by Andy Cohen
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 22, 2014
Wacha is very over being famous. We had twenty people from People magazine here all day bossing him around, trying to get him to do stuff that he had no interest in, like sit on the counter looking cute while I read the paper, sit with me on the couch pretending to interview me, and lie on the bed looking seductive with me for the “sexy” shot. The compromise was me in a tank top. I did pushups beforehand, but I still think I look kinda chub. My bedroom was full of people, with me sprawled on the bed in a tank top feeling like an old bloated Jew kissing my dog. It’s amazing how you can feel so hot when you’re alone, like you’re ready to shoot a naked Playgirl spread, then you actually book a photo shoot and you look awful.
We taped Alan Cumming and Victor Garber and played What’s! Under! That! Kilt! and I swear it’s so hard not to sexually harass these models who are lifting up their kilts on command. I feel like someone is trying to trap me. God? Is it you? I sloshed in the rain (well, I walked from my car under an umbrella) to the GQ Gentlemen’s Ball. The awards were for celebrity do-gooders and a few real do-gooders too. It was Zachary Quinto, Joshua Jackson (Pacey!), Taylor Kitsch (Riggins!), and Andrew Garfield. The blue purse line got a big laugh.
The live show was Jenny McCarthy and Tom Bergeron. Jenny wants to set me up with a Croatian chef. He looks very hot. Wacha grabbed Donnie Wahlberg’s hat at the end of the show and ripped it up. And Bergeron was playing tug of war with him and he kind of bit Bergeron. After the show Deirdre and John Jude were very serious with me, saying that maybe I should get Wacha under control and he could hurt a guest, and my position was that Bergeron had it coming because he was winding him up—kind of a Kenya/Porsha situation in my eyes. They didn’t seem to agree, and we all hung out drinking after the show and Anthony said Donnie had remarked that the hat was his favorite, so then I started kind of feeling bad. I am playing the celebrity edition of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire tomorrow and half my crew works for the show and I am getting advice from as many people as possible. They say to listen very closely—there are clues in many of the questions, and many of the answers are common sense.
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 23, 2014
My new contacts arrived from my eye doctor who accused me of lying about not being able to see and I swear they are the wrong prescription. I was up at the crack of dawn to tape some “The More You Know” spots, which should be called “The Less You Know” because they seem to be for people who don’t have common sense. Mine were about unplugging your appliances to save electricity, meeting people you only know from social media in public, and not sharing personal information online. Rocket science! Matt Lauer came in the studio toward the end of my taping and he and I had a jovial bro-chat.
Someone from GQ posted a pic of me hosting last night—me in front of a blown-up pic of myself with the blue purse—and the comments were about how self-centered I am and that I make everything about me. It pissed me off so bad I commented and said I was actually making fun of myself. I am so sick of everyone’s opinion. Went to 30 Rock and had a meeting about that potential Microsoft endorsement deal that would mean I have to shoot like eight commercials sometime before the book comes out in two weeks. Hmm. And met with Randy and Fenton from World of Wonder about potential shows for me to produce and host with them. I love those guys.
Schlepped to Millionaire—in Stamford, Connecticut—with Daryn and Ryan. Daryn is obsessed with game shows, so my playing celebrity Millionaire is her dream come true. So we arrived at this building that looks like a junior high school (they also seem to shoot The People’s Court here) and here’s how it went down:
They take us to a conference room (the teachers’ lounge) where Michael Gelman and Laurie Hibberd are waiting; he’s taping Millionaire’s Daytime Talk Show Week and Laurie is his lifeline, and then mine arrives in the form of my friend Dave. I gorge on food from the spread—lots of cheese and Doritos—and Dave comments on my consumption. The lawyer comes in and briefs us about how the game is played and I realize I am a complete idiot for not having watched since they changed the format a few years ago. And why, exactly, did they change the format of a show that was perfect? I start to wonder, and consider that The Price Is Right is still going strong after all these years. I manage to wander back into the tutorial before I go off the rails. They take Michael and me through eight sample questions. Some seem like tricks—though they’re not—some have clues in the questions, as I’d been advised, and some are just hard. But we’re getting the hang of it and they’re giving us intel. You basically have to eyeball the audience, who are bussed in, to see if they’re smart or dumb. If you say you’re leaning in one direction and then ask the audience, they’ll go with wherever you said you were leaning. The biggest lesson is to play the game. Michael goes down to the studio to tape his show, and I don’t know a few of his questions and neither does he. He walks away with ten thousand dollars, which is the minimum you can get. You’re guaranteed that amount, as a matter of fact. I am playing for Doorways, Mom’s AIDS charity in St. Louis. I don’t want to fuck it up.
