by Andy Cohen
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 25, 2015
Joe Giudice called because he has an idea for a cable channel with a friend of his. I said I would meet with him. I kept saying, “Are you sure it’s a whole channel, and not a show?” It’s a channel, he says. He said Teresa is doing really well, that the food is good and the place isn’t so bad. She has a group of girlfriends, is working out three times a day, and has never looked better.
I always know a Housewives reunion is coming up because one of them threatens not to show up. I tried calling NeNe all day but she wouldn’t return my call. The reunion is Friday and I hear that I spooked her when we spoke last month about it. We wound up emailing at the end of the day, and she said she is going to start the day at 100 because she is sick of the women who will do or say any damn thing. And here I was worried about her not participating. Went to the Polo restaurant (I love a scene, and it is one) with the Perskys and John Hill. Walked in and saw Ralph. I asked him if my tie was wearing me or if I was wearing the tie and he said, “You actually have a way bigger problem than that.” I stammered and pled for an explanation and he implied that something was really wrong with me, and then he walked away and I was paranoid all through dinner. Bette-Ann Gwathmey said if you ask Ralph his opinion he is going to give you an honest answer. My theory is that he saw me interviewing someone disgusting on TV, or being a little vulgar, and was repulsed. He said something to the effect of it having to do with where I come from. So maybe I am disgracing my sweet hometown roots? People were coming up to the table all night and leaving business cards. Came home and FaceTimed with sweet #BrazilianAndySamberg.
THURSDAY, MARCH 26, 2015—NYC—ATLANTA
Woke up and did extra snuggles with Wacha because I knew it was my last morning with him for twelve days. Even though I am coming back to town for twenty-four hours on Sunday, the logistics don’t work for him to come back to me. By the time I started packing I think he got the drift that I was leaving. And it was like he knew I was getting out my Brazil clothes, which means I’m going extra far. He was hanging his head low. It was too much. Got an email from NeNe first thing, saying, “I hope the girls give you a good reunion,” so that tells me that she is deciding to sit this one out. I’m not actually sure why. She’s mad, is all I know. It’s all a bit frustrating. Nick Cannon reached out about producing a show for Amber Rose together. I am interested. He thinks we are a power duo and I agree! My knee is hurting me, so that Melbourne Housewife was right. Got to Atlanta and met with Steven Weinstock and the producers and tinkered with seating. Oh, and NeNe is back in, so call the Associated Press. Went to dinner with Lindsay at Superica, which is at some very hipster-y market kind of place. He kept saying it was like Brooklyn but they have valets and a parking lot, which didn’t seem like Brooklyn. On the other hand, there was artisanal stuff everywhere, custom haircuts, and bubbly water in some of the public taps, so I get his drift. Then we went to Blake’s on the Park and an older drag queen did a dance to “Upside Down” in honor of Diana Ross’s birthday, which made me happy enough to tip her a twenty, which she didn’t look at and then I got upset because I didn’t get the credit for giving her such a good tip. Walked home happy and buzzed.
FRIDAY, MARCH 27, 2015—ATLANTA
Showed up at 10:00 a.m. and the divas didn’t get to set until around noon. I lost my wits. NeNe kept saying before the reunion, “I am here in peace; I know that everything is my fault”—being sarcastic. So I figured she was going to just be quiet the whole time until she popped off. It wound up being a really non-ratchet, thoughtful reunion and NeNe was engaged and present the whole time. Around 9:00 p.m. she broke down in hysterics about her mother abandoning her, which was a dramatic and interesting turn because she had earlier refused to apologize to Claudia for calling her a “half-breed.” I finally did get her to apologize to the viewers, though halfheartedly. She was a little “I SAID what I SAID.”
