The Andy Cohen Diaries (38 page)

We shot the whole thing in my neighborhood—on the far end of my block toward the river. So it was exactly in front of the building in which I lived from '91 to '96, and who comes out all these years later but my downstairs neighbor Dottie, the old lady with the dogs whom Grac and I dubbed the Gladys Kravitz of the meatpacking district—a real rabble-rouser and busybody before the area was cool. I haven't seen her in so many years, and had assumed she had passed away, but there she was: thin, old, with one of those old dogs still kicking with her. I was so happy to see her that I went right up to her and explained that I used to be her neighbor and fondly remember her and her husband, who worked for the MTA. She wasn't as happy to see me; in fact I think my energy, camera crew, and made-up face completely freaked her out. Her husband has passed away and she seemed frail. I'm a sentimental guy and this was not the reunion I hoped for. Later in the shooting, however, I ran into Eric Stonestreet and he seems like a really nice guy. I think he's from Missouri too.

We had a party for entertainment publicists on the roof of the Dream Hotel, celebrating
WWHL
's fifth anniversary, which means that I schmoozed PR girls all night. We are targeting Katy Perry for the summer.

TUESDAY, JUNE 10, 2014—NYC–BOSTON

Every time I go from Manhattan to either Boston or DC, I endlessly ruminate about whether to take the train or the shuttle. I compare the timing, which often winds up being even either way, and usually make a bad decision. Today was one of those days, as Dave and I bet on the shuttle to get to Boston to shoot our College Roommate Quickfire on
Top Chef
and were delayed three hours at the airport because of weather that we'd be sailing through on the train. Joy.

We landed in time for a late dinner at Sportello, which we initially thought was too bright but won us over with its food and lesbian waitstaff. Some guy from our freshman-year dorm floor was at the bar and Dave remembered him and then reminded me I used to borrow his CD player and Genesis CDs. (I had an Early Genesis Moment freshman year of college, about which I feel no shame.) Our driver seemed to be in Boston for the first time in his life, so Dave and I knew more than he about getting around and we made him drive all around town on a quest to find the perfect bar. Boston remains charming, beautiful, and a perfect mini Americanization of London. Driving through the South End took me back to being head over heels in love for the first time as a college senior with a twenty-six-year-old who at the time seemed like an intellectual, but I now realize was perhaps a windbag. He was a sun-kissed blond trust-fund guy who lived in a loft, spoke several languages, and took me to nice dinners. I was young and in love, and it was all so foreign it felt like I lived in Paris.

Dave and I went to Toro for a drink, then got lost looking for a bear bar and wound up at Paradise in Cambridge, which had strippers and featured TV screens showing men doing things to each other that had never crossed Dave's mind, which I should point out he handled with great aplomb. At around midnight our trusty driver took a wrong turn and we were on a Boston University “campus” drive-by. The campus is as unimpressive now as it was when we were there all those years ago. But one of the reasons I went to BU was because Boston was its campus.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 11, 2014—BOSTON–NYC

On the front page of the
Boston Globe
is a story with the headline “Local Names Hard to Find in Clinton's Pages,” about the dearth of Bostonians mentioned in Hillary Clinton's new book. The
Globe
feels that Boston's political relevancy is stronger than the number of mentions it got from Hillary, so it's a whole deal with a chart of how many mentions locals got (John Kerry led with twenty-one). Some would say this town has a massive insecurity complex, some maybe that it has a major chip on its shoulder, but I am a lover, not a fighter, so I like to think of it as Massachusetts's pride. Still—
this
is front-page news?

Top Chef
was a blast. We judged a Ramen Noodle Quickfire, a classic dorm meal that Dave and I know all too well. After ten seasons as an EP on that show, it was wild to be in front of the camera, delivering and judging a challenge with Padma. And I saw Dave nervous for I think the first time in our thirty-year friendship—when we were running through the directions we had to give the chefs, his mouth was tensed in a whole new way. I was supportive, but put this moment in my back pocket to take out and rib him about later. Tasting the food was the best and giving the results was the worst. Dave thinks that I sexually harass Padma, and he may be right. Before announcing the winner of the Quickfire, I told the chefs that she and I had made sweet love while they were cooking. She is saucy. And knows about sauces. Ma-ha. We do have a very unique relationship; she has a fantastic sense of humor.

