The Andy Cohen Diaries (34 page)

I went from Madonna to Ramona, and the show was nutso. Stayed after and had drinks with Michael Davies for a couple hours. We're going to produce the Martha show together. I never did find out what kind of wine Madonna ordered. Now that I think about it, she might've said rosé, but
what kind
??

My Tinder match who saw me on the airplane said he saw me at the
Normal Heart
premiere but couldn't get to me to say hi. This is starting to feel very
Sliding Doors
; I love a romantic backstory.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 14, 2014

Woo-hoo, I am 164.6! Praise Him! It helps that I have eaten next to nothing for forty-eight hours and have had two insane workouts. I took my svelte, rock-hard frame straight from the gym to tape an episode of
The Soup
with Joel McHale, also guest-starring (do we say “guest-starring” in this situation?) Willie Geist. Joel and Willie are both around six-foot-four; in other words I looked elfin in between these two guys. I had never met Joel before and he was really warm. We did a quick run-through and it was really easy—Willie and I just popped into the frame (he shoots it all in front of a green screen and an audience of about seventy-five people) and read funny jokes off the prompter. Before the taping, the three of us went out to look for a Starbucks—we were way west in Hell's Kitchen—and wound up wandering around for about a half hour. We got back and the entire production was in a panic, thinking Joel was pissed and revolting in some sort of talent walk-off. I guess he'd forgotten his cell phone, so what the hell did they know. We laughed.

Went from there to rehearsal for tomorrow's NBCUniversal Upfront, which is a huge production. I got permission (I think they had to take it to the president of E!) to make a joke about Kim Kardashian selling sponsorships to her wedding at the after party, so I felt subversive.

My Tinder made two matches by mistake in my pocket today. And both guys emailed me. It's like butt dialing with consequences and now I'm a dick if I don't respond. I haven't responded.

Tonight I went to the Friends In Deed benefit for the AIDS Walk. I met a bodyworker who said he is getting his body ready for the Ascension and I thought he meant the party in Fire Island in August, but I think he was talking about the Rising of Christ. I couldn't figure out why he would need to be in shape for the end of the world; it seemed like Jesus would be the one who would need to be worried about that, so I kept going on about Fire Island and he said that there would certainly be fire at the Ascension. And this went on for solidly three minutes because he also decided to violently loosen my shoulders in the midst of the conversation, which hurt—but in a good way. I finally explained what the Ascension party was and by that time I was too irritated to continue and feigned a trip to the bathroom. I also met a guy who told me he'd been with his partner for twenty years and he's more in love with his dog. He said he would choose the dog over the husband. My cab driver home was the Moroccan Dylan McDermott—he was steaming hot. I told him he looked like McDermott and he loved it. He got really bashful but wanted to hear more. I told him that I'd met the guy and so I was an authority on the subject. To my dismay, we were at my front door before it went any further. John Mayer and Ricky texted really late saying that they were coming over for dessert. I asked what kind of ice cream to get and John texted that Ricky wanted “Ben and Jerry's something, I don't know, something with crunch in it” and John wanted “something that will keep me aggressively thin.” I wound up ordering Chunky Monkey and FroYo from the deli. I felt good about my choices. John met Wacha, dubbed him the perfect dog, and did a photo session with him for his Instagram (Wacha's, not John's).

John gave us the blow-by-blow of his (very positive) experience recording a duet with Barbra Streisand, from the recording studio to the barn, and it sounds like they loved each other. He was telling me about her house and the mall underneath with the wonder of a straight guy detailing the discovery of some strange new world—as though I hadn't watched, dissected, and obsessed over the episode of
Oprah
with her house tour. He even said, “You know there are only two ‘A's' in her first name, right? Have you heard the story of why she did that?” I said,
“Who do you think you are talking to right now?”

He recorded a version of the Beyoncé song “XO” and wanted to play it for me, but how do you play something in someone else's system? When did something so simple like playing a song become so complicated? What a drag. Eventually we played it on my Mini Jambox thing and it's great.

