The Andy Cohen Diaries

by Andy Cohen

  Before I went to dinner the dog walker showed up with this gorgeous pooch, Neville, who apparently Wacha has been walking with. He came into my apartment looking just like the Target dog. Turns out it’s Marc Jacobs’s dog, so I kinda feel like Marc Jacobs has been in my apartment. Unclear what he thought of the décor. Basically, Wacha is always either with Neville Jacobs or Kissy Broderick. He has a social life and is running with a glamourpack of dogs! It’s a fast crowd, though. I hope they don’t get him into drugs or anything. Or worse, what if he gives one of them worms? Something new to worry about.

  SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 2013

  Wacha can’t hang out only with famous dogs—he needs to have some values and learn about real life. So today was all about him and we started at the Union Square dog park, which I discovered is like a massive box of kitty litter. I feel like I have kennel cough now, although I really wore him out, so it was half-worth it. Except this woman with a mean dog named Eddie came over to me and wanted to run some “marketing ideas” past me. I was like Lindsay Lohan on her phone, just saying, “I really don’t know!” Back at home I gave Wacha his first bath, during which a horrifying quantity of dirt accumulated in the tub. Is there that much dirt spread everywhere in my apartment? It’s like that Dateline when they come over and expose the filth in your own home.

  It was Atlanta premiere night and I was so engaged with Kandi and Kenya that it made me wonder if I had been asleep for other episodes. WWHL is bursting with extra fun when Atlanta is on. Wacha was so exhausted when I got home from the show, he didn’t even want to come out of his little house. It’s very satisfying when he’s worn out.

  MONDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 2013

  Tonight Lisa Vanderpump and Whitney Cummings were on and Cardinal legend Jim Edmonds was bartending. After the show, I took Lisa and Jim and posse to the Cubbyhole, which was really fun and not too packed with ladies. Now I literally can talk dogs endlessly with Lisa, so that’s good. Though it was amusing watching La Vanderpump holding court in the middle of my neighborhood lesbian dive bar. I put her in her car around 1 a.m. and the rest of us stayed. Somehow Jim Edmonds was controlling the jukebox from his phone and kept playing country music. I need to get that app.

  At around two-thirty in the morning I went around the corner and got Wacha and brought him to the Cubbyhole. So now Wacha has been to a gay bar. Suffice to say he was very popular.

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 2013

  Tonight I had two guests who didn’t know who the other was, and did not particularly care to, Reza from Shahs of Sunset and the actor Zachary Levi. I felt very codependent trying to make sure both of them were OK, because frankly, I got the feeling they each thought the other was a loser and would’ve rather been on with anyone else. After the show I met Jim Edmonds and his group at 675 Bar for a quick tequila. Once a month I’ll get approached at a club or a party by someone overweight who’s involved in a NetJets-type operation, trying to sell me a share in a private plane, and it happened again tonight. No sure what that’s about. They all were disappointed that Wacha wasn’t there. Now I’m no good unless I bring the dog.

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 2013

  Wacha threw up and ate it. So that’s great. After all the agonizing about the intro lines for NY Housewives, I finally heard them all together in the intro and I think they are funny, but Shari Levine said it looks to her like an SNL sketch. So now I’m second-guessing myself. De Blasio was elected mayor and I think Cynthia Nixon deserves a lot of the credit. (And I’m starting to second-guess myself on him too.)

  I had fights with two TVs in two different cabs. As much as I love TV, I do not want to watch it in a cab. Ever. Even if I’m on it.

  After nine years of twice-yearly offsites sitting in hotel suites brainstorming and planning the future of the network, today was my last Bravo offsite. Nobody knew about my new deal, so I sat there feeling bittersweet all day.

  LinkedIn is doing some “Take your parents to work day” promotion, and they sent me this huge blowup of my parents. The first thing I thought was, “How am I going to throw this out? How do I throw out my parents?” So I sent a picture of it to my mother and she goes, “How are you going to throw THAT out? THAT’S THROWING OUT YOUR PARENTS!” And I said, “I had the exact same thought.” But she’s thrown away plenty of blowups of me. By the way, LinkedIn bugs the fuck out of me.