TSA at Logan is staffed by a League of Older Gentlemen Massholes who are very serious about inspecting licenses and everything. But there is something weird going on there. At the first checkpoint, a man snarled at my New York license and said, “You did one thing right, you got out of New York.”

“Yeah, but I'm going back now,” I said.

He wasn't happy. “Massachusetts is the
best state
, you know that.” He was looking me in the eye,
deadly
serious.

“Yes, I know that,”
I agreed before he sent me to be cavity searched. The second man at the metal detector looked at me and said, “If you have a metal shank in your shoe, you'll need to take them off.”

Yes, I figured that, sir, but thank you for the reminder about a metal shank being off-limits. And finally the guy sitting on the other end of the luggage conveyer—unsolicited—said, “Good for you for getting the hell out of Boston.” So there's a weird mix of self-hate and self-love going on in the Delta terminal, which maybe shouldn't have surprised me after this morning's newspaper headline.

It took two shuttle experiences for me to once and for all agree with what Bruce has been saying for years: In the summer, if it's after 2 p.m., you always take the train from NYC to Boston or DC. We were delayed again three hours to LGA. I had two tequilas, Dave had three.

THURSDAY, JUNE 12, 2014

Wacha has a girlfriend in Brooklyn. Her name is Lola and she's a King Charles. Sherman says he's obsessed with her—he sent me pictures from doggy day care. She looks like she wears a weave and he appears shy and smitten in her presence. I don't want him to get hurt. I worked out with the Ninj—tons of core work on the floor and running around that ladder thing, then had lunch with Bruce at Good. Went to Three Lives bookstore and got Dad a bunch of books for Father's Day. I asked them why they don't carry
Most Talkative
but they didn't seem interested in that conversation. After consulting with Jeff Lewis and Nate Berkus, I finally pulled the trigger on hiring an architect. If I had a therapist, I might consider asking him what about the decision scared me. But I don't.

Skyped with Mom and Dad, and Blouse was there. She and Eddie love how I dress on
WWHL
but cannot get over how many commercials there are.

Tonight was Joey Walsh's eighth-grade graduation from Brooklyn Heights Montessori School. It was sweet and full of emotion for the parents and kids, but I blundered at the cookie and cheese reception afterwards when I asked for a glass of wine. I just assumed there would be wine, but I was very wrong. I was too embarrassed to tell Jeanne and Fred what I'd done but I had a feeling they'd get a report from the teacher later.

Stopped by the birthday party for Anthony from
WWHL
at Boxers and some dude next to me at the urinal was whistling that Lorde song so forcefully I wanted to whack him. Whistling is a massive pet peeve for me. Cannot bear it.

I'm actually looking forward to the
RHONY
reunion tomorrow.

FRIDAY, JUNE 13, 2014

It was a monsoon outside all day and in the Hammerstein Ballroom it was raining absurdity, my favorite kind of storm. The day was a wild dance with Ramona, and after doing six of these with her, I was ready for it. Before the show, she made me promise on my dog's life that I wouldn't go deep about what's going on in her marriage with Mario, but I wouldn't promise all the way. I told her to just listen closely to my questions—which were going to be more along the lines of “What did you
learn about yourself
from your marriage struggles?” rather than “Who cheated on who?” We had saved that section for the end of the day, and until then I kept her happy by telling her when the next break was, how many cards I had left to ask, how many packages were remaining—I have learned that as long as I keep her closely in the loop, she remains calm. For her. When I told her we might have enough content for three parts, she was ebullient and I got a really heartfelt emo moment of how appreciative she is of our relationship. Then the love ended when I did start asking the questions about her marriage—she kept saying, “Roll the next package!” and “Next question!” Then she asked me who
I
was planning on having sex with tonight, and I told her when I go on a reality show about my life I would be happy to tell her. It was a tug-of-war and I wound up getting nothing out of her. And she did herself no favors by evading every question. At the end of the day she told me to watch my dog. Did I
actually
swear on his life before the shoot? I was going to drive to the beach after we wrapped but it was still pouring and I wound up at Whitehall 10014 with Bruce and Bryan, where we downed margaritas. The city on a summer Friday night is a mellow delight.

