The Andy Cohen Diaries (36 page)

When I got home the love affair with Wacha came to a screeching halt when I found a tick trying to burrow itself into a teeny crevice behind his back leg. I was pinching him and hurting him trying to get it out. I became possessed with urgency to remove the evil tick and ultimately got it with a strong pinch that must've really hurt, because he yelped and as a reaction bit towards my face. And he got me. It wasn't a deep bite but it quickly turned into what looked like a red lip print, with minor bleeding. He immediately knew he'd hurt me and ran into the living room, burying his head in his bed. I told him to come with me and he so sheepishly and sadly watched me clean my face and remained in a deep state of humility for the rest of the night. I was unhappy, he was miserable, and we slept as far as we possibly could from each other on the bed.

TUESDAY, MAY 27, 2014

Wacha's trauma and shame were evident from the moment we looked at each other this morning. I was very indifferent towards him for an hour and then gave him a lot of hugs and took him to the dog run. He was clingy and still feeling bad, and he made it clear that he was done after a few minutes. I went to the gym, then took him to the vet, who checked us both out. All good.

We taped an early show with Willie Geist and Lacey Chabert. Wacha was so mellow he just came out and sat.

After the early show there was a dinner for Sandy's birthday at the brand-new Tribeca branch of Tutto il Giorno. It was a full cast call of people who love Sandy. I spent a lot of time with the people who'd just flown in from LA, like Stacey Winkler and Carole Bayer Sager. Donna Karan made a toast that was very DKNY and Carole Bayer Sager made one that was very CBS. So everyone was in character, I guess.

The live show was Radzi and Amar'e Stoudemire. In my endless quest to get my nephew to think I'm cool, I got his signature for Jeremy, but he just signed his name, so I don't know if that's gonna get me into the Uncle Hall of Fame. He lives around the corner from me. Lady Gaga's manager emailed that she's in a hotel without Bravo and she needs to see tonight's
RHONY
. I'm trying to get her a link or something. #FirstWorldProblems.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 28, 2014

Who knew a day with realtors could be so dramatic? It was the
MDLNY
reunion and there were tears. Ryan was wearing so much makeup he looked like a hologram, but after an hour of staring at him I decided I needed to bump up my own bronzer, so I can't imagine how nuts I will look alongside him. Luis cried and was so emotional he made the rest of us cry; he was pontificating about love. We all cried at a reunion
of realtors
. During lunch I ran over to Seize sur Vingt and I have finally gotten to the tipping point where I actually have every single thing in the store that I want, which is a lot. I had a
TV Guide
interview about our fifth-year anniversary in the Clubhouse. These interviewers want specifics, they want names. This is the shit I can't pull out. I gotta think a little harder before I do another of these. Harry Hamlin and Lisa Rinna were on the show. We have been secretly talking to Lisa about joining
RHOBH
and I was terrified I was going to see her at the show and want to take the invitation back. I thankfully went deeper in the other direction, and we whispered about it during breaks. The big question right now is whether her husband can take part, which we need in order for her to join. He is droll and funny. Totally vamping, I said, “You and Susan Dey legendarily did
not
get along on
L.A. Law
,” and he confirmed it and said maybe that was why their tension was so electric onscreen. But I was making it up, just talking shit, and he went with it! Funny for the forty-five-plus crowd! The bartender was a Cambodian sandwich maker whose name I fucked up, then I got it right but fucked up the name of his restaurant. So that was good. It was our last show till June 15 and even though I am going to be working my ass off the next few weeks I am so psyched to have nights off. Deirdre organized a cake for my birthday and we hung out and drank. The kids on staff tried to explain who Danity Kane is to me and also Demi Lovato, whom I realize I am supposed to know but I am too stuck talking about Susan Dey. I am very old, I guess? But I act like an idiot, so that balances it out.

