The Andy Cohen Diaries

by Andy Cohen

  THURSDAY, MAY 15, 2014

  This morning I had an interview and photo shoot with Conan O’Brien for a special pre-Emmy issue of Variety. I was excited and a little apprehensive to be paired with Conan. The topic was, of course, late-night television. As I waited for him to show up at the Gramercy Park Hotel (he was stuck in massive Obama traffic), my consternation grew about his potential attitude towards me, since he has been doing this for twenty-something years versus my five. (For instance, was he going to walk in and ask, “Why exactly am I here with this douchebag?”) When he arrived I was struck by three things: how short I was going to look in the photos, that I had forgotten to ask for makeup (he was beat down), and that once again, all late-night hosts roll deep and I need to start considering building a posse to run around with. I have the posse (assistant, publicist, agent, executive producer, other randoms) but I never think to bring them anywhere. To make everything less awkward, the photographer immediately had us get into a bed together so he could take pictures of us jokingly having pillow talk. So five minutes into meeting the guy, I am cheek-to-cheek in bed making funny faces for a camera. The photo shoot was mercifully short and I really enjoyed the interview. The journalist connected us by our commonality of coming from behind the scenes (he as a writer and I as a producer) before becoming late-night hosts. Conan said for years and years he felt like he didn’t belong, and questioned what everyone thought of him; I asked when that would go away for me and he said never. Joy. I told him about my problem with not remembering people and he told me exactly how to say hi to people: Always assume you know everyone, and say “Good to see you,” never “Nice to meet you.” Apparently they will then slowly give you clues about how you actually know them and you just have to think carefully. You will figure out who they are within nineteen seconds, he says. I am definitely using this technique.

  I had to be at the NBCUniversal Upfront at the Javits Center early in the afternoon; this year it was massive—all the cable channels were combined (Bravo, USA, E!, Syfy, Oxygen, Esquire). The red carpet was a scene, with E! doing Live from the Red Carpet and bleachers of screaming fans behind Giuliana Rancic. I saw DVF backstage and I think she was a little shell-shocked because she didn’t recognize a soul. In the midst of the chaos I got a panicked message from Ramona telling me her car didn’t show up and to hold the red carpet for her because she had put a lot of effort into her look. It was an amazing voicemail and I should’ve saved it for a rainy day. When I went onstage I realized Kim Kardashian was sitting directly in front of me. I totally pussed out about making the joke about her selling sponsorships to her wedding. Instead I said I was hoping to take a selfie with her ass. (I bet Conan would’ve told the original joke. I’m an imposter!) After my spiel I was seated with the Bravo posse, next to Jeff Lewis and Patti Stanger and in front of NeNe, who was on the aisle of the row of Housewives, two from each city. As I walked from the presentation to the party with DVF, I saw Khloé Kardashian, who said that she and Kim wanted to offer their asses for selfies with me. I stupidly said, “I’ll see you in there,” and never saw them again. That would’ve been a good selfie, damn it. I’m glad I changed the joke.

  There were three thousand people at the party, most of them women, and many of them very sweet fans who wanted a selfie not with Kim’s ass but with me. After seventy minutes of walking two steps, taking five pictures, seeing someone I wanted to say hi to, walking two steps towards them and watching them disappear as I took five more pictures, I hit the wall. For instance when a publicist rushed me with a photographer and a funny-looking dude, saying, “I have a Preacher of LA!” instead of saying, “Great, let’s take a picture,” I said, “Who cares, why is that my problem?” And when a girl—half chewing a crab cake—insisted that I kiss her on the lips for a selfie, instead of politely declining, I said, “I am not doing that!! No way!” Before it got any worse and I started alienating fans everywhere, I asked Ryan to remove me. I went home to walk the dog and to my great pleasure found the script for the first episode of The Comeback waiting for me. I had to delay meeting Jeff Lewis and posse for dinner and just sit down and read the damn thing. It was perfect. I couldn’t be happier with it as a fan, and for how the RHOBH and I tie into the story. My bad attitude from the party was completely erased.