  I had Katey Sagal and Giada De Laurentiis on the show. Katey Sagal has Bitchy Resting Face, so I kept thinking she was mad or not having a good time, but she just has a severe case of BRF and once I figured that out, I loved her. I asked Katey to give me one word to describe Christina Applegate and she’s thinking and then this woman in the front row goes, “Spiritual,” and her equally mouthy friend next to her yells out, “Strong,” and I looked at them and said, “You don’t know Christina Applegate and I’m pretty sure Katey Sagal will be able to find the answer. And you’re not in the show.” OK, I just thought it. But I wish I’d said it out loud. People are nuts.

  THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 2013

  SJP joined Twitter and I’ve been coaching her, which has been funny. She’s been concerned about appearing to be shilling (which she is not) and was gun-shy to jump off the cliff and just start, but she’s doing well. But now she’s having guilt about not responding to everybody, which I am trying to explain is essentially impossible. But she’s as sparkly in a tweet as she is in life, sprinkling them with “xx sj” at the end. Who doesn’t love that?

  I went to see the B-52s at the Brooklyn Bowl with Grac and Neal and Jeanne and Fred. You bowl and a band plays, but we stopped bowling when they went on, because who actually wants to bowl while the band is on? Before the show I was thinking, “I don’t know if I have it in me tonight. I’m so old.” And then I was looking around at the crowd, which felt equally old—the B’s are like the greatest party band ever, and they’re all now hovering around sixty and the audience has aged with them but the music hasn’t aged at all.

  They sounded perfect but Kate’s face resembles that of a Real Housewife of, I don’t even know where, outer space? A space-aged Real Housewife. Cindy has sort of let herself go but the two of them sound so tight and harmonious and they did some songs I wasn’t expecting, like “Legal Tender” and “Girl from Ipanema Goes to Greenland.” It filled me with joy and love to dance with Grac and Jeanne and let go. And I did have it in me.

  Afterwards we said hi to Fred Schneider and he said, “You danced on the risers for us?” I was glad he remembered Grac and my memorable stint as go-go dancers. “Yes, I did!” And I met Kate again and I’ve got a whole Susan Lucci thing with her. I don’t know what to say to these women. I’m like jelly. Mercifully none of them seem to know what Bravo is or who I am, which in my mind is how it should be.

  When they walked offstage I was thinking to myself, “I wonder if I’ll ever see them again, because as good as they sound, they are getting older. How much longer will they perform?” And then, sure enough, Fred says they have five more performances in the area and then he thinks they’re done. After years of shows in countless cities, that may have been the last time that I see the B-52s. I was standing by Cindy, waiting for her to end a conversation so I could just be a fan, but the convo was not ending and these guys were coming up to me to get their photo taken with me. I left without talking to her. Cindy renders me powerless.

  Then we had The Wanted on my show and I felt like a perv asking them about their sexploits. After that, I got a two-hour massage and Wacha barked when he heard someone coming down the hall. I was bragging to my masseur about what a good protector he is and the masseuse goes, “Yeah. You wouldn’t want to live in a building like this without any protection.” Everyone’s a comedian.

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 2013

  In August I did a favor for Cynthia Rowley and she was wearing a denim jumpsuit at the time and when she said, “I owe you,” I told her she didn’t, but she kept saying it. So I told her to get me a denim jumpsuit like she was wearing. And she declared, “I will make you
one.” For the longest time I really didn’t think she was going to make me that jumpsuit and I started to really want one. I was wondering where the hell I was going to get a denim jumpsuit. Then a few days ago I got this call: “Your jumpsuit is ready for a fitting.” So today I had a denim jumpsuit fitting. Glorious.

  I talked to Bill Carter from the New York Times about my deal. I started to tell people at Bravo. This is feeling very real and I am feeling scared and excited; I am officially cutting the cord from the security of a day job.

  Glamour editor Cindi Leive called to see if I would marry a lesbian couple onstage at their Women of the Year Awards on Monday night. I pointed out that with Gaga and Streisand as witnesses, this will be the gayest wedding on the planet. So that’s happening next week. They just have to find a couple now. (Idea first, execution later—exactly how we do it at WWHL!)

