Superficial

by Andy Cohen

  After the show I headed to Sandy’s, where he was having a dinner party that I knew Dolly Parton was at. I texted Matthew Broderick and Jason Blum to find out if it was still going on and if Dolly was still there. Double yes was the answer and I headed over. As I rode up Marmont Avenue an SUV pulled out of Sandy’s driveway and, alas, in the back was a bright yellow wig. I didn’t get to see the Queen of Country, but I did get to see Sandy and the group and eat his wonderful food before heading to the Tower to meet John Mayer for a drink.

  I joined John at a front table of the candlelit restaurant, entirely empty save one table in the corner—occupied by who else but the cast of Friends, minus Matthew Perry of course. Suddenly I became a reporter from Us Weekly and began asking John when was the last time he saw Aniston, how awkward this was, and if there were ways I could make it more awkward. We realized they had to walk by our table to leave and that would be a “moment.” We wondered if it was more fun at our table or theirs. How could it not be amazing at the Friends table? As John paid the bill I told him I was going to bust into their fivesome—on what other night could I go say hi to the cast of Friends?—and begged him to join me. He told me with a look that the Queen of Smartwater would not be having it. Side note: Oh, to be an ex-girlfriend of John Mayer! I table-hopped on my own, and Aniston said, “Oh, wow, I didn’t know you were here” (which I analyzed as the words came out of her mouth wondering if they were true; Mayer is really tall—hard to miss). I told them that my favorite part of the night was watching their terrified reactions to the Rembrandts singing that song. They seemed half-mortified that I could tell. One of them (Kudrow? Schwimmer?) said that one of the band members told them after that they’d kind of expected the Friends to come up and dance while they sang the song. I commented on how beautiful Kudrow’s purse was and Courteney Cox said they had just been discussing it, and then I left. I told Mayer they were talking about Kudrow’s purse so it was debatable whose conversation was more scintillating. As much as I would’ve loved to see the ultimate reunion—Aniston and Mayer—we left before they did and went to bed. Separately.

  MONDAY, JANUARY 25, 2016—LOS ANGELES—NYC

  Woke up with the news that my flight to NYC had been cancelled. I’ve never missed an episode of WWHL, and many people went scrambling to make sure I didn’t tonight. I don’t know how it happened, but they found me a seat on an American flight where I was reunited with the flight attendant who threw me all my food a few months ago. Today he was all “Heads up—hot towel” with a tray of them in my face while I typed. He’s always handing the food to you, not setting it down. And he makes military-style kind of announcements like, “It’s table time!” He threw me the tablecloth, for example, as I was pulling the table out. “There’s a big hubbub you’re on the plane, but you’re not my demographic,” he announced with my entrée. I figured out midway through the flight that he has the exact same voice as Moe, the bartender on The Simpsons. As we were landing he came over with his business card. “If you ever get the need for an older guy,” he said as he handed it to me. “I have a headshot here somewhere if you want it. Some of us older guys are still doing the work.” Got to the show and the cherry on top of a great weekend was that Mom and Dad were in town and bartending.

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 27, 2016

  Mom and Dad saw Hamilton (loved) and A View from the Bridge, which apparently put Dad to sleep and Mom kind of liked. Ricki Lake’s dog, Jeffie, died and all week I’ve been thinking about her and that sweet goldendoodle, and I look at Wacha like he’s a ticking time bomb. I love him so much. We were walking on the street yesterday and I saw his reflection in a window and thought, “What a pretty dog.” That’s love. Taped Matt and Savannah for WWHL, then spent about an hour fighting with Trump supporters on Twitter—kind of satisfying, but never fully. Recorded a radio show with Mom and Dad giving advice. Dad gives great advice, but Mom was kind of disinterested.