  It was a Housewives cabal at Koi that started with Jeff Lewis, Gage, Jenni, and the new OC Housewife Shannon Beador, who I hadn’t yet met. I don’t think Vicki loved all the time I was giving Shannon. Then we were joined by Kyle and Mauricio, Melissa and Joe, NeNe and Gregg, Kandi, and Kim Richards. At my end of the table, I was codependently trying to get Kandi, Kim Richards, and Jeff to realize that they should actually be best friends. I am not sure they should but it was fun trying and even more fun having all the girls from other cities together at one table. Kandi told me that she and Ramona are friends, which surprised me—I can’t picture it. Sonja showed up with a bang and wound up telling all of them that she’s the richest woman in NYC and was imploring me to contact Elvis, which I agreed to but did not understand at all. I left and went to some after party where Jax from Vanderpump Rules explained exactly the nose job he is getting tomorrow and we compared notes about booty calls. When I got home I reread The Comeback script and went to bed with a smile.

  FRIDAY, MAY 16, 2014

  On the way to the dog run we walked by a Willy Wonka Ice Cream pop-up shop, and Wacha was completely flipped out by the Oompa Loompa in front. I took a pic of them, which was nearly impossible. My weight seems maintained at 165. Praise Him. Went to a meeting at CAA to go over new stuff. Hickey is back from Santa Fe (where he’s shooting Manhattan) just for the weekend and I took Wacha over to see him. It was Barbara Walters’s last day on The View—they did an amazing tribute. I feel bad all over again for offending her. I emailed Michael Patrick King and told him I was having a philosophical debate about whether I, Andy Cohen, would call Valerie Cherish “Val,” as the script has me doing. He said, “Trust the writers—they know your character best.” Ha! Massage, then drinks with Billy Eichner at Barracuda.

  SATURDAY, MAY 17, 2014

  Gorgeous day. Reread The Comeback and am practicing playing myself. Ran into Flotilla DeBarge and Lady Bunny on Twelfth Street, out of drag, which for me is always like seeing Oz in his sweatpants. Dinner at Blue Pearl with SJP and Hickey. We talked about everything—didn’t shut up, actually. In speculating about Solange in that elevator, I realized that must’ve happened right around the time I got stuck in mine with Kristen Wiig and company. I got in the wrong car! Went home and ran through my Comeback scene with SJP playing Valerie Cherish. She said I was ad-libbing too much and needed to learn my lines exactly as written. Having worked with MPK all those years on SATC, she would know. So I shall. We all got on my bed (Wacha too) and watched the Barbara Walters ABC retrospective and it was phenomenal. It could’ve been another hour or two!

  SUNDAY, MAY 18, 2014

  The mean guy came to the dog run and had a fit when other dogs (thankfully not mine) were taking his ball, and then he stormed off because no one cared about his stupid fucking ball. It was amazing. Victory for the people! Troy and Jonah came over and we tried to figure out where the new staircase would go. Jonah is getting huge—he’s taller than me. I still haven’t hired an architect.

  Had a doggy playdate in Central Park with Jackie, who knows of this great little fenced-in area where the cops won’t bust you for having your dog off leash. There were straight couples everywhere holding hands. It didn’t gross me out, even though I know some people find it disgusting. On the cab ride home, Hickey texted to meet him and Barkin at Morandi. It was lasagna night there, so that’s how that went. Amazing. The show tonight was a total snooze. Stayed hanging out till two-thirty with John Jude, Deirdre, and Anthony.

  MONDAY, MAY 19, 2014

  I felt like such a working actor today, meaning I had absolutely nothing to do until my show. It was gorgeous out and after the gym I grabbed Wacha and had a two-hour lunch outside with Hickey, Victor G
arber, and Rainer at that place Monument Lane across from Equinox on Twelfth Street. We just blabbed and blabbed. I got Liza’s wedding invite and, habit, almost threw it out after I looked at it, but given that we have been waiting for this day to arrive, I kept it. It’s a great invite, actually. Bryan and Bruce threw Billie a lovely graduation party tonight. Carrie Fisher was there but no Debbie Reynolds. I hope I meet her someday.

  TUESDAY, MAY 20, 2014

  Wacha was at doggy day care in Brooklyn all day, so I was just a solo unit doing my thing. I worked out, had lunch with Bruce outside at Good, and on my way home encountered the hottest beer delivery guy ever. He was a little thuggy, Puerto Rican I think, and just hot. Would life be so bad to be married to him? I would have a beer in hand and dinner on the table when he got home. We could talk about his route. I would have to watch my words, though, because he has a little bit of a short temper. I don’t tell anybody this, but he hits me sometimes. Usually it’s no big deal, and never in the face, and I deserve it because I can be stupid. I don’t think before I talk, is all. But I have had to lie about scars here and there.

