by Andy Cohen
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2013
Tonight was our five hundredth episode—with guests Gloria Estefan and Sean Kingston—but it was no cause for celebration for me. This is gross, but here’s what happened: I never poo at Bravo HQ or at WWHL. I don’t poop at work, case closed. Tonight, unfortunately, I completely mistimed my daily expulsion and by the time I got to the show, I kept hearing Whoopi Goldberg in my head saying, “You in danger, girl.” I had to go. To make matters worse, catering was serving “breakfast for dinner.” Breakfast for dinner always generates a ton of excitement among the kids who work at my show. (Obviously—who doesn’t love breakfast for dinner?) But these kids really are nuts about it. Predictably, I got caught up in the buzz, and after that meal, I had that feeling.
The bathroom on our floor is not only shared with our entire staff but the community college down the hall (long story/don’t ask) and our audience. So I was a lot concerned about giving one unlucky audience member something memorable for my five hundredth episode. I mean, can you imagine going to a talk show and seeing the host come out of a stall? That would forever taint my viewing experience of the show. And possibly make me feel revolted by the host and never, ever watch his smelly show again. I was determined not to do it.
Adding another layer to the shituation, we were doing a “Teach Me Your Talent” as one of our “Here’s What’s” and Gloria Estefan was going to teach me a sexy Latin dance move that a shart would have rendered unsexy. To cap it off, we were ending the episode with a conga line with the WWHL gay shark that I was sure would end in disaster. John Hill was the only one who knew what was going on with me, and when the show was over he pointed out that I had my feet raised off the ground for most of it, in what I assume was a clench mechanism. I raced home afterwards faster than I ever have in five hundred shows. No cake for me!
Nobody picked up my comments from the Us party about Sean being straight and now there’s something in the Enquirer about us being engaged. And my buddy Jim Ackerman who lives in New Jersey was leaving his house the other day and his plumber asked him if it was true. A plumber in New Jersey heard about it. People in St. Louis are even starting to ask my parents about it. My mom keeps saying, “It’s so STUPID!”
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 2013
Turns out we counted wrong and last night was actually show number 480 or so. Ruh-roh. That’s just funny. We made a huge deal about the anniversary on the air; I really carried on about it. I guess we lied, is all. Also, Ryan King, our renaissance production assistant, says he read online that Lady Gaga’s urine will become toxic shortly—not because it is Lady Gaga’s but because urine belonging to any mammal (including lady singers) becomes toxic. But he strangely found a recipe somewhere to turn it into perfume. So Ryan is trying to make perfume out of Lady Gaga’s pee, which is even more arty than just saving it on its own as a pop culture artifact.
I feel morose, or grossly opportunistic, even bringing this up, but my doorman Surfin told me a couple months ago that my upstairs neighbor, an old man who has the exact same floor plan as mine, is very, very sick. Like bedridden with twenty-four-hour care up there. And the super made it seem like making a duplex in the building is a possibility. So I mean … I don’t wish for this man to pass away but I have been coveting his apartment and every morning when I leave I give Surfin a look wondering if he has seen the neighbor and he gives me one back saying he hasn’t. I feel filthy every time I think these evil thoughts, but I can’t stop. New York City turns us all into killers.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2013
Today was Yom Kippur and I went to the gay temple and once again I did not find a boyfriend. Cruising the Jewish Boys during the long service is certainly a wonderful diversion but I wonder if it is what the Lord would’ve wanted on the holiest day of the year. Like maybe it’s contradictory to the repenting? At this moment it’s been almost a decade since John Hill and I broke up and he was my last serious relationship. “How can that be?!” I am asked by others and often ask myself. Pick one or two: I am shut off, I am happy as I am, I am selfish and set in my ways, I put my job first, I meet people that I’m more attracted to physically than mentally, I use my friends and job to replace a relationship, I see my ex every day at work and that gives me enough something or other to tide me over. Or maybe, just maybe, I haven’t met the right guy? It’s gotta be some combination of all of them, but I have been in love exactly two and a half times and I am sure I will be again. In the meantime I will cruise guys at my gay temple whilst repenting. And I am entertaining the notion of getting a dog.
