by Andy Cohen
SUNDAY, JANUARY 12, 2014
Wacha woke up unaware that he is being cut open tomorrow, and I felt so bad for the oblivious pooch that I decided to pretend it was his birthday and go balls to the wall. We went on a really long walk around the West Village, then went over to Hickey’s and hung out, then to my gym, where he watched the Ninj and me box for six rounds, then got doggy treats at Marc Jacobs and Jack Spade, and then I gave him a bath that he did not hate. I conditioned his hair with this Kiehl’s doggy potion that my mom gave me and his coat is silky and shiny. During his bath I realized I haven’t had one of those fucking chicken sandwiches at LAX for like five years, so why am I even romanticizing it?
Watched the Globes at Joe’s with Hickey and Wacha. It was fun for the first twenty minutes, then boring. Which is essentially every awards show there is. Oh, and watching an awards show sober is an experience I hope never to repeat. NeNe was on WWHL, so I kind of felt like I had the night off. She was great.
MONDAY, JANUARY 13, 2014
I felt like a daddy and got a little emo when I dropped Wacha off at the hospital for his hip surgery. I thought I had time to kill before going to co-host The View, so I stopped by 30 Rock to putter around my office and go through a mound of stuff that had accumulated over the holidays. Turns out I puttered too long and wound up being late to the hosts’ meeting before the show. This is the famous (in my world) meeting where the ladies sit around the makeup room and decide what the Hot Topics for the day are going to be; it’s a hotbed of emotion and sometimes pre-show bitching. Though I had co-hosted a couple times before, I certainly did not want to miss today, because it was my first time on the show with Barbara Walters, aka the High Priestess of TV Journalism and someone who has set the agenda for my TV news viewing for my entire bloody life.
I walked into the makeup room and the meeting was already in progress. I took a seat and Sherri very sweetly asked how my dog was and I explained what was going on, at which point a half-made-up Barbara Walters (this was also one of the things I didn’t want to miss) asked what hospital he was at and then informed me that she is on the board of that hospital should I need anything. How nice!
Hot Topics were debated and opinions were bandied about. BW said she didn’t have a clue about A-Rod so someone would have to fill her in if we discussed it; Whoopi said she’d skipped the Golden Globes the night before, and turned to me and said under her breath, “Why should I kill a good high?”; Jenny wanted to talk about my complaint about Seacrest taking credit for introducing her and Donnie; and everyone agreed we had to talk about Woody Allen and the tweets about him during the show from Mia Farrow and Ronan.
After the meeting Whoopi and I were talking about The Butler and it seemed like BW was trying to get in on the conversation. I told her that Dan was on the show recently and spoke well of her. She said she was one of only a few people to defend him at the end of his run with CBS. Then she pulled me close and asked if she could speak with me pwivately, and as she did, she leaned back and I realized she was about to get her hair washed and I was about to see her with wet hair, which was really amazing. I saw the whole thing: the hair getting wet and then her looking back up at me, a wet Barbara Walters asking in a hushed tone if I had heard anything about Tom Brokaw having cancer. I told her I knew nothing but would research it. She said she was concerned and please do. I was trying to figure out why she thought I knew anything about Brokaw and I realized she probably assumed I knew him since I was being a bragasaurus about being friends with Dan.
I then spent a half hour with Whoopi—in my room and then hers—talking about innovations in pot (vapes and candy and e-cigs) and her telling me what life was like at the show. Suffice to say that the Oscar-winning lady does not appear to be the happiest camper at that table every day. I loved every second of it.
Hot Topics was going pretty well until American Hustle came up and Barbara said she didn’t understand it. Suddenly I heard my mom in my head saying that she and her friends hadn’t understood it, and I suggested to Barbara Walters on live TV that perhaps it was a “generational thing” that she hadn’t understood this movie. As the words came out of my mouth and I turned to look at Barbara, who was next to Sherri Shepherd (I was in the middle of the henpack), I knew that this was exactly the most wrong thing to say on live television to Barbara Walters. The conversation moved on and the very second the camera started swooping to the applauding audience and the announcer teased what was coming up later in the show, a furious Barbara Walters turned to me and screamed, “Thank you for INSULTING me on MY OWN SHOW! THANK YOU!”
