The Andy Cohen Diaries (4 page)

Nick Carter and Suzanne Somers were on the show tonight. Nick Carter is doing this book about his struggles with drug and alcohol dependence, and some might argue that my show promotes alcoholism, so I took him aside before we went on and said I would be mellow with all the booze talk, but it turned out he still drinks occasionally. He said just don't worry about it. I felt funny interviewing him about his struggles with sobriety knowing that he wasn't completely sober. I loved him, though. Suzanne Somers said she relates to me as a businesswoman, which I don't know what to do with. Women do love to tell me they are businesswomen, especially Housewives. Should Suzanne be a Housewife? A grand doyenne of
The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills
? And the bartender was Steve Grand, this gay country singer who is pretty hot. The dynamic of my ex-boyfriend John standing next to the camera watching me flirt with this gay country singer who looked like a triple banana split made for an amusing show—for me at least.

Ryan finished the Lady Gaga perfume and I can't decide whether it smells floral or like dressed-up pee. He put it in an old-fashioned snifter-y bottle with one of those puffs to spray it. The truth of the matter is you're spraying some form of urine on yourself and whether it belonged to a pop priestess or not, whether it smells good or not, it's pee. Maybe I like the idea of it better than the reality. Not the first time.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 2013

I had Lucy Liu on the show and I got her to spank me (which seems to be happening with great frequency lately) and her Lorraine Schwartz diamond bracelet broke on my ass. What is the protocol after asking someone to spank you and then breaking their bracelet? Am I supposed to pay for this? Does Bravo pay? After the show, my mother sent a furious flurry of texts saying that my pants were too tight (“You are PRESENTING your CROTCH to people who DON'T WANT TO SEE IT!!!”); however, I also got two random emails on Facebook complimenting my bountiful basket. That's a wardrobe catch-22. By the way, it was a made-to-measure Seize sur Vingt suit. Oh, and I got a vile email from a viewer saying I looked like a “fool in a child's suit” and to “stop trying to make my hair look hip.” Everybody needs to be heard.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 26–SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 2013—LAKE POWELL, UTAH

Our whole group that always travels together—a group that
occasionally
could be considered jogging on the perimeter of jaded—reunited again, this time for a trip to Lake Powell, where we were completely gobsmacked by the beauty and scope of the American West. It was me, Barry, Bruce and Bryan, Jason and Lauren Blum, Ricky Van Veen and Allison Williams, Hamilton and Manuel, and Michael and Wes. (Anderson's doing a story for
60
somewhere.) I paddleboarded, kayaked, and rappelled, and got my rock-climbing teacher to tell me his sex stories. (In essence, it's hard to come by out here even though he's hot.) We played this great Spanish card game called Pumba, which brought out the nasty bitch in us all and provided endless laughs. We stayed at the Amangiri for part of the time and on a houseboat for the rest. Imagine fifteen New Yorkers on a houseboat on Lake Powell with a weak Wi-Fi signal. (I thought for an hour that someone was going to get their throat slit over this Wi-Fi signal.) On the other end of the spectrum, I can't believe this terrain is in America. It's colossal,
incredible.
The shapes, colors, size, and patterns are mind-blowing.

Allison and Ricky played an amazing prank on the rest of us—they got the Amangiri to leave letters in each of our rooms saying we were being inducted into a select group of “Spirit Guests,” which entitled us to all sorts of special privileges at Aman hotels. “Spirit Guest” merchandise accompanied the letter and it set us all reeling. There is no other hotel group that I would want to get free nights at more than from Aman, so I was personally a little high from the letter. But when you reread it really closely, it actually made no sense (i.e., the resort bragged about playing host to dictators and random celebrities, and they were a touch condescending to Allison, who by my read they referred to as a know-it-all), so we broke it down at dinner and finally realized it was an elaborate prank—which made me maybe even happier than the privileges would have.