Just like every fall since freshman year in college, I broke the fast at Dave Ansel’s—breakfast for dinner without any emergencies! Dave’s daughters are obsessed with Girls Just Want to Have Fun (who isn’t?), so when SJP picked me up for Jessica Seinfeld’s birthday party wearing sparkly shoes, they lost their minds. It was a cute post-nosh moment. I guess you would classify Jessica’s birthday event as a house party with a twist—seated dinner, hot waiters, and dancing. We arrived at the same time as Sean Avery, who said that if we were engaged he never would’ve let me out of the house with the sport coat I was wearing, which was kind of irritating given that it’s a brand-new Ovadia and Sons white jacket with black trim on the lapel. I could’ve pretended Sean and I were indeed engaged, because I was seated between him and SJP, but his girlfriend, Hilary, was to his left, so that would’ve been awkward. And Sean said his dad called him wanting to know if they were going to have the conversation. His dad said, “We need to talk. Whatever you need to say to me, it will be OK.” He was trying to say that he was ready for Sean to come out—his voice was catching and everything. Which is insane, but weirdly sweet. Sean said, “No, Dad, no. No. I’m not gay. I’m not.”
Hugh Jackman was there—he’s huge. There was a DJ on the terrace and it was decadent and thumping. It was my first encounter with a DJ on a residential terrace. If anyone needed to dance in Central Park, we gave them a reason. I made up for fasting all day by eating like a pig all night.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 2013
Went to a party at the Boom Boom Room for NBC’s new schedule (though not sure there is much to celebrate there) and told ET Canada and Extra that Sean is straight and this is a stupid rumor. I am pretty sure that will do it. I only stayed forty-five minutes because I had to get to the show. It is very weird being at the Boom Boom Room sober. I won’t ever attempt that again. Talked to a bunch of the girls from SNL, including Vanessa Bayer. Love her. Obsessed with Jacob the Bar Mitzvah Boy.
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 2013
I apparently did not kill the engagement thing last night and tonight went to a party for the launch of Esquire TV thinking that I had to definitively put the kibosh on the rumors. TMZ asked me about it when I was coming into the party and I did my spiel and then said, “So no, I am not banging Sean Avery, but I would like to.” I can’t imagine that’s not running.
Major Housewives drama offscreen this week. We are replacing several women in two cities. So far it’s been sad and energizing all at once. Hopefully we are adding life to both series by shaking things up. I spent forty-five minutes on the phone today with one of their husbands who was begging for his wife’s job back, saying they have no backup plan, and I was telling him he never should have banked on this as his career. I had this same conversation a couple years ago with a (crying, literally) husband from another city and it is not pleasant. I feel horrible for these guys who had careers before the show and then went all-in on their wives’ reality TV stardom. Let me say this once and for all: bad idea. Reality TV careers aren’t forever. Then Ramona called upset because I had invited Jill back to play tennis for a scene. Apparently a cast revolt was brewing about her coming back for even one scene. I completely understood her point of view, actually, and we killed the shoot (which necessitated a long follow-up call with Jill). And then last night NeNe was on with Paula Patton (she brought me a gorgeous bottle of whiskey that she said Robin Thicke jacked from their hotel room f
or me) and I did something to piss Linnethia off and I can’t figure out what it was, but she shut down on the air. Drama in four cities. I kind of love it.
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 2013
I saw the Irish chef last night. He slept over. Fun, but I had three hours of insomnia in the middle of the night. My mind was churning and in the light of day I’m not sure about what.
I went to the City Clerk’s office at the crack of dawn to get my marriage officiate license because I’ll be officiating a live wedding on WWHL soon. Daryn filled out the paperwork online and then I just had to show up at City Hall to make it official. Couples who were there to get married were recognizing me and I was handing out tickets to WWHL as wedding presents left and right. But I was in such a bad mood, so tired. I gave tickets to Melinda, the lady behind the counter, and the sick thing is when these people all do come to the show I will have forgotten who they are but have to take pictures with them after the show and I won’t want to do it because I’ll be irritable and want to get out the door. I’m setting myself up to be irritated.