  Lynn’s in town from San Francisco and tonight I took her to see Kathy Griffin at Carnegie Hall. The people sitting next to us talked the entire time. At one point the guy was on his phone, in Carnegie Hall, and Lynn, my protector since our days at CBS News, would not let me say anything. She was trying to save me from making a messy public scene. It took all my strength to follow her orders but I did. After the show, Anderson hosted a little party for Kathy downstairs at Trattoria Dell’Arte. I was at the bar and this woman turns to me and said, “I thought I recognized your voice. You were sitting next to me.” It was the chatty couple!

  And I said, “Were you forced to come tonight? Are you a relative of Kathy’s? Do you work with her?” They said no, no, and no; and I said, “You seemed like you didn’t like it, because you talked through the whole show.” She said, “That’s what we do. We talk during movies and we talk during shows.” I said, “Oh, that’s what you do.” And then turned away. That’s what they do!?!?! Here’s what I do: turn away from people who talk at Carnegie Hall.

  Kathy was grateful Kathy (versus any other kind of Kathy you might come across). She was very thankful to me for all the Bravo comedy specials she’s done, because now she’s done more comedy specials than any other female comedian (grateful and proud Kathy). Truthfully I had little to do with it but I said, “You’re welcome,” because I have manners. Gloria Steinem was there looking Santa Fe chic and ageless.

  After the party Liza and I dropped Lynn at her hotel and meandered down Fifty-seventh Street looking at Christmas decorations. I found an incredible tree in the window of Lee’s Art Shop that simulates snow falling. We need it for the Clubhouse. On the way home I sent a drunk tweet in the back of a speeding cab, referencing a parallel Dodi/Diana situation, which people were quickly and loudly offended by. Sixteen years later it’s too soon, huh? I deleted it, which I never do. Deleting a tweet is an admission of guilt, but I wasn’t going to endure a shitstorm of abuse for a Dodi and Diana tweet. As far as I was concerned, the biggest crime of the night was not my tweet, but that rude couple at Carnegie Hall. I got home and watched Wacha chew on a bone in my lap for forty-five minutes. By candlelight, listening to music. Very romantic.

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 2013

  I’m in love with my dog. We had the best nap ever today. It turns out that I have a better chance of having a long-term relationship with him than with a person, because everything I say goes. The dog trainer came. Wacha is so receptive to learning, but I had to stop myself from tuning out a few times. I’m sitting there telling myself, “This guy’s here to help me, don’t tune him out.” This tuning out of people who are trying to help me is an ongoing problem.

  Went to James Wilkie Broderick’s eleventh birthday party, which featured one of those ladies in a high ponytail whose job it is to hype up the kids and completely freak out the parents’ friends. She was a pro. A nutbag, but a pro. SJP was too busy taking photos to notice. Any comparison that I had begun to make in the last month between having a dog and having a kid was erased after five minutes in the party. Lots of energy in every direction. There were no cabs, since it suddenly gets dark and crazy at 3 p.m., so I took a pedicab home. I negotiated him down to forty bucks from Fifty-fifth and Seventh. Even though that’s an obscene amount, I felt victorious. I did tell him to stop singing at one point because it was impeding my enjoyment of the ride. I had a coffee date with this guy who I’d met on Fire Island who is alternately amazing looking and then, when he smiles, a psychopath. Probably not going anywhere.

  I went with Bruce to a dinner for Giancarlo Giammetti at Sotheby’s. I think he and Valentino have been honored at dinners every night for the last nine years, and I’m all for taking part. I sat next to Charlene Shorto de Ganay, who I am obsessed with and immediately started following on Instagram at the table—she’s chic, gorgeous, sweet, and super jet set—and across from Mike Ovitz, who was on and off his phone all night. I’d eaten pot candy on the way to the dinner and it really improved the quality of the night, as it always does. I had a nice chat with Marc Jacobs about Neville. Marc said there’s a private dog run somewhere in the West Village that’s run by a nutbag (of course it would be run by a nutbag) and that the application process is brutal. A private dog run in my neighborhood!? I need to find out more. At one point during the meal I went to the bathroom and one of the model waiters was in there just loitering by the mirror and he told me he was “taking a break,” which I loved. So I took a break with him. We took selfies in the mirror. It was like an episode of Vanderpump Rules.

  SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 2013

  I took John Hill to the Knicks day game and we did the celeb thing where beforehand you go up to the owner’s dining room and it’s an endless buffet. John correctly compared the experience to being in Panem in Hunger Games. We saw the Grubmans and the Azoffs. I tried to get some good Diana Ross stories out of the Azoffs. We sat behind Nelly and Larry David, who were not together. They put me on the Jumbotron and wrote “Actor” under my name and I was welcomed with a smattering of boos. The Knicks lost.

  I had dinner with Jimmy and Nancy Fallon at some Japanese place called Hane, which reminds me of the way Roseanne Roseannadanna said Jane Curtin’s name when she was on “Weekend Update.” There was a lot of late-night-TV talk, which at the end of the day is my fave kinda talk.

  On my show I had Porsha Stewart and Nelly. I love Nelly. I feel like Nelly could run for President. He’s smiley and approachable and lovable. And he lets me wear his jewelry. I was trying to set Porsha up with him. He ended up inviting her to some party he was doing after the show. I don’t know what happened there but it made me happy to think there was a possibility.

  MONDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2013

  I found out Nelly has a serious girlfriend, so my match wasn’t a match. Tonight was the Glamour Women of the Year Awards. I’d hosted last year and my parents came and loved it. So we repeated this year, which coincidentally fell on Dad’s birthday. When we sat down, a debate erupted about whether our seats were crappy or not. We were in the fourth row, by the way. Then Streisand got seated across the aisle, which of course made them the best seats ever. I just wanted to watch Barbra watch the show. She looks great. And weirdly, her ass looks great. Gaga I think was dressed as “the dead.” Speaking of which, my dad was wearing a suit I bought him last year that my mom refers to as “the Box Suit” because she is assuming that it will be the suit he will be wearing in his casket, which of course is incredibly upsetting to me, but they seem to think is hilarious. Happy Birthday, Dad!

  The awards were very uplifting—sometimes things like this can actually be inspiring. Melinda Gates, Malala, a teacher from Sandy Hook (incredibly upsetting), and Streisand were honored. Hillary Clinton spoke. They nixed the onstage wedding in favor of me doing a tribute to women who had been responsible for the legalization of gay marriage, and it was lovely. I talked to Seth Meyers backstage about his show and about Gaga hosting SNL this weekend. Katie Couric was backstage getting pictures with everybody. Oh, and the kids from PS 22 performed—the kids’ choir who I mistakenly gave my real opinion of on Morning Joe and was subsequently lynched by the media
. I feel like their goal in life is to terrorize me, and guess what? I’ll say it again. I didn’t think they were great. Sue me. Hang me.

  We stopped by the party at the Oak Room and I wanted to tell Gaga that we made perfume out of her pee, and I wound up in a three-way convo with her and Malala. And watching those two try to communicate was to me funnier than anything I bet I’ll see her do on SNL, Malala in her drag and Gaga looking like the undead. Malala asked Gaga who made her clothes and then Gaga, in her baby voice, did a ten-minute soliloquy about her little monsters and the youth, which I think was lost on both Malala and me (maybe I am too old?), and I was getting very impatient because I had a live show and really wanted to tell her about the pee-fume before I left. I was waiting and waiting for an opening but finally I just interrupted her and told her. Gaga loved it. And Malala definitely was confused. I took a quick selfie with Gaga and then ran to the show.

  Brandi Glanville and Mark Consuelos were on. Brandi had her tits out, flirting with my father, in front of my mother, who kept tooting her horn from behind the bar. On the after show, Brandi said, in front of my parents and the world, that she heard that Miami Housewife Joanna Krupa’s pussy smells horrible. Mark fell off his chair, my mom blew her horn, my dad was agog, and I couldn’t stop laughing. My poor parents.

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 2013

  Wacha pooped inside. It was very traumatic. He had been sitting in front of the door, which meant he had to go. I made the executive decision to give him a bath instead of taking him out. He made the executive decision an hour later to poop on the bath mat.

  Today Gaga tweeted, “So @Andy told me they made perfume out of my pee from the trash in WWHL dressing room (long story) U HAVE BEEN WARNED IF HE TRIES TO SPRITZ U.” And the Brandi allegation about Joanna Krupa’s pussy is getting picked up everywhere. This is the world we live in and I am feeding the beast.