The Andy Cohen Diaries (2 page)

It was a heavy scene and very adult and quiet and during breaks in play they showed über-famous people on the screen and my dad kept saying
loudly
(for him—he is soft-spoken), “I wonder when they are going to show you. You are as famous as these people.” And I was telling him,
“Shhhhh. Don't say that.”
And they didn't show me and so there was injustice in his mind, and if your dad can't stand behind you and say you're more famous than Justin Timberlake, I mean, who is going to do it? So bless him. But I am pretty sure Rob Thomas heard every time he said it and so did President Spacey. Nadal won. He could not be hotter. He is so hot that you forgive him for picking his shorts out of his butt crack after every single shot.

We went straight from the tennis to my show, where both my parents were bartenders, and for the game we had them read dirty phrases in Spanish, to which my mom protested, “But we don't SPEAK Spanish!!” I told her that was exactly the point.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 2013

Parents left today. Had to go to this
Us Magazine
Stylish New Yorkers party. It's a racket. They put you on the list and then you go to their party. A guy on the press line asked about my engagement and I told him Sean is straight and to get a grip.

The place was teeming with Housewives—first I walked right into four from
The Real Housewives of Miami
, who had all been at my show the night before. Those Miami women are not afraid of a jumpsuit or a cameltoe—which I will add to the list of reasons I love them. I feel so codependent in Housewife-heavy public situations, like I need to spend quality time with all of them. I don't want anyone feeling like I dissed them, because, trust me, I will wind up hearing about it later one way or another.

I found Jenny McCarthy, who was one person at the party whom I actually wanted to talk to. We had an incredibly filthy conversation in which she explained to me how women masturbate (she said to picture them trying to rub a stain out of a garment) and I boldly tried to negotiate a three-way with her and Donnie Wahlberg. They met when they were on my show last October and I encouraged them to date. They're still together and I feel kind of proud, and that maybe I have the
right
to a three-way given my role in their situation. Jenny played along with the ménage concept but I'm not sure how Donnie would feel about it. To be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about it. Fine, I admit it, I absolutely would be too freaked out to have an actual three-way with them, so I don't know why I put in the effort.

On the way out, I saw Melissa and Joe from
RHONJ
and Jacqueline. And I felt bad for not spending more time with them.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 2013

This was the day of the ExtravaGaganza, starring Lady Gaga on
Watch What Happens Live
. I wasn't nervous at all. So far I have been more buzzed than anything when one of my LadyIdols comes on. For Cher I was excited but with Oprah I was nervous, actually shaking for an hour before the show, but the minute she came dancing into the Clubhouse (to “Blurred Lines”) and our audience gave her our first ever standing O (not meant to be a pun but go ahead and take it as one), I got right in the zone.

With Gaga, I couldn't wait to see what she was going to wear, and to hear what she had to say for herself. Her publicist told us that I was not allowed to ask about Madonna or Perez Hilton. I pushed back on the Madonna thing because anyone who watches my show knows how much I love Madonna and would expect her name to come up. They said no.

She arrived in costume, wearing eighteen pounds of hair on her head and the seashell boob covers, which I love. She couldn't have been nicer backstage and I was struck by her widdle-baby voice. Has she always had that?

When she entered the Clubhouse, with three or four incredibly big and incredibly hot (and incredibly straight) bodyguards, the seashells were covered by a jacket. Now she asks her team if she can take the jacket off so she's just wearing the seashell bikini-toppy thing, and her team says no. She begs in her baby voice and they say no again. Dave Stanley—our handsome audio guy—comes up and puts the mic on her jacket and she gets him to put it on the strap of the seashell thing, which is covered by her jacket. I say, “I don't think we can hear your mic well if it's covered by that jacket,” and she says, “Oh no, I guess I have to take my jacket off!” and that was
that
. This is a smart lady I am dealing with.