My mood improved at work. I got a nice email from Jacqueline, very Zen about not coming back to Jersey, and we let go of a couple Wives on Real Housewives of Orange County. One said she was too busy to take the call from the head of the production company and put him on with her intern. Her man later called back and was shocked to hear why the EP was calling. Then the weirdest cake arrived from Lady Gaga, red velvet cheesecake with white chocolate on top with Lady Gaga Art Pop written on it … the note said “Love, Gaga” in teeny little capitals. It looked like—I don’t know what actually–robot writing? Speaking of weird handwriting, our renaissance PA, Ryan, who was making the Gaga pee-fume, writes down what I’m wearing every night for Bravotv.com. I noticed he has really unique handwriting, and he holds the pen in an odd manner. He told me he learned to paint before he learned to write, so he holds the pen like a paintbrush. I just had to hug him. I was like, “When do I find out something bad about you?” I’m borderline inappropriate with our PAs.
That TMZ thing ran all over the place and of course the headline was “Andy Cohen: I’m not banging Sean Avery but I would like to!” At least the story is dead and I haven’t misrepresented myself. I have to say the comments on gay websites—I talked to Anderson about this—you just can’t read them. They are the meanest. Gay people will eat other gay people alive. After all these years putting myself out there, I am pretty thick skinned, but the shit gay people say about me is, wow. I am apparently a lecherous, disgusting, old, crazy, cliché, star-fucking, ladylike, bossy bottom. That’s it in a nutshell. (They without fail add the “bottom” moniker at the end. As punctuation.)
A perfect dinner with John Hill at Pastis, where I had the French onion soup and branzino. We sat at the same corner table I sat at the night before 9/11 with Natasha Richardson and Hickey after the Michael Jackson concert. We’d come late-night after the concert and SJP coincidentally had walked in from a big fashion event and sat with us. Walking out, we saw the towers and all commented what a perfect night it was. Towers are gone. Natasha is gone. Michael Jackson is gone.
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2013
Today’s Housewife psychodrama involved me on the phone with someone in the throes of being demoted from full Housewife to recurring role. She wanted to be in the opening titles and I had to tell her no. She wanted to be in every episode, and I couldn’t guarantee that either. Her husband was on the call, of course. At one point he said, “We pay our taxes, unlike some of your other non-tax-paying Housewives.” Good for you! And apparently there’s a former OC Wife in tears fighting her dismissal and I’m expecting a call from her any minute.
Glamour magazine asked me to interview Lady Gaga for their Women of the Year cover story. Allegedly her people asked for me, which if true is flattering. But the reality of the situation is I don’t want to offend Madonna by being up Lady Gaga’s ass. I want to interview Madonna!
Went to the launch party of the new FourTwoNine magazine. Walking in, I saw a huge poster of the cover, which is of SJP and me, and it’s pretty gorgeous, I have to admit. You’d think that if there was ever a huge blown-up poster of yourself you would want it. And indeed someone asked me, “Do you want that poster?” and I immediately thought, “Where in the hell are you going to put a billboard of yourself?” This has happened before at Bravo and I’ve figured that my mom would want the posters. And of course she says, “What the hell am I going to do with THAT!? I don’t want to STARE AT YOU all day!” So the truth of the situation is, nobody wants your blown-up poster of yourself—not you and not even your mother. Bruce (wearing a T-shirt that said “I Love Madonna” in rhinestones) and Liza came to the party, so that was a godsend. The Irish chef was there too.
When I got home I was doing whatever the hell I do in my apartment and I walked into the bathroom and saw a huge insect—an enormous waterbug—on the soap tray next to the sink. You would’ve thought there was a lion in the tub by the way I screamed bloody murder. It was like the fucking Hunger Games! I raced to the intercom and breathlessly, urgently called the doorman. “Are there any porters in the building who can come up and kill this huge bug in my apartment?” (This has happened before—roughly quarterly.) They were all gone, so I gave the doorman my best offer: I would give him twenty bucks if he left his post and came to kill the intruder. He said he couldn’t leave his post. I told him that I would watch the front door if he came up and killed the bug. He said fine, but that it would be a few minutes. I went to close the bathroom door and peered in to look at the bear, I mean bug, and it was gone. Nowhere to be found. I called off the dogs, closed the door, sealed the perimeter by putting a towel under the door, and slept (fitfully) in the extra room.