As the steadicam swooped back around the Hot Topics table to get a final cutaway of the group before cutting to commercial, it picked up me pleading, “I am sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!!!!” But I was apologizing to her fucking hand, which was raised to my face. Jenny’s hand squeezed my leg as I, terrified, tried to explain about my mother, and how much I respected BW and how I would never insult her on her own show. She yelled at me some more. I turned to Jenny and asked her what the fuck to do. Did I need to apologize when we came back from commercial break? She said to hang tight and it would roll off Barbara’s back quickly. Sherri said, “Welcome to The View.” Whoopi looked at me, nodded, and did her eye-bulgey/forehead move.
I felt like I was drowning. Someone with a headset came over to me and grabbed my shoulder: “You’re doing great. Forget that. It never happened. We need you back. Energy high. Get back in the game. That didn’t happen.” Good advice. I took it.
We were back and talking about Jacqueline Bisset and I said I loved that she was aging naturally and hadn’t touched her face. I blanched for a second wondering if Barbara was going to call the hospital on the air and have them pull the plug on Wacha. She has connections there! But she didn’t seem to care. We moved on. I felt like I was in the clear.
During the next commercial break, she was back in my face. “I created this show to be about people from different generations with different points of view. Understand? Different generations!”
“I know! And it is the most brilliant format!!! But everyone wants to know: Who is going to replace Joy!?!?! You still have an open spot! Who will it be!?!?” I was desperately trying to change the topic.
“Well, I think we will try a man.” It worked! I deflected a legend and we were on a new subject.
“But your show is about women!” I said, a little too enthusiastically. The conversation went on and she later focused her mood on Queen Latifah, with whom she had some kind of weird misunderstanding/tussle. I was out of the hot seat, poor Dana Owens had taken my spot, and over at the end Whoopi was bugging her eyes out. During the next commercial break an audience member asked if BW would do my show. “Not after what he said earlier,” she sniffed. I thought Jenny said she was going to let it go?
As I walked out, Whoopi said, “We gotta talk.” I left the studio and called my mom, who was fiercely on my side. “Maybe it WAS a generational thing! You said exactly a FINE THING and by the way isn’t that show supposed to be about sharing points of VIEW?”
This afternoon we pretaped Queen Latifah for our Thursday show. She walked in and said, “You got her real mad and then she took it out on ME!!” which she kinda had.
I made myself the Jackhole tonight so I could show the clip of me groveling at Barbara Walters as we went to commercial break. (The clip is simultaneously funny and pathetic.) And by the way, I had a bad taste in my mouth about it all day. I don’t like insulting old ladies and I especially don’t like insulting legends, especially lady legends. I’ll send her flowers tomorrow.
TUESDAY, JANUARY 14, 2014
I felt like shit today and just stayed home under a blanket chilling out. I tried to start The Interestings AGAIN and couldn’t get into it. It’ll happen, I know it. The surgeon called and said Wacha is doing great and bearing weight on his new hip, which is a good sign. They won’t let me visit him in the doggy hospital because they don’t want to rile him up, or perhaps Barbara Walters has
him sequestered as she decides how to torture him. In any case, it feels really empty and boring in my house without him.
I don’t know what I would be doing with myself if I never got him. Looking at myself in the mirror? Having an orgy with a Dominican baseball team? Volunteer work? I could’ve gone in any direction.
Whoopi emailed and said, “You are a class act.” Then I got an email from Barbara Walters: “Dear Andy, All is forgiven. You were wonderful on The View. Not to worry and the flowers are beautiful. Hugs, Barbara.” Hugs!!! (And I loved that she italicized the name of her show, which is absolutely correct but I was hearing Cheri Oteri saying it.) I forwarded it to my mom, who said that she is acting her age. I don’t know what that means but I think it’s a read. Hugs!