I was the only single person on the trip. I enjoyed myself and did not give it a second thought until last night. I was Skypeing with my parents and Mom asked me who was on the vacation and I started naming all these people and three names in she got this look on her face, getting really sad on my behalf—she was almost getting misty—and I was like, “No, no, no, it's fine.” Her reaction made me sad. Did it take my mom being sad on my behalf for me to feel lonely? It was interesting. So then I hashed it out in my mind—I was with a group of great friends and didn't have a moment of isolation on the trip. That being said, I do love to cuddle and it was cold at night. I really need a dog, is the thing. Baby steps …

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 2013

Last night my Barbara Walters/Teresa moment aired and I woke up to a flood of tweets from Teresa lovers—they call themselves “Tree Huggers”—who were furious at me for asking her questions about the thirty-nine federal counts against her. They either don't think it is a big deal or think that it's not my business to be asking. So I did what I do in the face of a zillion nasty tweets, which is start tweeting about my cab ride. And I will say, my cab driver and I were magically, fully in sync today—this makes me happy. We crossed Twenty-fourth Street to go up Sixth Avenue, and it was perfect. I tipped him $4 on a $10.50 fare and gave him my
Times
and
Post
. I love it when my cab drivers enthusiastically accept my newspapers.

At 30 Rock I interviewed Lady Gaga on the phone for
Glamour
. She was in LA, snuggly and baby-voiced. I asked her which of her songs represented her or her career and she said “Born This Way” and I wondered if her experience of that song had been tainted by Madonna calling it “reductive.” She thought long and hard and was very careful in answering, but we wound up speaking about their relationship for several minutes and I know it's going to generate a ton of press for the magazine. In a nutshell, what she was saying is that Madonna's true persona was revealed during the whole squabble. And I inferred that her version of that persona is a beeyotch. I, of course, am torn about being the one to generate this information, because in no way do I want to be associated with anything negative relating to Camp Madonna.

Also I asked her if she liked Katy Perry and there was a long pause and she said she would rather not answer that. “No comment” is often the most revealing answer, so I was titillated at the idea that there actually might be some tension between these two superstars who've been pitted against each other in the press.

But about fifteen minutes into the conversation, I found myself deeply engrossed in the Star Tracks section of
People
magazine and checking my Twitter feed and literally had to slap some sense into myself to pay attention to
Glamour
's Woman of the Freaking
Year
on the other end of the telephone. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I
that
easily distracted? Can I possibly be bored talking to a major pop diva? Would I rather look at paparazzi pics of Gaga than actually talk to her? Is it ADD? Is this gonna be my golden ticket to an Adderall prescription? I can always find an upside.

I recorded the interview with only one tape recorder and was paranoid the entire time that it wasn't recording. Also, when it was over I told her I kept her pee, and she loved it and, oddly enough, thought that I might have. Maybe she's done this before? I wouldn't tell her what I did with the pee. I kind of have to get my head around the whole peefume idea before I go wide with it.

I stayed up till two in the morning looking at dogs online. I have become obsessed. It's as much fun as Manhunt was in 2006. I fell in love with a beagle-hound mix named Ron Swanson. I should've been looking at beagles all along, given my Snoopy fixation, but everyone says they're horrible animals. He looks perfect—he's white and brownish red. Preppy. Kinda like a Ralph Lauren Snoopy. And he would go in my apartment—he literally
goes
with the furniture! I'm stalking the agency, See Spot Rescued—I sent them two emails—so I can meet this Ron Swanson. By the way, “Ron Swanson” is clearly a great name for a beagle but it's also the name of a character on
Parks and Rec
(which I don't watch), and what would be worse than getting the dog and having to explain to everyone that I don't really watch the show? I would have to change that name.

I feel like a dog is going to give me some love. I need a companion; it's time. Plus if this new deal at Bravo/
WWHL
works out, I'm going to have a lot more time at home. Basically, if I have to think about only myself for another minute, I am going to rip my skin off.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 1, 2013

The government is shut down and all I can do is think about Rachel Zoe saying, “The government. Shut. It. Down!” I spent a couple hours with the
Housewives of New York City
production team, who had blocked out twenty episodes based on what we shot all summer. It's going to be an amazing season. Absurd drama and laughs in every episode. I'm excited.