I go in the studio, which is all blue lighting and feels like a spaceship about to blast off. You have to get ten questions right to get to $68,000 and “Classic Millionaire”—I still barely understand how it works beyond having to get ten right. The first question is about Salt-N-Pepa. Got it. Next is Peter Pan—what does a tinker do? I don’t know what the hell a tinker does. I ask the audience (I had identified the college section before the show and implored them to help me). A tinker fixes pots and pans, says 79 percent of the audience. That’s a landslide, and I get it right. I get tripped up on “What musician was originally going to play Clint Eastwood’s role in Dirty Harry?” The choices are Sinatra, Elvis, Harry Belafonte, and Mick Jagger. I know that Belafonte and Jagger are out and I think it’s Elvis, weirdly. I don’t think Dave would know so I don’t use him. (He did; it was Sinatra.) I skip the question and lose $5,000 out of my pot. The next question to stump me is which French designer made the bag that Grace Kelly made famous. I narrow it down to Hermès and Louis Vuitton, don’t ask Dave (he didn’t know), and guess Hermès. I’m right! I think I jumped into Terry Crews’s arms at that point. (I did it twice.) I carry over to the next episode so we have to go change our clothes because it’s another “day.” (Yes, that’s how it works!) At the hundred-thousand-dollar round, the question is a whopper: “Kim Kardashian’s wedding ring weighs fifteen carats and is worth one point five million dollars”—promising so far, and then—“how many times bigger is the Hope Diamond?” No fucking clue. I call Dave out; he wants to bet four times and I think he’s right. The deal is, get it right, win $100,000, get it wrong, leave the game with $25,000. I decide not to guess and I leave with $77, 000.
Mom was thrilled. After there was John Hill’s birthday dinner at Elmo and then drinks and video games at Barcade. Liza is an animal at Centipede! Who knew?!
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 24, 2014
Mom doesn’t believe I’m one of People’s Sexiest Men. “Do you HAPPEN to be in the issue? I mean there’s a LIST, YOU KNOW. Are you on THE ACTUAL LIST?” She actually got under my skin. I emailed around and they said, yeah, you’re in that issue on the list of sexy guys. I am in a real limbo kind of situation with these contact lenses. I don’t want to go back to the eye doctor because I can’t stand him, but my reading on my phone and computer is all fucked up. What do I do? I’m frozen. And blind. Daryn found some kind of pixelated suit at Patricia Field for the Halloween party that seemed like Italian futurism to her so I sent Mike Robley to pick it up during the Below Deck reunion taping today, which was three hours of fun. Man is that Kelley hot. I had dirty fantasies about him as we taped. I tried on the pixelated suit and it’s really cheap. The search isn’t over and the party is tomorrow.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 25, 2014
Went to Allan and Suzi—which moved from the Upper West Side to SoHo at some point. It’s smaller and not as great as I remember it being. Allan kept saying how tiny I am in pers
on, and then Suzi called and he said loudly into the phone, “Guess who’s here: Andy Cohen. You can’t believe how tiny he is!” They had nothing resembling Italian futurism. He brought out a huge pair of silver jeans that only illustrated how tiny I am. I was a little stoned and wandering all over the city with Wacha looking for Italian fucking futurism clothes and wound up in Paul Smith, where I spontaneously bought a bright purple suit, black shirt, and silver and black tie—does anything scream Italian futurism more than that ensemble? I felt good about myself and they sent me to this alteration place on Thompson Street which would do it in an hour. The dude in that store said I couldn’t bring Wacha in, and I couldn’t tie him up with his weird leash so I stood waiting for a fan to walk by and say hi. One did and asked for a selfie and I said how do you feel about watching Wacha for three minutes while I get these pants hemmed? The guy asked if he could bring Wacha down the street to show him off to his friends. I said yes and then asked the alteration guy if he thought that was the last time I would ever see the dog. He didn’t want to engage me on this topic but the other tailor said it was dumb of me to let a stranger take care of the dog and I should’ve just tied him up. I tried to explain the leash, and that really what would’ve been swell is if I could’ve just brought him inside. None of it translated. But the dog was returned unharmed. I hung out in a park and talked to John Hill, Jackie, and Bruce on the phone while waiting for the suit. Grac came by and we listened to the B-52s and had a lot of pot lolly and then walked to the party in matching white round sunglasses—she was all in Pucci.