THURSDAY, MAY 29, 2014

By the way, the dog-bite redness hasn't gone away and it looks like I have a lip imprint on my cheek. I am back to 166. Wacha went to doggy day care today and I had conference calls all day. I am still totally ignoring these proposals from the architects. Don't know what's blocking me from getting into it and making a decision. I think they're just confusing and expensive and irritating. I want it done but that's as much as I got right now. SJP got Bruce and me all hyped up about Manhattanhenge 2014, which from what I understand happens twice a year and is when the sunset matches up perfectly with the cross streets of the city. But I had to go to these parties for the Book Expo, so I couldn't see it. The first was at my publisher Steve Rubin's on the Upper West Side. I walked in and he said what do you want, we have everything, and I ordered rosé, which they didn't have. I had a light red, then changed to a really good white. I was introduced to Alan and Arlene Alda. In the day, my mom was obsessed with Alan Alda and loved him even more because his wife looked like a nice Jewish girl rather than a titsy movie star, which was a reflection of his good taste (i.e., my mom coulda been a contendah). Arlene wrote a book about the Bronx and Alan reaffirmed what I already knew: that people from the Bronx love to talk about the Bronx. (Kind of like people from St. Louis.) I was introduced to Dick Cavett; I was in awe. Carole Radziwill was there and she joined me at the
People
party at that Ink hotel rooftop. I thought I might catch the Henge but it didn't look like it was happening. I saw Willie Geist, Pat O'Brien, and Anjelica Huston, who all have new books coming out, and my old friends Jess Cagle, Rob Weisbach, and Bill Clegg. With no sign of the Henge, I split and headed to Añejo with John Hill, Bruce, Liza, Kelly, and Mark. Liza had just done a makeup test for her wedding and so that was what the celebration was about. To celebrate her makeup. I can think of much more ridiculous reasons for a party.

Got a two-hour massage from Adam. I was so tired that I almost asked him to stop when he was half done with my second side. I was asleep in my bed before he was packed up and gone.

FRIDAY, MAY 30, 2014—NYC–SAG HARBOR

Wacha puked in two neat piles sometime during the night. On the wood floor. So that's what I woke up to. Thankfully, it doesn't look like he tried to eat any of it. Spent an hour at a booth at the Book Expo, signing blank diaries, which was painless. The ratio of women to men was twenty to one. Somehow a trip to Google headquarters (I was shooting a video for them) triggered some kind of rage within me, as the kid who was bringing us to the studio gave us a tour of what has to be the coolest workspace around. Actually it is
someone's
idea of the coolest workspace but looked to me like a parody of a Silicon Valley hub of cool for Generation Next. There are kitchen pods everywhere with different themes and guest chefs, a big Lego station, meeting rooms that are made to look like everything from train cars to diner booths. I wanted to scream. It looked like a preschool. Is this the stimulation that this generation requires in a work environment? Can't they get some magnets to play with at their desk? I felt ninety years old. And the tour guide was so blasé about it. Oh, and there were scooters everywhere. Let me hop a
scooter
to the
train car
for our little meeting—and I'll grab some
Legos
on the way so we can build while we strategize.

I drove to Sag with Wacha and we went on a run when we arrived so that I could go directly to Sam's Pizza and devour a medium. On the run I looked for the Ghost of Esther Rolle. That bitch is gone for good. I was late for dinner with Sean Avery and Hilary Rhoda. The two of them did not finish a medium between them. So I felt great about my accomplishment of wolfing down an entire medium mushroom and onion in front of hot, thin people. (Fairly certain Sean was on his way to get donuts across the street when we parted, though.) Had talked to Nancy Fallon about coming over for a Fresquila but it was raining and I was in a food coma and needed to cuddle Wacha.

The word is that it was too cloudy last night for the Henge. I'm not clear on whether it's one of those things that will next happen in 2158 or in September.

SATURDAY, MAY 31, 2014—SAG HARBOR

I am in love with a man I don't know. I was driving to Estia's to grab something to eat and I was stopped at the light in front of the Getty station, where I was blinded by a fireball of blond hair on top of a too-thin guy who looked like he'd been transported from 1982. And he wasn't a hip, cool guy trying to be ironic—this was his legit look. It was a thick head of hair, a bob version of the Farrah, bright blond (not dyed). He was tanned and thin and smoking a cigarette. In other words:
my type.
A type I have fetishized since 1982, actually. I thought he might've been a ghost. He was standing in front of the car vacuums and I contemplated pulling in, cleaning out my car, and starting a conversation with him. What deterred me was that I wanted to pull up and immediately start applauding his hair, and I knew that would be creepy. Why I didn't come up with an alternative, I will never know. I continued and went to Estia's. On the way home, he was gone. An hour later, on the way to Marci Klein's, I stopped for gas just to sniff around. Still gone. It was a fun, boozy birthday dinner with Amanda and Jim at Vine Street on Shelter Island, made weird by a drunken guy at the next table in a Superman T-shirt who would not stop staring at me, and I mean the man did not take his eyes off me for an entire hour. He sent me a drink and I crossed my eyes (worse than their resting cross) when I thanked him so that my eyeballs never really looked at his face.

