The Andy Cohen Diaries (24 page)

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 2014

Surfin told me the airplane dude neighbor's name, and once again I'd forgotten it one minute later when I walked into my apartment. Am I intentionally pushing my future husband away?

I did text the actor in an attempt to get together and he said he was going to LA and we could connect there. But connecting in LA during Oscar weekend is totally impossible, and I'm going to Austin a couple days after I return, so I am feeling doomed here. And by the way, at this point I am pretty sure I am just romanticizing one nice evening. I'm in that phase before a second date where the possibilities are infinite.

My buddy who EPs an entertainment show on the West Coast tracked me down tonight while I was getting my makeup done to tell me it was time to consider moving on to a show that was more my own, and by that he meant his twenty-five-year-old show that has absolutely nothing to do with me. I tried to explain that I could not be doing more my own show if I was broadcasting from my bathroom every day, but he didn't really get it. I was happy to be asked, I'll say that.

Linda Gray was on looking—at seventy-three—like a million bucks. I tried to instigate some friction between her and Victoria Principal but there is none.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 2014

I had a great time with my Ninj today and much of the discussion was that I planned to have a big indulgence at lunch. It's hard to believe that I used to eat whatever I wanted, and now the prospect of a delicious cheeseburger and cottage fries at J.G. Melon with Jerry Seinfeld suddenly is a talking point with my trainer. Jerry and I are perennially searching for the best burger in town and we keep coming back to J.G. Melon, so maybe we've found it. I can't stop thinking of the guy last night who thought his show was better for me than my show, and so we talked about how everybody thinks what they are doing is the most important thing. Who can blame anyone, anyway? Jerry's going to Puerto Rico to perform and had just been interviewed by someone from a newspaper in San Juan who only wanted to rehash the Puerto Rican Day Parade episode of
Seinfeld
. He paid, I protested, and, in reference to the hundred-dollar bill he put down, said he wanted to get rid of this anyway.… So we laughed about that for a while. Most people want to kill a five or a one, you know?

Took advantage of being on the UES and met Graciela for tea, which was a divine half-hour reconnect. She walked me over to Ralph Lauren, where I quickly bought two sport coats. I pretended that I need them for our shows in Austin next month but I'm pretty sure I don't.

I shook things up and had a
pre
-show ninety-minute massage because I was in so much pain from the gym, and learned that it's not that fun being lotioned up at 9 p.m. having to ponder hosting a live cocktail party two hours later. And Wacha must've been trying to tell me he really had to go while I was stressing about my show, because he just started to pee on the rug during the massage. Adam let me stay on the table and ran Wacha downstairs to finish. I tweeted on the table until he came back. And during the massage I realized I never returned that fucking dollar bill to the bodega on Bleecker and Eighth Avenue. Fuck.

I met John Mayer again at midnight and we went even deeper this time. He and Katy Perry are still broken up.

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 2014

Surfin told me the guy next door to the vacant apartment upstairs is now asking about it, so I freaked out and called the building manager to see what was going on. Mr. Liebowitz was out of the office but I left him a long message. I am like a slave to Mr. Liebowitz at this point. He keeps putting me off thirty days. Now it's going to be a bidding war. Joy.

I returned the dollar to the bodega and it was a whole new crew behind the counter and they looked at me like I was crazy. It's never the same two people back there but they always have a bad attitude, so they're at least consistent with that.

Wacha got X-rayed at the Barbara Walters Animal Hospital today and they had to sedate him. The doctor said he was a lightweight with drugs (unlike his daddy), so they kept me waiting like an hour for him to get his shit together, during which time I fantasized about falling in love with a vet. That seems cute. Wacha is in perfect health and his hip recovery is to blame for all his new puppy energy. I have been quietly considering hitting him (gently) with a hammer on his new hip to calm him down a little, but I have an appointment with a dog trainer tomorrow instead.

Dierks Bentley was on the show tonight and a caller asked his favorite concert venue. He said Red Rocks and I talked about shrooming there at a Grateful Dead concert. I got a text from Mom after the show: “Good thing I didn't know about this shroom thing. Even tho I don't know what it means I don't like it.”

