I had no clue what I was dealing with. I was at the front of the room negotiating for dates to come back in late April when the woman looked at me and said she just realized who I was. “I am gonna mark you as time served, Mr. Cohen; we will see you in four years.” I almost came in my pants. This is exactly the kind of illegal, totally unfair celebrity perk I have been waiting for all my life. I gave her tickets to my show and skipped out of the courthouse.

To make the day even better, I weighed myself and had lost a half pound, which is a good thing since I essentially starved myself yesterday. Also, I spoke to Mr. Liebowitz at the building management company, who reported that I can see the upstairs apartment in late February. And I walked the dog while wearing the Ralph Lauren Olympic Christmas Sweater—it's so insane it's starting to grow on me.

We did a live show and taped one so I can be in Miami tomorrow night.

Wacha shit in the extra bedroom. He knew he fucked up. It's really hard to stay mad at a dog. Especially
this
dog, with
those
eyes.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 28, 2014—NYC–MIAMI

How on God's green earth is it possible that I had the
same
driver to LaGuardia that I had a few months ago and we had the
same
interaction about how to get there in which I told him to cross town on Twelfth Street and go up Third Avenue, he pretended to not speak English so good, and we wound up going up Sixth Avenue and crossing on Thirty-sixth Street, which was exactly the way I
did not want to go.
Sometimes I feel like I'm talking to myself because ain't nobody listening.

Meanwhile it is cold as balls.

The flight attendant went on and on about my rings and asked what my wife does. I should've made up a story. “
My wife
is a realtor! But she has amazing taste in jewelry. I just do what she says.…” Why
didn't
I say that? Instead I told her I don't have a wife, which made me feel lonely. Maybe I want a wife?

I landed and got a brilliant forty-five minutes of sun and a salad (no rosé, ugh) at the pool of the Delano before heading to NATPE at the Fontainebleau. I did a session with a reporter from
TV Guide
that I thought went pretty well. I managed to successfully avoid saying anything stupid about the
Duck Dynasty
scandal or the upcoming Olympics. (I don't want to piss off my employer, thank you—although I would've
liked
to say that, as a gay man, I would rather go to hell than to Sochi.)

I presented Lauren with a Brandon Tartikoff Legacy Award tonight in front of a heady crowd. The other honorees included James L. Brooks, an idol of mine and anyone who loves TV. There was a dinner after and LZ let me off the hook after cocktails and told me to go back to the Delano if I felt like it, which was much appreciated given that I felt like a white-knuckling dry drunk. I was tired and boring, and I probably would've been more upbeat with a whiskey. Sad but true.

Oh, and today I wore what I thought was the perfect Todd Snyder suit—olive and cottony and kinda summery but all-weather—but I forgot that when I tried it on initially Todd himself offhandedly shared that they use some strain of stainless steel, or metal, in the fabric. I didn't think twice about it but after walking through two airports and the perimeter of the Fontainebleau I realized that the metal was chafing the back of my legs and my ass. By the time cocktails began at the last event, I was trying to pull the suit away from my backside, making it seem that I was picking it out of my ass, which is disgusting. Some guy who runs production at Macy's
came up to me
and said that he wasn't even gonna ask me what I was doing with my pants, which seems rather forward from a stranger but indeed I explained the whole story to him.

I had a Gay Sophie's Choice moment at the end of the night choosing between two Miami locals who've regularly provided me sweet South Florida hospitality: one a gingy, the other a black man. I am confident that I made the right choice. Once you go black …

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 29, 2014—MIAMI–NYC

I was so proud of myself yesterday for just packing a backpack to go to Miami for the night and then I was chafing and hobbling my way to the last gate in the American terminal in this fucking suit. What kind of
metal
is in this fabric? I couldn't wait to take it off! My suit hurts!

Sonja wants to change her intro line about going commando because she's a businesswoman and she doesn't want to lose deals, but the shows are locked and loaded, so we can't.

Sarah Silverman was hilarious tonight. She doesn't drink either, so we just had sober fun. I did a shot of iced tea in the shotski. And Cher called in. Two more days of sobriety.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 30, 2014

We heard from Todd's people, who said it's impossible I got chafed from the suit because it's only 6 percent stainless steel. I want to bring him the pants so he can see that that 6 percent was basically up my ass.

Today we had three-city
Housewives
drama. Spent a fair amount of time on the phone with Lisa Vanderpump, who is not thrilled with something coming up on
RHOBH
, then I was trying to get Phaedra to come on
WWHL
—she doesn't want to at this moment because of the charges against Apollo—and all day I was feeling bad for Ramona, who has filed for divorce. Had lunch with the World of Wonder guys and came up with two ideas—one is a documentary on the Supremes, which I've been wanting to do forever, and the other is a live-action scripted show about celebrity dogs, like a fake reality show. I am Kate Gosselin and Wacha is Mady, that's what's happening apparently.

I lost another pound, so I'm 169. It's falling off now.

The
Full House
guys reunited on the show and they'd been doing press all day, so John Stamos was a lil drunk and repeating himself but so sweet. What he was repeating were all compliments about me and the show, so I wanted him to just keep going. And he called me handsome, so what do I care about repetition.

I had an endless late-night massage. Fell asleep a few times on the table. Didn't actually get to bed until almost three.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 31, 2014

The day was good but the night was epic, and not because I was able to break my drinking hymen. (That's a thing.)

Whoopi Goldberg had given me this portable pot pen/vape thing that I took on a test run right before going to Howard Stern's sixtieth birthday party, which was a live radio show from the Hammerstein Ballroom and as close to Oprah's Legends Ball as I'm ever going to get. The pen worked, and I was totally overwhelmed by the event—it was exactly what I love. Really random stars everywhere. I brought Eli; he is a huge Howard fan. I was gleeful to find Sandra Bernhard and Sarah seated at my table. Also Dr. Drew and his wife were there. We were directly below the box where they put the Wack Pack, so it was High Pitch Eric and Mariann from Brooklyn and the rest. A fight broke out between them at one point. And Mariann from Brooklyn passed me her number—she wants to bartend.