THURSDAY, MAY 15, 2014

This morning I had an interview and photo shoot with Conan O'Brien for a special pre-Emmy issue of
Variety
. I was excited and a little apprehensive to be paired with Conan. The topic was, of course, late-night television. As I waited for him to show up at the Gramercy Park Hotel (he was stuck in massive Obama traffic), my consternation grew about his potential attitude towards me, since he has been doing this for twenty-something years versus my five. (For instance, was he going to walk in and ask, “Why exactly am I here with this douchebag?”) When he arrived I was struck by three things: how short I was going to look in the photos, that I had forgotten to ask for makeup (he was beat down), and that once again, all late-night hosts roll deep and I need to start considering building a posse to run around with. I have the posse (assistant, publicist, agent, executive producer, other randoms) but I never think to bring them anywhere. To make everything less awkward, the photographer immediately had us get into a bed together so he could take pictures of us jokingly having pillow talk. So five minutes into meeting the guy, I am cheek-to-cheek in bed making funny faces for a camera. The photo shoot was mercifully short and I really enjoyed the interview. The journalist connected us by our commonality of coming from behind the scenes (he as a writer and I as a producer) before becoming late-night hosts. Conan said for years and years he felt like he didn't belong, and questioned what everyone thought of him; I asked when that would go away for me and he said never. Joy. I told him about my problem with not remembering people and he told me exactly how to say hi to people: Always assume you know everyone, and say “Good to see you,” never “Nice to meet you.” Apparently they will then slowly give you clues about how you actually know them and you just have to think carefully. You will figure out who they are within nineteen seconds, he says. I am definitely using this technique.

I had to be at the NBCUniversal Upfront at the Javits Center early in the afternoon; this year it was massive—all the cable channels were combined (Bravo, USA, E!, Syfy, Oxygen, Esquire). The red carpet was a scene, with E! doing
Live from the Red Carpet
and bleachers of screaming fans behind Giuliana Rancic. I saw DVF backstage and I think she was a little shell-shocked because she didn't recognize a soul. In the midst of the chaos I got a panicked message from Ramona telling me her car didn't show up and to hold the red carpet for her because she had put a lot of effort into her look. It was an amazing voicemail and I should've saved it for a rainy day. When I went onstage I realized Kim Kardashian was sitting directly in front of me. I totally pussed out about making the joke about her selling sponsorships to her wedding. Instead I said I was hoping to take a selfie with her ass. (I bet Conan would've told the original joke. I'm an imposter!) After my spiel I was seated with the Bravo posse, next to Jeff Lewis and Patti Stanger and in front of NeNe, who was on the aisle of the row of Housewives, two from each city. As I walked from the presentation to the party with DVF, I saw Khloé Kardashian, who said that she and Kim wanted to offer their asses for selfies with me. I stupidly said, “I'll see you in there,” and never saw them again. That would've been a good selfie, damn it. I'm glad I changed the joke.

There were three thousand people at the party, most of them women, and many of them very sweet fans who wanted a selfie not with Kim's ass but with me. After seventy minutes of walking two steps, taking five pictures, seeing someone I wanted to say hi to, walking two steps towards them and watching them disappear as I took five more pictures, I hit the wall. For instance when a publicist rushed me with a photographer and a funny-looking dude, saying, “I have a
Preacher of LA
!” instead of saying, “Great, let's take a picture,” I said, “Who cares, why is that my problem?” And when a girl—half chewing a crab cake—insisted that I kiss her on the lips for a selfie, instead of politely declining, I said,
“I am not doing that!! No way!”
Before it got any worse and I started alienating fans everywhere, I asked Ryan to remove me. I went home to walk the dog and to my great pleasure found the script for the first episode of
The Comeback
waiting for me. I had to delay meeting Jeff Lewis and posse for dinner and just sit down and read the damn thing. It was
perfect.
I couldn't be happier with it as a fan, and for how the
RHOBH
and I tie into the story. My bad attitude from the party was completely erased.

It was a Housewives cabal at Koi that started with Jeff Lewis, Gage, Jenni, and the new OC Housewife Shannon Beador, who I hadn't yet met. I don't think Vicki loved all the time I was giving Shannon. Then we were joined by Kyle and Mauricio, Melissa and Joe, NeNe and Gregg, Kandi, and Kim Richards. At my end of the table, I was codependently trying to get Kandi, Kim Richards, and Jeff to realize that they should actually be best friends. I am not sure they should but it was fun trying and even more fun having all the girls from other cities together at one table. Kandi told me that she and Ramona are friends, which surprised me—I can't picture it. Sonja showed up with a bang and wound up telling all of them that she's the richest woman in NYC and was imploring me to contact Elvis, which I agreed to but did not understand at all. I left and went to some after party where Jax from
Vanderpump Rules
explained exactly the nose job he is getting tomorrow and we compared notes about booty calls. When I got home I reread
The Comeback
script and went to bed with a smile.