SATURDAY, MARCH 28, 2015—ATLANTA—ST. LOUIS
Stopped in St. Louis for one night for Uncle Stanley’s birthday. All the talk is about Jeremy’s college applications and where he will go. On another note, Mom is convinced that I must call Ralph Lauren to find out what he meant the other night when he said I have deeper problems than my tie. Went over to Em’s, where it was more college talk and I got to see Abby. Mom and Dad modeled clothes they plan to wear to the amfAR event at which I’m being honored in June; both were their outfits from Em’s wedding ten years ago. I think Dad might need a new tux, but Mom’s knit was just fine. I told Dad I will get him a new tux and Mom said, “Maybe THAT will be his BOX SUIT.” Macabre. To retaliate, I told her—lying—that JLo is presenting me the award and that amfAR wanted her to come up and accept “to be funny,” which sent her into a complete tailspin. “Be FUNNY?! What does that MEAN!? With JLO!? GET ME OUT OF THIS!” I quickly told her I was kidding. She was mad and relieved, not in that order. Uncle Stanley’s seventy-fifth birthday party was really nice. I got up and spoke about the importance of his stewardship of Allen Foods, how the company had been a bond that kept us together. I was glad I was there. Met Kari for a drink at Remy’s, which is an incredibly depressing place. Then home, where Mom and Dad were watching House of Cards and when they paused it their photos came up in a slide show on Apple TV. “This is good for OUR BRAINS!” Mom cheered, trying to identify the origin of photos taken at outdoor markets from their various travels around the world. “That’s VIETNAM. No, THAT’S Vietnam! Those are those HORRIBLE people from that boat in the Galapagos! That’s that WOMAN with the BOOBS from China!” After twenty minutes I went to bed, at eleven-fifteen.
SUNDAY, MARCH 29, 2015—ST. LOUIS—NYC
Back in town for one night for SJP’s birthday party. Rehearsed “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile” several times and just knew I was going to mess up the words even though I knew them by heart. The idea of all of us singing the score from Annie in front of Annie herself was making me nervous. Walked over to Sedaris’s in my sharp David Hart suit, singing the song loudly and making something of a spectacle of myself. Amy and I caught up on the cab ride to the Carlyle; she said she would rather do a radio show where she wasn’t the host. I just want her to do a show called What’s Your Problem? and have people call in and talk about problems. The cocktails were in Bemelmans Bar and I knew I’d be on edge until we had to sing, which was still two and a half hours away. I sat with Amy, the Rifkins, and Hickey, with SJP and Matthew on the farther end of the table. Congratulated George Stephanopoulos on a great job lambasting that idiot Governor Pence, from Indiana, about his discriminatory religious freedom law. Straight ally! Hickey, Rifkin, Sedaris, Lisa Leguillou, and Anthony Borelli started the entertainment as orphans singing “It’s the Hard-Knock Life.” I sang my song with a lot of patter in advance of it and I was nervous in front of that crowd. I fucked up the words, just as I thought I would, but it seemed like it was well received. Victor Garber sang the beautiful “Daddy” Warbucks song. Matthew did “Little Girls,” which was funny given all the little girls in his house. James Wilkie broke our hearts and made us sob singing “Maybe” directly to his mama. The finale was Marc and Scott leading us in “N.Y.C.,” which had been rewritten as “SJP” with special words. For someone so comfortable being the center of attention as an actress, SJP is bashful about being the center of praise. Of course we dragged her onstage to finish it off with “Tomorrow,” which became a sing-along. Then Matthew got up and sang her a love song about New York City (called “Manhattan”) that they once saw Bobby Short do in that very room, and it was so pure and lovely and romantic. I sobbed. If every woman could have her husband sing to her once in her life the way Matthew did that night, looking right at her the whole time, their hearts would burst.
I was so happy to be done with my song that I gobbled up a pot lollipop and went hard-core into the after event in Bemelmans. At some point late in the night the Carlyle guard said they’d just turned away NeNe Leakes, who I called and told to come back. I got her seated in the corner and had
the waiter get her drinks. James Wilkie said, “I have never been more nervous to meet anyone in my life!”—he was hilarious. Nathan Turner and Prabal Gurung paid their respects too. People like a surprising late-night guest. We decided to go to Bruce and Bryan’s after the party and I only lasted about a half hour before telling them all I had to go. I was overserved. Kissed SJP and Boz goodnight and ended a truly magical New York City night.
MONDAY, MARCH 30, 2015—NYC—BRAZIL
Woke up with a crushing hangover, not in the mood to spend the day at the D&D Building looking at fabric swatches or the night on a flight to São Paulo, but such are the perils of being an upwardly mobile gay man. Walking into the D & D I felt like there was no way I was going to be able to isolate what I liked, but it’s funny, when you do connect with something you just know it. Finding a bunch of fabrics and wallpaper that I loved made me excited for the new place. Eric and I started at the top, Floor 17 I think, and walked through each floor until joyously hitting the bottom, where I was thrilled to hop in a cab and go to the old building. Surfin misses me very much but the ritual of my opening my packages in front of him when I go home is a new bonding time for us. They haven’t even begun demolition and I’ve been out for a month. The board has new questions about the floor above the staircase. I am just so relieved to be moved and happy on Fifteenth Street, I don’t care. I left word for Ralph Lauren, hoping he’d call back to explain what he meant the other night. The assistant sounded like he would be calling back. Also Daryn said Dan Rather was trying to reach me, so I’m not sure what that’s about. I wore a full track suit on the plane and tweeted a pic of Missy Elliott as my spirit animal. Drank a bunch of white wine, took an Ambien, and dissolved into the sky.