Got home from dinner and watched the last hour of Game 6 of the 2012 World Series. The entire game is on YouTube! I cried. It does not and will not ever get better than that game.

 

SUMMER 2014

•
IN WHICH …

•
I AM PUBLICLY LYNCHED FOR BEING A SCHLOCKMONSTER,

•
GET A PHONE CALL FROM CHER,

•
SOAK UP THE AMALFI COAST,

•
ATTEMPT TO HIT A BALL IN FRONT OF THIRTY-FIVE THOUSAND PEOPLE,

•
AND GO DEEP ON FIRE ISLAND.

 

SUNDAY, JUNE 1, 2014—SAG HARBOR–NYC

Happy June! My favorite month. It just seems happy to me, not just because it's my birthday month. Tried Tracy Anderson's band class this morning with Sean and was so happy I kept up. All the kicking and shit I've been doing at Willspace totally translated. I thought it would be an awful scene but it was actually mellow. Sean's nipples were erect the whole time; I don't know what that's about. He gave me a cool pair of sunglasses. Brought Wacha to Shelter Island for his first playdate with Sassy, Bill and Joanna's rescue pup, and it was a raging success. They did everything they were supposed to and Joanna made them homemade frozen yogurt treats, which Wacha loved and then puked up as a special hostess gift. Going to the Perskys' for me is like a trip to Disneyland—they ply me with deviled eggs the minute I walk in the door, I never have an empty glass of rosé, and each visit is topped off with Joanna's
incredible
homemade peppermint ice cream—my summer favorite. And they made a fuss over my birthday with a cake. Bill came up with a slogan for Entenmann's: “Who needs homemade when you have Entenmann's?” I thought that was pretty good. Saw Bethenny's new house, which is great. She got it for under $3 million and it has a lot of space, so I'm impressed (only in the Hamptons would this be considered a deal). She is in the middle of a
brutal
custody trial over Bryn, who seems oblivious and happy. I keep dropping hints about her returning to
Housewives
. Seems insane but there's something in the back of my head that says it's not an awful idea for her (I know it's a great one for us). Wacha chased and killed two flies in the house, which at last answered the question of his roach-killing capability. I crashed from the Tracy Anderson around five-thirty and then drove back to the city. Zachary Quinto and I share a birthday and he had a drinks thing at the Little Owl Catering Space, where I unfortunately turned into Valerie Cherish at midnight, when a cake came out and the birthday boy made a sweet toast to his friends. I was standing there—loaded—with a big grin on my face waiting to be called up or acknowledged or something and it didn't happen, which was a very Valerie moment. I was flirting with two guys, neither of whom was technically available, so I went and got my real boyfriend and brought him over. The group—specifically Jennifer Westfeldt—went wild for Wacha. Jason Weinberg wants to set me up with the same guy Allison Levy has been talking about for the last year.

Ann B. Davis died today and I was shocked she was still alive, so that was a double-edged sword. She was eighty-eight.

MONDAY, JUNE 2, 2014

I woke up to a birthday tweet from Marie Osmond! Between that and Wacha, I don't need another gift. I certainly don't
feel
forty-six today. And I don't think I look forty-six, right? I hope? It's funny to see who wishes you happy birthday first thing in the morning, and you have to then question how they know it's your birthday. Is it Facebook? Which, by the way, has become the worst thing about birthdays. It's just too much. I don't actually know half my Facebook friends, so there's no way for me to find what my real friends have posted for my birthday, and so I wind up not looking at any of it because it's overwhelming. That being said, by the end of the day, I heard from essentially everyone I know and there's nothing not nice about that.