Got to the party and the theme had changed from Italian futurism to the Future, and I hadn’t gotten the memo! Patrick McMullan was dressed as a fairy so maybe he didn’t either. There were some crazy costumes—people in astronaut outfits who must’ve been so hot, and some sexy robots. I was pissed about agonizing over the wrong theme all week! I take these things seriously! The Diamond Horseshoe, which was a big vaudeville kind of supper club in the forties, is revived and amazing and tonight was the opening and I forced Grac to come with me after the party for old times’ sake. Erich Conrad put us in a booth and we danced a lot and met a group of hot bisexual guys from Bay Ridge. Grac left at one forty-five and I at two-thirty but I went to that pizza place on Forty-Eighth and Eighth where slices are five dollars but you’re too drunk to care. Or maybe they just charge the drunk people that because you will pay anything at that hour for a slice. I sat there and motioned for this very cute kid with a backpack eating alone to come over and wound up eating with him; it was Brett who played Spider-Man on Broadway. I was drunk and looking at him with one eye squinted.
MONDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2014
Listened to Amy Poehler promote her book on Howard Stern. I’m prepping myself. Had a conference call about potential game shows to host and produce. I love the excitement and possibility of a game show; I hope I can find one. Jenny McCarthy emailed me about the Croatian chef who is going to be in her radio studio when I am on her show. I asked her about Donnie’s hat that Wacha ate, and she said he has two thousand hats and not to worry the least bit about it.
It was our American Horror Story Halloween show. I asked Angela Bassett her secret and if it was a “black don’t crack” kind of thing and Kathy Bates was mortified. She thought it was racist. The live show was Nathan Lane and Andrea Martin. Nathan said he likes the version of me who hosts a show better than the real me, so that was nice.
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 28, 2014
All day was spent trying to find a guest for tonight because Rene Russo cancelled. The booked guest is Joey McIntyre. We had Antonio Sabàto Jr.as a backup but he wasn’t getting anybody too excited. He got kicked off Dancing with the Stars last night. We were after Nicole Wallace, Jenna Bush Hager, Tom Colicchio, John McEnroe, Bob Costas, and a whole list. We listened to a steady stream of reasons why each person couldn’t do it. Grac interviewed me about the book for Entertainment Tonight at the Cubbyhole—a hilarious concept, letting an old friend turn the tables on me. While I waited on a bench in front of Café Cluny for them to get set up, a woman walked by with three dogs and one got off his leash and started running down West Fourth Street. I ran after him and thought I had him cornered but he tore off toward Twelfth Street, then Eighth Avenue, where I lost him. He was so fast. Someone else had eyes on him and was far ahead of me. The lady was gone when I got back to the bench. It was all so traumatic and fast. Grac was adorable in the interview. She had her hair done and was playing games with me. She asked me what minute of fame I’m at on Warhol’s fifteen-minute scale. (I said I hoped I was on my second minute—in actuality I fear I’m on my tenth or eleventh.) Around five o’clock we booked Antonio Sabàto Jr., who was looking bad at ten this morning and great seven hours later.
Liza came over and we watched the first episode of The Comeback, which was incredible (and would’ve been even if I wasn’t in it). Got an email from Tracey at the dog run with a picture of that cute dog I chased around the West Village today—Ruby! Ruby is still missing. Oh man.