After the show I had a date with the guy who'd followed up with me on Facebook last week. (The date with the actor has encouraged me even though it seems to have gone nowhere.) A few minutes into the convo I asked him what he did before meeting me (at midnight) and he said he'd been hanging out with the dog who belongs to “this guy I've been dating.” So that ended that and I sat there wondering how much longer I had to stay without seeming rude. I lasted another twenty minutes. Maybe twenty-five. And I did let him know that I didn't love that he was dating someone, and he said he didn't know the
context
of our (midnight) drinks.

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 2014

Great workout and I seem to have stabilized at 167, which makes me really happy. I met with a new dog trainer, who told me kind of under her breath that she charges three hundred an hour, which at the time didn't faze me for some reason but I have been steaming and stewing about it all day. Is she training him to eat caviar? Ride in limos? I just need him to learn to do like ten more things so I can get a little of the puppy energy out. Now we both have expensive trainers, I guess. So that's kinda cute, but really not.

I recorded a country song at my apartment to promote our trip to SXSW in Austin. I absolutely can't sing but it was really fun. Like karaoke.

I had tea at Ralph's and was almost falling asleep on his couch. I don't know why I'm so beat.

John Hill and I had one last meal at Pastis, which closes this weekend. I'm sad about it closing but not as heartbroken as I was about Florent, which I am still not over. And that greedy landlord still has an empty restaurant in that space, so that didn't work out so great for her.

I am going to LA tomorrow for the Oscars and never got an invite for the
Vanity Fair
party. I lamented this to Hamilton, who emailed that he was going to get into it, and then that he had gotten into it and to stand by. But I emailed him back and said the idea that inviting me to their party is any issue at all is all I need to hear. And it's ironic because there was a period of time when all I wanted was to go to their party and either he or Barry would get me in, but the fact that I can't get an invite now that people actually might
want me
to come to their parties makes me feel exactly like the loser that they think I am. So I will be going to Madonna's party Sunday night and I think that's quite enough.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 2014—NYC–LOS ANGELES

Wacha realized I was leaving and really turned it up. I saw the super today, who told me that Mr. Liebowitz is out until Tuesday and I will hear from him then. He said not to worry because he told Mr. Liebowitz that I am famous and that money is no object. I actually gasped. He thought he was doing me a favor by helping me secure the apartment this way, but
that is exactly not the thing to say
! And he said they'd been moving stuff out and the place was empty, so I went up there and the door was open and I let myself in. It is a total gut job, but the exact footprint as mine, so I'm in. (If Mr. Liebowitz will have me and the guy next door doesn't outbid me.)

Torrential rain is forecast in LA all weekend and it's supposed to snow in NYC again (of course) on Sunday and especially Monday, so now I am wondering if I will just come back early to be sure to be back by Monday for my show. Meanwhile I got an email from Jane Sarkin saying to come to the
VF
party. Now I feel like a double loser that I made it an issue.

The headwinds were terrible, so the flight was not only very turbulent, it was so long I thought we would wind up in Greece. We eventually landed in rain-soaked Los Angeles. My driver was obese and had great difficulty with the tasks at hand, like getting to the car and driving me to Bruce and Bryan's. Poor guy.

Throughout the CAA party, as I began to talk to any given woman, I had to spend the first ten to forty seconds churning my brain to figure out to whom I was speaking. Most of them I actually knew but they have filled their faces and plumped their lips and all look like some approximation of Chelsea Handler. Although she's all-natural. Kidding. It was weird, and occasionally embarrassing because I sucked at faking it. Also there was every famous person on the planet, from Tim Tebow to Jared Leto, Will Smith to Sandra Bullock. Marcy Engelman is a big
WWHL
fan and really wanted me to meet Julia Roberts in the hope that we would connect and get her on the show. She sweetly introduced us and we had a long and lovely chat; she's an
RHOBH
and
RHONY
fan. I told her I want to make an animated show called
Lil Housewives
and she agreed that anything with “lil” in front of it works. Madonna gave Bruce her coat and he wore it over his suit all night. We mortified her by quoting “The night is young, and the show has just begun” to her face. (This is what she said every night of the “Confessions” tour before the song “Jump,” not that I saw that show more than a few times.) I flirted with a very hot guy all night who ultimately turned out to be too drunk to materialize into anything. Got back to Bruce and Bryan's around three and had another cocktail and gorged. I am powerless to a big bag of Doritos.