  I booked us dinner at the Polo Bar thinking they’d never been, but it turns out I’ve already taken them there and they both pointed out twice that it wasn’t very crowded last time. They are very big on pointing out how full a place is, as though that validates the entire experience. Thankfully it was packed to the rafters for their second trip with people like Wendi Murdoch and Lionel Richie (not together). Dad went to the bathroom and Mom said she had told Dad that if she dies tomorrow she will have lived a full life, and that growing up in a small town turned her into the person she is today. I said the only thing you haven’t gotten to see yet is me getting married and I know it’s going to happen. She said, “You gotta hurry it up, I will be in A CHAIR for that, at this rate.”

  SATURDAY, JANUARY 30, 2016—NYC—COLUMBUS

  This was the AC2 make-good date for having to cancel because of the Paris terror attacks. Got a pre-show burger with AC at the Pearl oyster bar. The show was good. We went back to the hotel after and ordered breakfast for dinner, always surefire fun! I live to make Anderson giggle. It fills my heart.

  SUNDAY, JANUARY 31, 2016—COLUMBUS—NYC

  On the plane home the woman next to me kept asking me who I was and I kept saying “Nobody.” But then another woman came by and poured her heart out about her son coming out to her and telling her that he thought since I am the mom’s friend—in her head—she would be okay with his coming out, which naturally touched me but confused the lady next to me. I finally told her I host a talk show. If someone doesn’t know me, then isn’t it weird to have to explain who I am? I mean, who are you? We’re even.

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 2016

  You can just walk by a doorman in the morning and say hi, but you’re stuck with an elevator operator for the whole trip. My morning conversation with David in the elevator is always the same: “Hey, how’s it going?” “Good, I’m just chillin’.” Then we’re stalled. Bruce and I had dinner and then back at Fifteenth Street. Victor (working the elevator night shift) told us that Lucie Arnaz lived in this building in the late seventies; she had the whole top floor. I asked if Lucy came to visit her and he said yes, which blew my mind. Then after the show I brought up Lucy again and he said, well, he thinks she came but he can’t remember that much.

  TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 2016

  I was getting photographed at the Joseph Abboud fashion show and an incredibly handsome man came by and a photographer put us together for pictures, as happens, and I asked how he was doing and he said, “Well, I would rather be playing,” which was my first clue that this blond, blue-eyed stunner was a sportsman. I asked around and it was Julian Edelman, the Jewish New England Patriot. I was excited to be pulled back for about four more rounds and permutations of photographs with him, and then to be seated between him and Russell Tovey at the show, where we further kibitzed. During the off-season he lives in West Hollywood and when he told me the intersection I said, “Wow, that’s pretty much ground zero,” but I’m not sure he knew I meant gay ground zero. The queens must live to see Julian Edelman on their turf. He says the best trainers are there. He pointed out his girlfriend, who was sitting behind us—she’s blond and blue-eyed too, from Sweden; they met in Israel—and I said, “Oh, she’s not Jewish?” But it turns out that she is. I said, “Look at you blond, blue-eyed hotties rebranding Judaism for 2016!” An image refresh for the Jewish people: Almost Aryan!

  Took Wacha to the vet to get his anal glands cleaned and it was a disaster—he did his thing where he turns into a snarling Cujo and the guy told me the last time he was there two people had to get treated for bites, so it didn’t look like they were going to treat him. I said, “Please tell me he is not the worst dog you’ve seen here,” and he said he’s one of them. How did that make me feel? Embarrassed, ashamed, crushed, upset, sad … I could go on. And when I left I realized that my vet was essentially dumping me because of Wacha’s white-coat syndrome. Maybe I never should’ve gotten that damn hip replaced. My now ex-vet said it could be a good idea to go somewhere that he has no ill association with, so we walked straight to the West Village Veterin
ary Hospital and I made an appointment. I warned the new crew that he can turn into Cujo. We’ll see. We came home and he was as sweet as a little angel, lying on me and looking at me with his soulful eyes while I lectured him on his behavior, and I’m sure I sounded to him like Charlie Brown’s teacher.