Cheri Oteri and Zach Gilford were on the show and it was a great one. We taped something where Cheri yelled at me as Barbara Walters. And I was totally sober. Again.
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 15, 2014
I have the phone number for the Bus Stop Cafe written down on a piece of paper in a kitchen cabinet and the way it’s written apparently it looks exactly like the Forbes magazine switchboard number, so I keep calling Forbes magazine when I order out. This has been happening for about three years. Will I ever rewrite the number, or will I continue torturing myself and the Forbes operator? It’s a standoff.
The water-main break on Fourteenth Street and Fifth Avenue fucked me up three different times today—what are the chances? It’s like I kept forgetting and drove into the scene over and over. En route to pick up Wacha from the hospital, my cab driver loved my red sweatpants. Was he coming on to me? I mean he really wouldn’t shut up about the sweatpants. It was notable.
Wacha was a total champ despite the fact that he has a shaved patch and stitches and is wearing the dreaded cone and also a T-shirt that says, “I had surgery at Animal Medical Center,” which combined with the cone created a look that was simultaneously adorable and sad. Sadorable.
John Cena and Natasha Lyonne were on the show tonight—weird combo but a fun show. Oh, and I sexted my sister by accident today. I was having a back-and-forth with the Italian and sent “I want a piece of you” to her and she sent back “?” and I said I was texting Grac Britney Spears lyrics. I don’t know if she bought it. Awkie!
THURSDAY, JANUARY 16, 2014
Today Jimmy Kimmel announced he’s taking his show on the road to SXSW in Texas in March. The thing is that we’re going back again this year too, so now we are all freaked out that he’s going to swoop in and we’re going to look like losers and won’t be able to get anyone to come on. I don’t know whether to cancel or what. Michael (sagely as always) wants to stay the course and do our thing.
To make matters worse, I can’t shake this cold. I worked out and it was shitty. I weighed myself and was the same as I was a week ago. I plateaued because I ate like shit in LA, I think. So now I have to grind it out. Met NeNe for tea at the Trump SoHo. She wants to do any variety of talk show. I told her to talk to Lisa before she agrees to go on DWTS. Had dinner with Sean Avery at the Waverly and he was late and I spent twenty minutes at the booth trying unsuccessfully not to stare at my phone, but guess who was back to keep me company: the flirty “straight” waiter. He was friendly again and beaming because he just became a new dad. So this proves that he’s absolutely straight. It was actually sweet seeing him gushing about the wife and kid, but it reframed everything. (My relationship with this waiter has now been reframed four times in my mind. I need a hobby.)
SJP came over after her play. She ordered Thai food, I watched her eat, and we talked for hours about everything. Wacha had pooped in the guest room but neither of us smelled it, which was a relief because SJ is not a dog person at all (even though they have one). I don’t want to give her ammo against Wacha; I want her to love him as much as I do even though she’s not predisposed. I don’t know what’s up with the poop; I think he’s constipated from the hip medication and it’s fucking everything up. And the cone is just as sad as can be!
FRIDAY, JANUARY 17, 2014
I went to 30 Rock and Martha Stewart had sent me this piece of wood shaped like the United States as a gift for hosting the American Made Awards … in October! Not to be a dick or look a gift domestic diva in the mouth, but aren’t we well beyond the “proper” window of thank-you gift, or do you have a year to thank someone for co-hosting your awards show? She did write a nice note. Anyway, it’s a cool piece of wood with which I have no clue what to do.