I really need a dog. I’m lonely and I need something to care about, take care of, and think about other than myself or my job. I’ve been tossing this around all year, but tonight sealed the deal. Can dogs kill bugs? At least we could go through the terror together. I’m going to start browsing.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 2013
Today I filmed the Queer Eye reunion and it was a blast. QE had already premiered when I joined Bravo but I was an EP on close to one hundred episodes over the next few years. Now here I was hosting the reunion, on the couch with those guys. I had forgotten how groundbreaking that show was in its moment. Funny to think what a big deal it was ten years ago, seeing gay guys making straight guys’ lives better, but it was. I’m proud to have been a little part of it. We had to shoot at the crack of dawn because Ted had to catch a flight to Miami for work and we were all giving him a lot of shit. Those guys haven’t missed a beat. But I mean, you can’t get a word in edgewise with them.
The good news about starting so early was ending early with a boozy lunch outside at Rosemary’s with John Jude, John Hill, and Deirdre. We laughed a lot.
Tonight—Friday night—two Housewives kept sending me “urgent” texts. I was getting all bent out of shape because I knew they weren’t “urgent” and do we not live in a society where there are appropriate times to have work conversations, or do business hours not apply in 2013? Or is it a Housewives thing? Do business hours not apply to Housewives? I don’t know why I was getting my panties in a bundle but I was Mr. Standing On Principle and told them we would speak Monday morning.
One of the porters came by and did a walk-through of the bathroom, sprayed it down, and declared it safe for use. He said to keep the drain closed in the sink. How that monster fit through the drain is beyond me. I never found it, by the way, which means that it’s still out there.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 2013
John Hill and I went to look for a dog at the North Shore Animal League on Long Island. I met a few dogs but there were so many and it was overwhelming. I think I want a Havanese (they’re small and hypoallergenic) but I didn’t connect with any there. Oh, and when I arrived at the shelter I threw my car keys out with my coffee cup, so I spent twenty panicked minutes retracing my steps and found the
m in the dog-shit-filled trash can. Nice. Then I drove all the way out to Exit 70 to meet this Havapoo named Hemingway I’d found online. It was a long schlep in the reverse direction and I really didn’t want to do it, but my Aunt Judy, who is a mega dog lady (some might say crazy dog lady), had blown up Hemingway’s photo and was using it as her screensaver, so she was convinced I was messing with fate and guilted me into driving to Exit 70 to meet him. I spent an hour trying to figure out if I was in love. I decided I probably wasn’t, so I left.
Went to a dinner party at Bruce’s tonight and stared at pictures of Hemingway, trying to figure out if I was in love with the dog. The consensus in the room—John Hill, Liza, Amanda, and Lynn—was that I’m not, so the search continues. Bruce burned himself on a pan, so the painkillers came out and then we played “Heads Up!” It got sloppy at the end.
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 2013
Today I interviewed Teresa and Joe for a special about the thirty-nine federal counts against them and it was like pulling teeth. They are either very un-introspective or in complete denial. Or both. Another challenging layer was that their lawyers were there and didn’t want them revealing certain details. I said, “So … you guys are facing fifty years in prison,” and they were like, “Is it fifty years? We thought it was a hundred. Is it fifty years both or just one or…” And I said, “Is it a hundred?” And they said, “I think it’s a hundred.” So that’s something they are going to want to clarify with their attorneys.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2013
I spoke to one of the recently laid-off Housewives today. She is—to put it mildly—not pleased about not being asked back to the show, and she wanted me to know that she is a businesswoman and that everything she does is through a business perspective and that she is being punished for being the realist (real-est) Housewife. This from a woman with a generous amount of dye and Botox and fillers and all the rest. Apparently everyone tells her that her Q score is very high. I told her that I was working with different data. (People are always telling me about their high Q scores, but I guess if people tell you they love you all day everywhere you go, why wouldn’t you believe your Q scores would be through the roof?) She’s shocked we don’t want to do a spinoff series with her. I told her we need to freshen up the show, and that we have two great new girls ready to come on. And she goes, “Well, that went so wrong for you with New York.” And I told her it actually didn’t, and that I would do that again, the season was a success because we refreshed the show. And then she asked why we are keeping Vicki on OC and I said that everyone is separate and I wasn’t going to go through each woman and debate their worthiness.