Over the last couple weeks I have slowly come to the realization that I'm completely fat. It's all I see when I look down or in the mirror. I can't believe how fat I am, which for some reason makes my transition into dog owner all the more meaningful. You have to be a little chubby to be a dog owner, right? Just a little belly? I'm obsessed with Ron Swanson the Ralph Lauren Snoopy, and I heard back from the lady at See Spot Rescued. She said Ron is still available—he's in West Virginia and they are flying him up here. He was in a kill shelter there and now is in a foster home. She needs to come do a home visit and she needs three references. She means business, this adoption lady. And she said they give all their dogs pop culture names. I looked at her site and there's a Slade Smiley(!), and also a Roxie Hart. There's Marc Jacobs, he's kind of cute. Christie Brinkley was just adopted. I mean, there's even a Mila Kunis. I keep picturing Mila Kunis the dog whenever her name comes up (which has oddly happened a couple times this week). And there's a Cat Deeley. A dog named Cat. Then of course on my way to the gym I saw a Havanese and I got Havanese crazy again. But I think I am meant to have a beagle. (I know, Ron Swanson is actually a beagle-foxhound mix, but close enough.)

Alexia Echevarria and Meghan McCain were on my show. I kind of thought that I was going to make Alexia cry talking about her son, but she didn't. It may have been additive to see her cry. I like her, though, tears or not.

All night I was in a slow rage. I couldn't figure out what I was mad about. Something. I couldn't remember, which was frustrating for everyone of course. And I gave the finger to the government on the air and in my ear Deirdre wondered if you can give the finger on Bravo. After the show my trusty EP found out that yes, you can, if it's done as a joke. What do I know about the government? I'm fat. Maybe that's why I'm mad?

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 2, 2013

Everything came together at the last minute tonight and we had a great show. Around 6 p.m. I decided it would be hilarious to do Rachel Zoe commenting on the government shutdown, so we got Amy Phillips to get in costume and do that whole “Washington is shutting it down” thing. And then right before air, someone tweeted me that the San Diego Zoo Panda Cam was still up, so we kept cutting to that. I can't handle pandas. I mean, they look like people in panda costumes eating twigs. There is nothing cuter. And so now I think we're going to do a webcam of the night. It's very Letterman, like what he used to do, but whatever. I like it. I love David Arquette, he's got a great spirit. I said to him before we went on that it must be hard to own a bar and manage his sobriety and he goes, “I'm not sober anymore.” (This seems to be a trend.) Everyone in the control room heard, and Deirdre was in my ear immediately, making fun of the awkward moment. I recovered and asked him what he was drinking and then I toasted him. The truth is he was a whole lot looser on the sauce, which is not exactly headline news.

David was with this lady who was carrying on about the Dodgers and how they may be playing the Cardinals in the playoffs. She said to me that they were gonna kick our asses. I hate smack talk. I'm not cut out for it. I told her that the proper thing to say is “It's going to be a great series.” That's what you say to be sportsmanlike. You don't act like a child and talk shit. After the show she gave me her card and said, “If you need tickets to any of the games, I am one of the owners of the team.” And then I realized, I almost had a fight with one of the owners of the Dodgers.
I
was telling
her
how to be sportsmanlike. I hope I didn't screw up a coin toss or a trade.

I got home around 12:30 a.m. and got a two-hour massage. It was amazing. From a new guy, Adam. He was really tough. This is going to become a weekly thing. Though I tend to give notes after a massage to the poor therapist, I had very few for him. (There
was
one thing about my shoulders.) I asked him to carry me to my bed when it was done, and said that I was joking, but I think I was serious. The whole time I was lying there I was thinking, “What if Ron Swanson was here, what would he be doing? Would he be looking at me the whole time?”

And I continue to be fat. Correction—I continue to be
very
fat. I was lying on the table like a slab of meat, wondering what I look like splayed out. I should add that I had a shot of Jägermeister on my way out of the show. Literally as I was walking out the door to get the massage after filming a response to the Britney “Work Bitch” video, someone hands me a shot and I just did it and left. So I have become this splayed-out bloated person with Jäger breath thinking about pandas. When do I start being an adult? When Ron Swanson arrives?