TUESDAY, MARCH 31, 2015—SUNDAY, APRIL 5, 2015—TRANCOSO, BRAZIL
Got a solid seven and a half hours sleep on the plane and had a nice breakfast answering the questions from various flight attendants about what we were doing with the Jersey Housewives with the same answer: “I don’t know.” Got to São Paulo and was quite bored during my layover. Instagram Directed #BritActor trying to get him to flirt with me, which he kind of does but is withholding so not really. The snack on the flight to Porto Seguro was toasty biscuits flavored like ham. I almost puked. It’s a long journey to make alone—a connecting flight and then a ninety-minute drive with a Brazilian driver for whom I DJed Madonna the whole time. We kept repeating “Madonna!” to each other until I got to Anderson and Ben in one piece.
The trip was great and upon returning, I realize that it taught me several important lessons.
1) The importance of mosquito nets! This lesson began on the first night while crashing at Anderson and Ben’s, when I noticed some bats and I don’t know what else flying above my bed. I felt absolutely secure in my netwomb, though!
2) My thoughts on the importance of good hair were reaffirmed by a family we kept seeing with three Jewish brothers with outdated hair. I wanted very much to tell them that their hair should be revisited. They bonded with a British gay couple that also had out-of-date hair, so I guess they had something in common. The better-looking of the Brits whipped out his selfie stick on the beach and even brought it on a horseback ride, which made me want to throw my phone away, which leads me to …
3) Selfie sticks are appropriate nowhere, especially the beach.
4) Don’t reuse pranks. Mom texted me on April Fool’s Day and said the Cardinals traded Michael Wacha. I said, “You did that exact prank last April Fool’s!”
5) Resort staff are not your best friends. I pondered the relationship between beach waiter and hotel guest when the guy at the beach remembered me from last year and we had a very sweet reunion. You feel such a bond with someone when you spend six days having fun at their disposal, and then you leave and you feel weepy about being separated. When you reunite it’s like you’re old friends, but your relationship quickly devolves back into you making them get you rosé.
6) If you hang out in the middle of Brazil for too long you stop dressing like an American. I had sushi with our friends in Trancoso and their crew. The expat was wearing Phyllis Lindstrom hair and baggy Brazilian clothes topped off by a Safari Countess LuAnn statement necklace. He was with a gorgeous nineteen-year-old Brazilian boy who seems to be his boyfriend.
7) Oh, and when you live in Brazil, having a super-young Brazilian boyfriend of ambiguous sexuality becomes totally normal.
MONDAY, APRIL 6, 2015—TRANCOSO, BRAZIL—NYC
I was dreading the journey home alone but it wound up being kind of great. The same guy drove me the ninety minutes from the Uxua to Porto Seguro and once again I DJed Madonna the whole way and he kept saying “Ma-don-na,” which is something I love hearing foreigners say. Basically it was a carbon copy of the trip there, but with a tan. On the way onto the plane the woman in front of me, a Brazilian, said she watches my stuff online and just read my book, so that was a shock. I made short work of a five-hour delay at the São Paulo airport in front of the gorgeous new Terminal 3 watching Empire. It is delicious. Terrence Howard is a drag queen, all the white people are dumb, and it’s very gay—so what’s not to like? Landed in NYC fresh as a daisy at six-thirty. Today construction was supposed to begin at the old apartment, and didn’t. Why should it!? The show was Elisabeth Moss and John Slattery. Someone asked him when his pubes went gray and he didn’t seem that psyched.
TUESDAY, APRIL 7, 2015
I am definitely fat again. I can barely look at my face. And I have aged. It is what it is. I was on Skype with Mom today and ravenously opened a bag of Doritos. I put a handful on a plate and was sucking them and Mom said, “WHEN are you going to STOP!?”