  The show was Lisa Rinna and Harry Hamlin and for some reason when it was over I slid into a sinkhole of depression. Before the show, Dave and I were texting and I said to him that sometimes I love being single, I only have to think for myself and I can do anything I want with no responsibility. He texted me back that I do need to have kids, I’ll be a great dad. So hours later I was lying in bed looking back at the choices I’ve made and the things I’ve valued that have led me to being very successful, but alone, at forty-seven years old. I feel like I’ve had a repressed or delayed early adulthood and never moved on to the next phase. I came out at twenty-one and for the next many years experienced all the sexuality I’d been repressing for so long with little intimacy and certainly no goal line of marriage or kids, which simply didn’t exist in that era. Fifteen years later, I’ve been having too much fun to get off the train when people around me start to settle down and have kids. I have either chosen work or every sparkly object and fun experience that’s been dropped in my path. Em recently sent me the date for Abby’s bat mitzvah in August three years from now, and I thought to myself, if in three years I’m doing the same routine—running around solo in Sag Harbor, Fire Island for ten days in the summer, and then a boat trip, just me and the dog in the new apartment—then there’s a big problem. So I’m having doubts but am not doing anything to change the way I live or what I value.

  I fell asleep really wondering about myself. Things could grow with #BrazilianAndySamberg but he has another year and a half in Boston, so can a relationship grow long distance? I have a trip to Miami coming up at the end of February, Oscars weekend actually, and I don’t know who to take. I might go alone but that seems too depressing.

  WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 2016

  I woke up to a text from Dave wanting to go to Miami this weekend. I said no, but what about in a month? He’s in. So that’s solved. I feel a little better. Had a great workout with Stan the Ukrainian Mistress. It feels good to be at Equinox—windows, gays, flirting, drama, activity, stimulation. I’m still married to the Ninj, who is just happy that when I’m not with him I’m still working out. What a good wife! (Is this my idea of a functioning marriage?) Lunch with Doug and Alex from Evolution Media. Two shows today: Cuba Gooding Jr. and the handsome guy from Lady Antebellum, and Cynthia Nixon and Ethan Hawke. At one point Wacha was barking in my office and I went in and gave him a treat. He got on the couch and I was going to put the leash on him but he snarled at me like a wild wolf and I left him alone.

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 2016

  The shame of essentially having been kicked out of the other vet’s office was starting to sink in and I told everyone at the new vet all about it and they couldn’t believe that sweet Wacha would eventually turn into Cujo. The vet was really great and took him back to see if they could get a cone on him and express his anal glands. He was back there for about fifteen minutes while I got on the dog scale, which I decided was horribly inaccurate until the receptionist got on and said it was in fact very accurate. So I’ve been eating a lot since my successful weigh-in last month and now I see that I’m actually getting fat. Moron. They came back out with the dog, having been unsuccessful in doing anything with him because he was snarling and insane. But they were not deterred, and we made a plan for me to give him doggie Xanax one day next week and see if that works. If we don’t get his anal glands cleaned out they can explode! So I have a ticking-time-bomb Cujo on my hands. This whole thing is exasperating and exhausting. I feel helpless. And then we got home and he was as sweet as he could possibly be.

  Show with Leslie Mann, Dakota Johnson, and Alison Brie. Love that Alison Brie; she is a live wire. Worked out. Met Amanda quickly at Good on the way to a celebration for Surfin’s promotion at the old building, but before I did, I stopped by my apartment and walked around in the dark. I do that occasionally on my way to or from dinner, trying to visualize myself living in each room or looking at the views from certain angles. I decided my closet was impossibly big and I might actually be embarrassed by it when it’s done. What man could possibly need a closet this size? If this talk show goes away I will have no use for this closet whatsoever because I won’t have to wear a suit every night.

  The party for Surfin was at the apartment of the nutty but wonderful gal who always seems to know everything about the parking situation on the block, but she was quick to point out it was Surfin’s guest list. It was a take-your-shoes-off-at-the-door apartment and of course I was wearing impossible lace-ups. The party was full of neighbors I’d either seen in the hallways and chatted to a little or had never really spoken to, but the most important thing is that it was such a warm, lovely, celebratory vibe, due to the fact that this is a group of people who not only love our building, but we love our Surfin. The host asked me to make a toast to Surf and I basically said that walking in the door and seeing him always makes us feel like we’re at home and that we all have our own relationship with him as our doorman that we each think is special, and that it’s so wonderful when good things happen to good people. Everyone was asking when my apartment will be done and when they can see it. It seems gluttonous to show it to anyone. Am I the same person who has talked to Margaret Russell about getting it into Architectural Digest?