I was pussyfooting around during “Plead the Fifth” and allowed her to answer a question without naming names, and during a commercial break Gaga said to me, “Don't beat around the bush. You can ask whatever you want and name names.” So I asked myself that age-old question: Do I go for it and piss off the publicist? After the years I spent behind the scenes negotiating with publicists about what topics are off-limits, it is surreal for me to find myself doing it as a host, engaging in this face-to-face trust-dance in which future bookings are at stake. Gaga was already so great, talking about things I'd not heard her discuss (like stripping, doing molly), so I didn't need more. I didn't do it. I focused on getting a great interview without pissing her people off. (Her people, I should add, include her publicist who also reps Rihanna.) By the way, Ralph Fiennes was in the audience with a friend who was wearing flip-flops and Gaga chose flip-flops as her Jackhole. So that was awkward.

After the show she went back into her dressing room and billows of smoke started emerging from under the door. When she came out she theatrically announced, “Oh my God. What's the smell?” I said, “I have a feeling you're not the first person to smoke here,” and she responded, “But am I the first person to pee in the garbage can?” I surmised that she was. “I just couldn't hold it in and I couldn't go through all those people to go to the bathrooms.” The baby voice! Very sweet, though. We kissed and said goodbye. The second she walked out, I ran over to the PAs and said, “You need to put Lady Gaga's pee in a container so we can put it in the Clubhouse. It's the ultimate pop culture artifact.”

Later that night I went to Benjamin's bar opening, Atlas Social Club, in Hell's Kitchen. It's great. Kelly and Barkin had just left when I arrived, and Anderson and I got there at the same time. (And I was thinking, there's no way Sanjay Gupta peed in Anderson's trash can after
his
show.) A reporter from the
Wall Street Journal
was desperately trying to get me to spill anything about Anderson and Ben's personal life. “This bar, I am told, looks just like their home. So it is really personal for both of them, right?” I almost felt bad for him. What did he want me to say? “Yes, it looks just like their bedroom and I will now tell you all about what goes on there.…” I didn't fall into the trap, partly because I used to be a journalist and did the same thing—hell, I basically still do the same thing on my show. But I didn't give him anything he could use.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2013

Tonight was our five hundredth episode—with guests Gloria Estefan and Sean Kingston—but it was no cause for celebration for me. This is gross, but here's what happened: I never poo at Bravo HQ or at
WWHL
. I don't poop at work, case closed. Tonight, unfortunately, I completely mistimed my daily expulsion and by the time I got to the show, I kept hearing Whoopi Goldberg in my head saying, “You in danger, girl.” I had to go. To make matters worse, catering was serving “breakfast for dinner.” Breakfast for dinner always generates a ton of excitement among the kids who work at my show. (Obviously—who
doesn't
love breakfast for dinner?) But these kids really are nuts about it. Predictably, I got caught up in the buzz, and after that meal, I had
that feeling.

The bathroom on our floor is not only shared with our entire staff but the community college down the hall (long story/don't ask) and our audience. So I was a lot concerned about giving one unlucky audience member something memorable for my five hundredth episode. I mean, can you imagine going to a talk show and seeing the host come out of a stall? That would forever taint my viewing experience of the show. And possibly make me feel revolted by the host and never, ever watch his smelly show again. I was determined not to do it.

Adding another layer to the shituation, we were doing a “Teach Me Your Talent” as one of our “Here's What's” and Gloria Estefan was going to teach me a sexy Latin dance move that a shart would have rendered unsexy. To cap it off, we were ending the episode with a conga line with the
WWHL
gay shark that I was sure would end in disaster. John Hill was the only one who knew what was going on with me, and when the show was over he pointed out that I had my feet raised off the ground for most of it, in what I assume was a clench mechanism. I raced home afterwards faster than I ever have in five hundred shows. No cake for me!

Nobody picked up my comments from the
Us
party about Sean being straight and now there's something in the
Enquirer
about us being engaged. And my buddy Jim Ackerman who lives in New Jersey was leaving his house the other day and his plumber asked him if it was true.
A plumber in New Jersey heard about it.
People in St. Louis are even starting to ask my parents about it. My mom keeps saying, “It's so STUPID!”