FRIDAY, MAY 16, 2014

On the way to the dog run we walked by a Willy Wonka Ice Cream pop-up shop, and Wacha was completely flipped out by the Oompa Loompa in front. I took a pic of them, which was nearly impossible. My weight seems maintained at 165. Praise Him. Went to a meeting at CAA to go over new stuff. Hickey is back from Santa Fe (where he's shooting
Manhattan
) just for the weekend and I took Wacha over to see him. It was Barbara Walters's last day on
The View—
they did an amazing tribute. I feel bad all over again for offending her. I emailed Michael Patrick King and told him I was having a philosophical debate about whether I, Andy Cohen, would call Valerie Cherish “Val,” as the script has me doing. He said, “Trust the writers—they know your character best.” Ha! Massage, then drinks with Billy Eichner at Barracuda.

SATURDAY, MAY 17, 2014

Gorgeous day. Reread
The Comeback
and am practicing playing myself. Ran into Flotilla DeBarge and Lady Bunny on Twelfth Street, out of drag, which for me is always like seeing Oz in his sweatpants. Dinner at Blue Pearl with SJP and Hickey. We talked about everything—didn't shut up, actually. In speculating about Solange in that elevator, I realized that must've happened right around the time I got stuck in mine with Kristen Wiig and company. I got in the wrong car! Went home and ran through my
Comeback
scene with SJP playing Valerie Cherish. She said I was ad-libbing too much and needed to learn my lines exactly as written. Having worked with MPK all those years on
SATC
, she would know. So I shall. We all got on my bed (Wacha too) and watched the Barbara Walters ABC retrospective and it was phenomenal. It could've been another hour or two!

SUNDAY, MAY 18, 2014

The mean guy came to the dog run and had a
fit
when other dogs (thankfully not mine) were taking
his
ball, and then he stormed off because no one cared about his stupid fucking ball. It was amazing. Victory for the people! Troy and Jonah came over and we tried to figure out where the new staircase would go. Jonah is getting huge—he's taller than me. I still haven't hired an architect.

Had a doggy playdate in Central Park with Jackie, who knows of this great little fenced-in area where the cops won't bust you for having your dog off leash. There were straight couples everywhere holding hands. It didn't gross me out, even though I know some people find it disgusting. On the cab ride home, Hickey texted to meet him and Barkin at Morandi. It was lasagna night there, so that's how that went. Amazing. The show tonight was a total snooze. Stayed hanging out till two-thirty with John Jude, Deirdre, and Anthony.

MONDAY, MAY 19, 2014

I felt like such a working actor today, meaning I had absolutely nothing to do until my show. It was gorgeous out and after the gym I grabbed Wacha and had a two-hour lunch outside with Hickey, Victor Garber, and Rainer at that place Monument Lane across from Equinox on Twelfth Street. We just blabbed and blabbed. I got Liza's wedding invite and, habit, almost threw it out after I looked at it, but given that we have been waiting for this day to arrive, I kept it. It's a great invite, actually. Bryan and Bruce threw Billie a lovely graduation party tonight. Carrie Fisher was there but no Debbie Reynolds. I hope I meet her someday.

TUESDAY, MAY 20, 2014

Wacha was at doggy day care in Brooklyn all day, so I was just a solo unit doing my thing. I worked out, had lunch with Bruce outside at Good, and on my way home encountered the hottest beer delivery guy ever. He was a little thuggy, Puerto Rican I think, and just hot. Would life be so bad to be married to him? I would have a beer in hand and dinner on the table when he got home. We could talk about his route. I would have to watch my words, though, because he has a little bit of a short temper. I don't tell anybody this, but he hits me sometimes. Usually it's no big deal, and never in the face, and I deserve it because I can be stupid. I don't think before I talk, is all. But I have had to lie about scars here and there.