 

SPRING 2014

IN WHICH …

•
I HIT MY TARGET WEIGHT,

•
JOIN THE ONLINE DATING WORLD,

•
DON'T SHOOT GOPHERS IN MONTANA,

•
GO TO THE MET BALL,

•
AND APPEAR AS MYSELF ON MY FAVORITE TV SHOW.

 

SATURDAY, MARCH 1, 2014—LOS ANGELES

All day I waffled between leaving LA tomorrow morning in order to miss the potential storm and risking it by hitching a ride back privately on Monday morning. I have so much to do when I get back, and if I miss air Monday night, I am the loser who
missed air
, which is essentially the worst thing you can do as a host of your own show, made unbearably humiliating if your excuse is “because I stayed in LA to party.” This is a no-win. Anderson had to leave for the Ukraine yesterday, which is making me feel all the more lame for staying.
I'm
not nominated for a fucking Academy Award, so besides trolling for guests, what the heck am I actually doing here?

Today was Barry's annual lunch for Graydon Carter—downsized because of the torrential rain from a huge party of 450 to a small one of 50, which was a cozy gathering of the earth's moguls plus Mr. Carter. The fascinating subtext was that there were a few people in the room—Wendi Murdoch, Sergey Brin from Google—who were subjects of recent mean articles in
Vanity Fair
. I do enjoy an awkward moment.

I was ogling the mac and cheese in the buffet line with Oprah and she was very sweet about being on
WWHL
. I thanked her for doing the trust fall with me and told her she couldn't have been more Oprah on the show, a comment which made a lot of sense to me. Not sure it did to her. I got Gayle all freaked out about flying on Monday, so she became a refuge where I could belabor what has become my favorite Oscar weekend topic. It was nice to be together on that island of indecision.

I sat next to Wendi Murdoch (her newly ex-husband across the room), who told me she shook Graydon's hand, which seemed big of her. We talked about the book
Crazy Rich Asians
, because I think she should make it into a movie. Julie Chen was there and told me she saw Brandi Glanville trashing her on my show the other night, which I'd totally forgotten. When a guest is bad-mouthing someone, I never put the pieces together that the person may be at home watching or will eventually find out. Between Twitter and blogs, it's impossible
not
to hear if someone's trashing you somewhere. Oy.

Bruce, Bryan, and I all got massages in the afternoon—separately—and then went to Bruce's annual pre-Oscar dinner at the West Hollywood Palm. After dinner we went to eighties night at Revolver and it was all Pat and Cher and Go-Go's and Madonna on the video screens. Some girl came up to me and said she was Jax's girlfriend and I told her
that's a long list
, which seemed to surprise and offend her.

I said goodbye to everybody as though I was leaving in the morning, and I went to bed booked on the 9:25 a.m. flight but not really sure because it seemed like the storm was dissipating. Apparently I have turned into a cross between Sam Champion and a Jewish mother.

SUNDAY, MARCH 2, 2014—LOS ANGELES

Started the day with Bruce in the kitchen at seven-fifteen, weighing whether I should leave or not. The car for the airport was waiting outside, and I had emotionally already left, so I was ready. But the forecast changed, I sent the car away, and Bruce and I met Mark, Jason, and Lauren at SoulCycle, which I hadn't done in a couple years because I always feel like if I wanted to be screamed at by lesbians, I'd go to the Cubbyhole. The same shit coming out of the mouths of these SoulCycle instructors that made me nuts years ago did again today—faux inspiration and “depth” spurted out with the passion of a McDonald's drive-through operator. I got depressed by the tribes of Lulu Lemmings in a place shallow enough to make this dime-store philosophy meaningful. That being said, I sweated out a bottle of tequila and almost puked twice, so I think the workout was a success.