  Dinner at FishTag with Liza, Brian, and Kelly. Then home for a delicious two-hour massage. I fell asleep a couple times toward the end and then accused Adam of not doing the backs of my legs. He swore he had. I have no proof. Maybe there was lotion on them that I could’ve felt. I can’t start distrusting Adam, then where would I go?

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 2016

  Went to John and Sean’s monthly “First Friday” party tonight with Bill. Once again we were the only white guys. We got there around midnight and the party didn’t get full until around one forty-five. The brothers take their time! And they were worth waiting for.

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 2016

  Recovered all day. Stayed home and watched the Republican debate. Chris Christie ate Marco Rubio for lunch! Trump was relatively subdued. They are all a bunch of clowns, except Kasich.

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 2016

  Sunday Funday with Amanda on the Upper West Side. Watched the Super Bowl home alone. Richie, in the elevator, said it was the first Super Bowl he had ever missed and offered the other elevator guys two days for one if they worked for him but no one wanted to miss the game.

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 2016

  I told David about Richie lamenting missing the game and he said that was bullshit, he never asked David to switch shifts, he would’ve done it and he’s gonna text him and call bullshit on the whole thing. So I started an elevator-operator fight without even trying.

  TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 2016

  Worked out with the Ninj. Went with John Hill, John Jude, and Deirdre to Livingston, New Jersey, for Teleprompter Dave’s mom’s shiva. All the goyim in the control room were googling “shiva” to find out what the hell it was and what they were meant to do. I said to bring an appetite and be ready to schmooze. Though I had already eaten lunch, I ate a bagel and lox plus a lot of cookies. Met many family members and, as Bruce says, it always means something when you show up. The rest of the day was spent preparing for the big live reunion with Teresa, which was shaping up to be Bravo’s version of Frost/Nixon. I haven’t seen her in over a year so I decided not to see her before the show, to reunite live on TV.

  We taped a show with Olivia Wilde and Ryan Reynolds at eight and his publicist, Leslie Sloane, was terrified it was going to be a half hour of questions about his ex-girlfriends and I wound up watering down Plead the Fifth so much that even he was shocked by how easy it was. So I fucked that one up. Not so the interview with Teresa. All day I was getting tweets from people wantin
g to know that she held herself accountable, that she understood what she did, that she owned it, basically. When she came in the studio for our live reunion it took me a few moments—you can see the whole thing play out on the tape—to realize that not only was she wearing a jumpsuit (“I wore it for you, Andy!”), but it was orange. At that point, any judgment that I had about her taking responsibility for her crime, etc., went out the window. This is Teresa. This is why we love her. She later said of course she would never go on a reality show with skeletons in her closet and I said, “Well, that’s debatable.” I was drained by the end of the night but it was amazing theater.

  WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 2016

  Taped with Ben Stiller and Penélope Cruz—she is very private so I was extra sensitive, and he freaked me out for some reason until the end when I realized he is very nice. He loved the Geraldine/Flip Wilson doll Grac gave me. I mispronounced a bunch of words—I’m thinking four or five—on the air because I am an amateur and an impostor, or at least that’s what I was telling myself in my head during the show. Drugged Wacha to take him for his anal glands and I think I timed the meds wrong, because he was actually more hyper ninety minutes later and at the vet I was trying to put a muzzle full of peanut butter on his snout and he snarled and went for my leg and ripped the pants of my amazing Michael-Bastian-for-Gant Christmas-y suit with the red patches on the elbows. I think I can get it fixed, though. As for the dog, I remain doubtful. We got home and he was suddenly legless from the drugs and as sweet as before, if not a little humble because he knew he fucked up.