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 29, 2014
Awoke to an email from Tracey at the dog run saying Ruby was found. Wacha has a vet appointment on Friday and now that he has white-coat syndrome, they’re recommending I give him some drugs before he goes. Today was the test dose and he was totally looped; he could barely walk. Legless, I believe is the term. It was beyond heartbreaking. His eyes were glassy and open the whole time. He wouldn’t go to sleep. His expression was saying, “What the FUCK did you put in my peanut butter an hour ago!?” The doc said to give him a little less on Friday. Okay!
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30, 2014
Not feeling great. Met with Gordon the architect and went over plans for the apartment. It looks great but the whole process involves an incredible amount of minutiae. We’re talking about beginning construction early next year. Stayed home obsessing over the book coming out in two weeks. New York magazine wants nothing to do with me; they don’t want to cover me or the book, not even online. Tried to figure out why New York hates me during my two-hour massage. Decided I am widely considered a douchebag among some circles in New York (and thus, in New York).
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2014
Happy Halloween. I guess Vanity Fair hates me too because they won’t mention the book—they “don’t put reality TV stars in the magazine.” Except, I guess, Ryan Seacrest, Jessica Simpson, Paris Hilton, etc. Took Wacha to the vet and got the dose wrong again, I guess—it was too mild or else he is just totally full of PTSD where the vet is concerned. He was full of rage, Cujo, terrifying. Thus, we didn’t get very far. He needs his shots, but the lady just fed him treats. That was our big success. The streets were a shitshow. Hickey and I went to Good and then watched The Comeback. It never gets old.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 2014
The vet came for a house call, which was a total trauma. Wacha was legless when she arrived, totally drugged, but saw the stethoscope and totally flipped out and became a wolf! He fought through the drugs. I was able to put a muzzle on him and they were able to give him three shots and take blood. It was truly exhausting. Don’t get me started on how much I hate the muzzle, though nowhere near as much as he does. Dinner for DVF’s new E! show with Hammy, the Rourkes, Benjamin, Barry, Allison and Ricky, etc. Caroline was on WWHL post-reunion and I had to ask her about all this shit Dina said at the reunion and it’s a never-ending cycle of family drama I am stirring up and I feel bad. I have a conscience, people!
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 2014
Felt sick all day. Taped Lisa Kudrow and Martin Short, who said Kevin Lee (the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills “shi shi shi” guy) is not the inspiration for his Father of the Bride character so we had to kill the mash-up comparing them. The premiere of The Comeback is Wednesday in LA and I can’t go because of work. Lisa said all the Friends are gonna be there. Wowza. I think I said on the show the other night that Friends wasn’t funny, so now I regret it. Or I would’ve if I went to LA Wednesday night. But I hate to miss a party, and let’s get re
al: I like the idea of all the Friends in a theater seeing me on The Comeback. Lunch with Hickey at Village Den. Delicious turkey burger. I was telling him about being on Millionaire and he told me to use my inside voice, which he has to tell me constantly. Went to Dr. Katchen about my hair, which I think is falling out. He says it’s fine but I should have a consultation with a guy in LA. Everyone on Mom’s side lost their hair. He said, “Who do you look like?” I said my dad’s side. Is it as simple as that? Spoke to Jacob Bernstein, who said that the New York Times Style Section won’t be covering the book at all because “there is Andy Cohen fatigue at the New York Times.” Let me just repeat that sentence so it can really sink in because I heard it ringing in my ears all afternoon: The New York Times is fatigued with me. Well isn’t that ironic because I haven’t read today’s paper and I think I will just pitch it right out because I am fatigued with it. The whole paper—the old Gray Lady—is fatigued with me?! So I guess the Times and New York magazine have something in common. We had a Friends In Deed board meeting. Dinner with Ted Harbert, where we discussed the possibility of bringing Match Game back. I am in! Back to the show for an interview about the book with E! and a fitting, then the live show which was Vanderpump Rules people. I drank tea on the air. I’ve been doing these interviews for the book but the truth is that no one has actually read it. They ask about something that happens on the first page and then about a quote on the back of the book. (I learned that with my first book.) And that has made me do more prep for people with books who come on my show. I read Marty Short’s and Andrea Martin’s in advance of them coming and can’t stop patting myself on the back.