  OK, I just talked myself out of the beer delivery guy. Wacha got home at 6 p.m. completely exhausted from his day. When he’s tired, I get tired.

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 21, 2014

  I am firmly, solidly at 165. My stomach still looks like it could lose a layer of fat, though. So I thought 165 was the pot of gold, but now I’m pretty sure it’s 160. Or 158. It’s all torture; I know that to be true. It feels like I do the same thing every day—schlep to the gym, go to Ready to Eat on Hudson and order either salmon with two sides (usually quinoa and brussels sprouts) or chicken and two sides (maybe sweet potato and broccoli). Even though I order essentially the same thing every day, the price is never the same. It’s all over the place. I can’t figure it out. I am too bored by the whole thing to ask.

  We were taping Debbie Harry and Lea Michele this afternoon and beforehand I went back and read every mention of Debbie’s name in The Andy Warhol Diaries. He seemed to be obsessed with her weight, is all I really learned. It was up and down and all over the place, kinda like mine. I asked her on the show if she thought Andy would’ve been pissed at the publication of the book after his death and she was sure he’d be thrilled about it, that he planned for it, actually. She is very cool but the energy of the show was a bit off; I was doing my normal “I’m gonna put:60 on the clock and pummel you with questions” and that’s not her speed, so we got through two and a half questions in:60. I was entertained during the break watching Lea Michele leaf through pages of her new book for Debbie; the look on Debbie’s face was somewhere between bemused and confused as Michele showed her pictures and narrated: “Here are my beauty tips.… These are my red-carpet looks.…” Stopped by Bruce’s on the way home and Ava was just out of the tub and let me brush her hair. Give me a doll or a little girl and I will brush that hair like my life depends on it. I love it. I got out all the knots. Michael Patrick King emailed and said that my lunch companion on The Comeback on Friday is going to be RuPaul, which thrills me for a hundred reasons, not least of which is I really enjoy shooting the shit with him and I’m sure we will have plenty of downtime. I’m glad he’s doing it and a little surprised; he doesn’t have any lines. Did they tell him that?

  I guess Toni Braxton’s lupus was acting up and she canceled around eight-thirty. I called Fredrik from Million Dollar Listing NY, who left his dinner at Bottino with his dreamy husband to come fill in for her, along with Ian Ziering and some Chippendales behind the bar. I found out one of them was gay on the after show and it sent me spinning with possibilities of getting his spray tan on my new comforter. Kidding.

  After the show I had a Tinder date with the guy from the airplane and Normal Heart. I’d thought he was a big WASP but it turns out he’s a nice Jewish boy in finance—maybe too young (twenty-eight)—and a seemingly good person. He wanted to talk about my hobbies. I am so bad with that question. My dog’s Instagram—is that a hobby? The guy loves to cook and uses some service where they deliver the exact ingredients, measured out, everything you need for whatever dish you’re cooking, which to me somehow defeats the purpose. It’s like the Garanimals of cooking. He walked me home and we had a decent kiss in front of the building. I’ll see him again.

  THURSDAY, MAY 22, 2014—NYC–LOS ANGELES

  There was a clip of Ricky Martin and me on a gay website this morning and the comments were brutal. For instance: It’s disgusting the way I flirt with my guests, no one wants to see my dog on TV (shut the fuck up), I am a gross caricature—all the greatest hits of the take-downs I have received through the years. The dog comment, however, put me over the edge and I wrote what I thought was a pretty great response. I said how much I liked the site, how I was happy whenever they included clips from my show, and how I was immediately deflated when I read what vile things people have to say about me. I then listed all the nasty stuff and said that I want people to know that I love my show and I am having the most fun of my life. It was essentially a “sticks and stones…” kind of diatribe. I decided to go to the gym and burn off some steam before posting it. When I got home there were a few more nasty comments about how disgusting my flirting was, and I started to think this item may be the wrong one to post under because I kind of agreed that the flirting wasn’t my best moment. So why fall on my sword defending a clip I didn’t love? I decided to figure it out on the flight to LA. Ironically, the Internet wasn’t working on the plane and you would’ve thought they said the wings weren’t working by the near-riot around me. I wanted to shout at this man across from me that he would survive without his Facebook for six hours. I didn’t, of course. And that also ended my fantasy of posting that comment. I’m glad I let it be. The flight attendant wanted to talk to me about Fashion Police and would not accept that I am not a part of that show. He just wouldn’t believe me. So that was frustrating for both of us, I’m sure.