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 2013

Turns out we counted wrong and last night was actually show number 480 or so.
Ruh-roh.
That's just funny. We made a huge deal about the anniversary on the air; I really carried on about it. I guess we lied, is all. Also, Ryan King, our renaissance production assistant, says he read online that Lady Gaga's urine will become toxic shortly—not because it is Lady Gaga's but because urine belonging to any mammal (including lady singers) becomes toxic. But he strangely found a recipe somewhere to turn it into perfume. So Ryan is trying to make perfume out of Lady Gaga's pee, which is even more arty than just saving it on its own as a pop culture artifact.

I feel morose, or grossly opportunistic, even bringing this up, but my doorman Surfin told me a couple months ago that my upstairs neighbor, an old man who has the exact same floor plan as mine, is very, very sick. Like bedridden with twenty-four-hour care up there. And the super made it seem like making a duplex in the building is a possibility. So I mean … I don't wish for this man to pass away but I have been coveting his apartment and every morning when I leave I give Surfin a look wondering if he has seen the neighbor and he gives me one back saying he hasn't. I feel filthy every time I think these evil thoughts, but I can't stop. New York City turns us all into killers.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2013

Today was Yom Kippur and I went to the gay temple and once again I did not find a boyfriend. Cruising the Jewish Boys during the long service is certainly a wonderful diversion but I wonder if it is what the Lord would've wanted on the holiest day of the year. Like maybe it's contradictory to the repenting? At this moment it's been almost a decade since John Hill and I broke up and he was my last serious relationship. “How can that be?!” I am asked by others and often ask myself. Pick one or two: I am shut off, I am happy as I am, I am selfish and set in my ways, I put my job first, I meet people that I'm more attracted to physically than mentally, I use my friends and job to replace a relationship, I see my ex every day at work and that gives me enough something or other to tide me over. Or maybe, just maybe,
I haven't met the right guy
? It's gotta be some combination of all of them, but I have been in love exactly two and a half times and I am sure I will be again. In the meantime I will cruise guys at my gay temple whilst repenting. And I am entertaining the notion of getting a dog.

Just like every fall since freshman year in college, I broke the fast at Dave Ansel's—breakfast for dinner without any emergencies! Dave's daughters are obsessed with
Girls Just Want to Have Fun
(who isn't?), so when SJP picked me up for Jessica Seinfeld's birthday party wearing sparkly shoes, they lost their minds. It was a cute post-nosh moment. I guess you would classify Jessica's birthday event as a house party with a twist—seated dinner, hot waiters, and dancing. We arrived at the same time as Sean Avery, who said that if we
were
engaged he never would've let me out of the house with the sport coat I was wearing, which was kind of irritating given that it's a brand-new Ovadia and Sons white jacket with black trim on the lapel. I could've pretended Sean and I were indeed engaged, because I was seated between him and SJP, but his girlfriend, Hilary, was to his left, so that would've been awkward. And Sean said his dad called him wanting to know if they were going to have
the conversation
. His dad said, “We need to talk. Whatever you need to say to me, it will be OK.” He was trying to say that he was ready for Sean to come out—his voice was catching and everything. Which is insane, but weirdly sweet. Sean said, “No, Dad, no. No. I'm not gay. I'm not.”

Hugh Jackman was there—he's huge. There was a DJ on the terrace and it was decadent and thumping. It was my first encounter with a DJ on a residential terrace. If anyone needed to dance in Central Park, we gave them a reason. I made up for fasting all day by eating like a pig all night.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 2013

Went to a party at the Boom Boom Room for NBC's new schedule (though not sure there is much to celebrate there) and told
ET Canada
and
Extra
that Sean is straight and this is a stupid rumor. I am pretty sure that will do it. I only stayed forty-five minutes because I had to get to the show. It is
very
weird being at the Boom Boom Room sober. I won't ever attempt that again. Talked to a bunch of the girls from
SNL
, including Vanessa Bayer. Love her. Obsessed with Jacob the Bar Mitzvah Boy.