After ten years on the other side of the table, I had my first pitch meeting at Bravo where I was doing the pitching. It was a funny dynamic and since I’m such a know-it-all I was telling them where to schedule the show I was pitching. After the meeting I sat down to catch up with Frances, who asked me how long I plan on keeping the beard. The question seemed innocuous until I told her I’d probably get rid of it in a few weeks. “What are you waiting for?” she quizzed right back. Was there something I wasn’t getting about the hair on my face? Apparently there was and what at first was giving off a George Clooney vibe was now making me look like George Clooney’s elderly uncle, and it was time for a shave. I (blissfully) get barely any notes from Frances about the editorial of WWHL—she really lets us do our thing—so I was weirdly energized by her strong point of view (albeit negative) about the beard. I’m shaving Sunday. Looks like Mom was right? Ugh.
Spooned with Wacha in bed for a two-hour nap—I still have this cold. But I had to get out of bed to go to Ralph’s movie, which has been out a few weeks. I’m going to see him this weekend and won’t be able to hold my head up if I don’t see the movie first. It was good, he was great, but I am pretty sure Charles Dickens was a dick.
SATURDAY, JANUARY 18, 2014
The mean tailor on the corner of Jane has been there for as long as I have and I go to him only when forced (for instance, now that the nice old couple has been done away with). He hates his customers, is the problem. So this morning I was taking Wacha on a walk and saw the tailor for the first time out of his habitat, and he was supernice and dare I say cheerful. It was weird. I would think he would be mean on the street and nice in the store. People are nuts. Wasted a Saturday night home sick again. Being sick is certainly helping me not drink, though. It could be worse, I could have a cone around my face preventing me from licking myself, like Wacha.
Ralph came over for tea and we had a long talk and then made dinner plans for tomorrow. I think I offended him by asking if we would have anything to talk about at dinner since we’d just spent ninety minutes together.
SUNDAY, JANUARY 19, 2014
Good workout today. When was the last time I worked out on a Sunday?? I’ve been eating great too. I might see a little bone structure on my face or I might just be going crazy from lack of alcohol.
Had dinner with Ralph at Barbuto. That chicken is never bad. We had plenty to talk about.
It was the men of RHOA on WWHL tonight—a perfect example of a time where a whiskey would’ve really helped. By the way, Dave is white-knuckling, whiskey-less in Harrison.
MONDAY, JANUARY 20, 2014
After a great workout I had lunch with Kandi at Morandi. We both ate so healthy: salad and grilled fish. After lunch I contemplated getting a burger. I didn’t.
People on the street laugh at Wacha’s cone the way I used to laugh at dogs with cones, uproariously. It doesn’t feel great with the cone on the other foot. He pooped in the extra room again—very confusing. I can only assume that he’s backed up or fucked up or upset or something. (I’m a veritable Cesar Millan with my uncanny abilities to read his mind.)
After the show I watched Downton Abbey—thankfully Mr. Molesley was not on. I just couldn’t take it if he was. Mrs. Hughes was extra comforting to all tonight and Lord Grantham is still a dick.
TUESDAY, JANUARY 21, 2014
I was a guy who went to an office every day for twenty-four years, and suddenly these last few weeks I’m realizing the life I didn’t have. There are all these people downtown. I
don’t know what the hell they’re doing. Even today, in a blizzard that never stopped, there were people eating, shopping, working out, and carousing. Doesn’t anyone have a job? The snow didn’t stop me from an amazing workout; my Ninj and I did core work on the floor and five rounds of boxing and the good news is I am down to 171.5. I must’ve been 177 when I started. At least. I’m in a zone.
Met Bruce for a cozy lunch at Cafe Cluny. We ordered salad with double the chicken, and the chicken paillard was as thin as bologna, so it was expensive and completely unsatisfying. Like frisée and airy meat. Saw Andy Samberg and Seth Meyers there. So it was man-date day at Cluny. I’ll never understand why they have that big roach sculpture thing on the ceiling; I don’t get it. Every time I see it I get panicked that there’s going to be a big-ass roach on the soap tray when I get home. Wacha definitely couldn’t kill a roach with that cone around his face.