  Checked into the Chateau and went directly to meet Lisa Vanderpump (and Ken and Giggy) and Lance Bass (and Michael) for dinner at her new place, Pump, which is kind of the gay version of Sur. I loved it—it’s like a “Garden of Eden meets St. Tropez” vibe plunked down right on the corner of Santa Monica and Robertson. And the food is good, as it is at her other places. It was my first time seeing her since the reunion taping, and the subsequent flood of tweets saying I was tough on her, which she threw in my face in a gentle way. I threw them back in her face, though, because I really don’t think I was tough. I kept saying, “I’m sorry I asked you so many questions. How horrible and mean of me!” She is dancing around not coming back to RHOBH next season but we want her and I can’t see her leaving it behind. Today it went public that we didn’t pick up Carlton and Joyce, so she’s wondering who will join the group next season. I said nothing. Three rosés in, I split to get a decent night’s sleep and ran into a fun group at the Chateau on my way in. The best laid plans …

  FRIDAY, MAY 23, 2014—LOS ANGELES–NYC

  I had a 5 a.m. pickup for The Comeback, which meant I got about two and a half hours of sleep before the shoot. I had dreamed of how hilarious it would be to be among the cast, and here’s how playing myself on my favorite show actually went: I walk into a makeup trailer at five-fifteen and stop dead in my tracks at the sight of Lisa Kudrow in a wig cap. She thinks she scared me, that I wasn’t prepared to see her in said wig cap, and keeps asking if I’m OK. I am OK! We get made up next to each other and gossip about the Housewives and I kvell over the script for the episode we’re shooting today (it’s the first one, which marks the big return of The Comeback after ten years). Lisa tells me about her shoot yesterday with Lisa Vanderpump at Villa Blanca—in which Valerie quits season one of RHOBH. (The premise of the rest of the episode is motivated by Valerie shooting a sizzle for me, and her impression that I want her to run around making scenes everywhere. She sees on Twitter that I’m having lunch at the Chateau with RuPaul and shows up to “run into” me and tell me about her sizzle.) Michael
Patrick King had initially pitched it to me as akin to that classic I Love Lucy episode where she purposely “runs into” Bill Holden at the Brown Derby. (I get a Lucy analogy.) When Lisa emerges from the trailer with red wig as Valerie, it’s like seeing a different person. A big light comes on within her and she’s giggly and somewhat giddy, and so am I. I can’t stop myself from trying to riff with her-as-Valerie, which is of course ridiculous. Michael Patrick King is also directing the episode and seeing him on set—Amy Harris by his side—makes me feel like it’s 2007 and I’m visiting the Sex and the City set. Dan Bucatinsky arrives and tries to help me get tea, which is lovely and comical. We’re all whispering, by the way, because it’s the crack of dawn in the lobby of the Chateau and we can’t wake anybody up with our racket. We begin shooting sometime after 7 a.m. and it’s Ru and I at a table with half-eaten food (cheeseburger for me and beet salad for him). Every ten minutes or so Valerie comes out with the cameras and we do the scene, then MPK follows with really specific notes (“You seem too happy to see Valerie.” “Now you seem like you hate Valerie!” “Wait two beats after she introduces herself to then let the audience know that you do recognize her.” “Give me some kind of reaction after she leaves the scene.” “Tell her, ‘We tried to work together a hundred years ago’ and see what she does”), and then we do it again—beyond surreal to be talking in a scene to Val, playing myself, and I love it. And in between takes, Ru and I do a deep catch-up. We talk about: Diana Ross (career of, favorite B-sides), NY vs. LA, people and their cameraphones (and lack of etiquette), his morning rituals (up at four-thirty, cardio, hike, meditation), politics within large entertainment companies, his show, The RuPaul Show (specifically, that time they reunited Bea Arthur and Esther Rolle and it came out that Bea was not on Esther’s “favorite people” list, and the fact that Liza—my Liza—produced that reunion), my show, Oprah (early days of, her WWHL appearance, Kitty Kelley book), dogs, and—of course—Valerie Cherish! When it’s all over I can barely tear myself away from talking about the show with the creative team. We’re done by nine, so I grab the noon flight, but we get diverted to Philly because of weather and I wind up home after midnight. I don’t sweat the delay because I shot The Comeback today! The pic I took of John Mayer and Wacha is in People magazine.