SATURDAY, JUNE 14, 2014—NYC–SAG HARBOR

I opened my eyes and realized with a flash I had a morning meeting with some Jehovah's Witnesses in Sag Harbor, so I hightailed it out to the beach and was on my couch by ten-thirty, exactly the time they showed up last week. I didn't know what to wear, so I figured sweats was the best look because I didn't want them to think I thought about it. I got stood up and headed to Shelter Island for lunch at the Perskys', where Joanna went absolutely nuts with the deviled eggs—I think she had two dozen for me. Which begs the question: What's the protocol when someone goes out of their way to make you a massive amount of something and you can't possibly eat it all? I made it through five. The peppermint ice cream was absurd. I had to stop myself from having more because I knew it was pizza for dinner tonight. We pondered Liza's age-old favorite topic: What one thing would you ask your dog? Bill said he would ask Sassy, “Who do you love more, me or Joanna?” Joanna said she would ask what one thing she could do to make Sassy's life better. For the life of me I can't decide what I would ask Wacha, which is odd considering I interview people for a living. Maybe I would ask him what he would ask
me
.

I ran with Wacha and thought he might have a heart attack near the end. And on that note, maybe I would ask him if he could come up with a clear sign for me before having cardiac arrest. Dinner at Sam's with Barry, Sandy, and Bryan Fox. We ordered Cokes and the waitress said they have Pepsi, which Barry, a member of the Coke board, couldn't understand. Graham, the owner, came over to the table and we broke down his relationship with Coke and Pepsi, and Barry took his name and number. Suffice to say I will guarantee Graham will be convinced to switch to Coke by the end of the summer.

Had a drink with the doctor I met at the gay pastel party last week who is so handsome but I think too young for me. A common theme?

SUNDAY, JUNE 15, 2014—SAG HARBOR–NYC

I am not a dad, but every Father's Day I get greetings and salutations from gay guys all over the place thinking I am a
daddy
. So that's weird. It is, right? And now dog lovers are wishing me well because of Wacha. I love this dog so much but I don't think I can embrace Father's Day as my own. Dad loved his books except he doesn't have an interest in the Hillary Clinton one. Tracy Anderson must be obsessed with hip flexors, because the whole workout was about lifting legs.

This isn't a new observation but, wow, does Wacha follow me everywhere. Like every step I take. And I know it's supposed to be “Father's Day” for “dog parents” but he is bugging the shit out of me. I went back to the city early for our first show in two weeks and didn't bring Wacha to the studio. I felt like we needed a few hours apart.

Recorded the voice-over for a
Married to Medicine
special and they had me say “tea,” “shade,” and “side eye” in every line I read. André Leon Talley had a little silver thing in his hand for the whole show; I asked what it was and he said an Elsa Peretti minaudière that he holds to calm his nerves. I asked him if it had pills in it and he said, “No pills, no coke!” On air. Love him.

Stayed after with John Hill and went deep. A late-night walk with Wacha got me vibing with him again. Danny from the Cubbyhole bartended on
WWHL
and then I wandered into him standing in front of the bar smoking a cig when we walked by—because I live in Mayberry—and he said he'd been very nervous on the show, which hadn't registered with me. Anderson went to Baghdad. I'm worried about him!

MONDAY, JUNE 16, 2014

As we headed down the hallway for Wacha's morning walk, I heard the old lady down the hall screaming and crying on the phone with someone. It was heart wrenching. Wacha kept looking up at me while we waited for the elevator, both of us listening to her tearfully
pleading
for something. It was too much to bear and she was on my mind all day. What was wrong? Who was she pleading with and for what? And in other sad news, I read in the paper that Warhol muse Ultra Violet died.

Had conference calls about a new show I'm developing that we'll hopefully pitch to NBC sometime soon, screened an episode of
RHOC
and one of
RHONJ
, then Bruce took me to SoulCycle for a class with his favorite instructor, Marvin. It was a great workout and much less irritating than those classes usually are. As I mentioned, I can't handle getting screamed at about spirituality by sweaty lesbians in a dark room. But Marvin was great. And Bruce has completely transformed his body by spinning.