Stopped by the RHONY premiere party. I’m trying to get LuAnn to record another song. Went up to Ramona to prep her for the evening on WWHL and let her know that she may not be sitting next to me. She interrupted me. “I don’t care about seating, I don’t care.” It’s the new Ramona! Pretaped Scott Eastwood, who revealed that Ashton Kutcher slept with his girlfriend and that’s the girl that broke up him and Demi. That was a massive bombshell that he just handed to me on a platter. I felt like I was leering at him because he’s so handsome. I got a tweet at the end of the night from a woman who said I need to whiten my teeth and she is absolutely right! I have been thinking to myself the yellow teeth are adding to my fat, old grossness. I came home and watched the last part of the Sinatra doc with teeth-whitening stuff slathered on before bed.
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 8, 2015
Wacha got fat-shamed on Instagram! I posted a picture of him lying on the Edward Fields rug asking if he clashed with the pattern and a bunch of people commented on how fat he looks. And he is fat again. Like me. Lunch with my Holt team, who say they don’t want another diary even though I’m still keeping one. They said maybe a YA book about being different. Cher texted me a pic of her at the São Paulo airport, all in black, bangs, with a shitload of luggage. I said this is the amount of luggage I expect from Cher abroad. Sandra and Lorraine Bracco were on the show and Sandy was on fire. I tried to fan the flames of what I see as the injustice of Letterman not wanting her on the show anymore, hoping it’ll get her booked before he goes. It won’t happen. Brandon McMillan was the bartender; he’s a dog trainer specializing in rescue dogs and is gonna work with Wacha. He is very hot but very straightforward.
THURSDAY, APRIL 9, 2015
Good workout with Ninja without taking any iPhone breaks, which seems basic but is somewhat revolutionary and indicative of my wanting to change my body. Let us all pray. Went to Bravo and worked on cleaning out my emails, which are being purged beyond three months. Kept a bunch of Housewives nonsense and every email from Mom and Dad. You don’t like to think of your parents’ mortality but I do all the time. I get a voicemail and wonder if it will be the last one I’ll ever get, so I keep it. I have a backlog of mundane voicemails from Mom and Dad now. Did press with Anderson for our Miami date, which for some reason is selling sluggishly, and brought Daryn to a meeting at Sirius for
the channel. We came up with some good stuff. Took the subway home for the first time in—I’m too afraid to admit how long it’s been, but long enough that I’d forgotten that it’s the most effective way to get around the city. It took ten minutes total to get home from midtown during rush hour. And there are hot straight guys everywhere underground. Had a playdate on the terrace with Ricky and Allison’s dog, Moxie, which was a raging success although Moxie doesn’t really know how to drink without spilling everywhere. But Moxie is adorable, and the dogs were all over each other. Dinner with Amanda at El Quijote was really nice, and relaxing. Then I FaceTimed with #BAS and had a fantastic massage from Adam and I made lists in my head.
FRIDAY, APRIL 10, 2015
The Scott Eastwood story is everywhere. Watch, he’ll become a huge star and never do the show again. Great workout—three this week, and I added one tomorrow. Stopped by the apartment, where they started demolition yesterday, and holy shit: There’s not a wall to be found in the twelfth-floor apartment, except crumbled on the floor. The walls were on the floors! They say that is the quickest thing and everything else takes forever.
The very hot dog trainer who bartended the other night, Brandon, came over to try to provoke Wacha into biting him to see how dangerous he is. The bad news is that he was so riled up he was barking and snarling in his crate like a wild wolf for forty-five minutes; the good news is that it was apparently fear-based. We got rid of the crate after he left. No more crate, which seemed to be a common denominator in a few of the biting incidents. Brandon said Wacha was definitely abused in his former life, and this isn’t a surprise to me given how he flinches when I open cabinets quickly or when he sees an umbrella. Who would hurt my sweet dog? The thought sends chills.
I dropped my phone and it broke. I was going down the elevator, en route to the Apple Store and told the operator—the chattiest one, Richie—and he redirected me to Fourteenth and Seventh, where this Asian dude in some store I never noticed fixed it in one hour. It was monumental! Had dinner at the Polo Bar with SJP, Alison Benson, and Jill Matson and crew. Sonja Morgan appeared, to the delight of everyone, and she was hilarious. They asked her what was in her purse and she showed us at the table. No lipstick, they all marveled, and she said, “A gay packed my purse today.” She doesn’t disappoint. Jill was giving her advice about where to sell her jewelry collection, until she left and I told Jill I wasn’t sure if she actually had one, and to watch the show a little closer. Still no callback from Ralph Lauren, by the way. That phone tag seems dead, and Mom asks about it every time we speak. She wants to get to the bottom of it! Wacha seemed fine without the crate.