The Andy Cohen Diaries (35 page)

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.

SATURDAY, MAY 24, 2014—NYC–SAG HARBOR

Whenever I text Bruce a funny thing that's happened, he texts back #AHWAC, which means Anything Happens With Andy Cohen, and is also an anagram for “Wacha.” He thinks it should be my brand. I love an anagram.

Drove to the beach. Invited myself to Mark and Kelly's for lunch. I have been inviting myself to people's house for lunch, specifically in the Hamptons, for as long as I can remember. I kind of decide where I want to eat and then make it happen. Obviously, you should never invite yourself somewhere that you know you're not wanted. And I can tell (I hope!) who wants me and who doesn't. My East End lunch circuit is essentially the Consueloses', Marci Klein's, the Perskys', Sandy's, and Amanda's. (I've been known to invite myself to the Seinfelds' for breakfast.)

Stopped by Bruce's and played catch with some straight guys in his backyard in preparation for the MLB thing in July. I lasted about four minutes. Dinner at Marci Klein's (she invited me this time). We talked about pool houses, architects, interior designers, 9/11, dogs, kids, fucking, spinning, skin cancer, cooks—Hamptons chatter. All night I was telling SJ and Matthew's twins that I was their younger brother; it was simultaneously confusing and entertaining to them.

Wacha's picture is in
Hamptons
magazine.

SUNDAY, MAY 25, 2014—SAG HARBOR

I am fairly certain that ice cream will be my undoing this summer. I was slurping it up like crack last night. And on that note, I ran three miles with Wacha this morning. Ice cream is going to win this battle, but I'm fighting. Fun lunch with Bruce and co., then brought Wacha over for a playdate with Gary Fallon and ate a jumbo bag of nacho cheese Doritos, which are going head to head with the ice cream to be the food to do me in. Went to Sandy Gallin's party, which for him was small, like seventy people. Or to measure it another way, there were only about five hundred votives lit, whereas at a typical party there could be twenty-five hundred. For real. Robbie Baitz asked me if I ever get “existentially exhausted.” I think that's called being read by a playwright. It was a good line, though, and I think I
might
get existentially exhausted, so maybe he had a point. (Sometimes reads teach us something about ourselves!) Ingrid Sischy told me her whole history with Warhol and
Interview
magazine. Lorne Michaels showed up for dessert with the Fallons and was gregarious and very wise, distinguishing for me his take on what executives do and what “talent” does. Having been on both sides, I thought it was valuable insight. David Geffen mercilessly made fun of my Brooks Brothers sport coat, which was admittedly loud and a one-off, but he was wrong about it. Donna Karan was in what looked like the most comfortable shmatte—but not shmatte, maybe Villager outfit. I would've worn it in a second. Went deep with Janie Buffett, which is usually the sign that summer is officially here.

MONDAY, MAY 26, 2014—SAG HARBOR–NYC

Memorial Day. A classic Andy-at-the-beach day, which means that I went from house to house and grazed on food, jumped into pools, and socialized all day. Started with breakfast at Sandy's with SJP, which was very decadent. Fresh baked stuff, flagels, eggs, and French toast that tasted like buttered, fried candy. From there I went to the Seinfelds', where I thought I was stopping by for a WachaVisit but it turned out that the buffet was starting, so I jumped in the pool and had a hot dog (no bun), corn, and half a chicken dog. And a rosé. I talked to Jerry about having Joan Rivers on
Comedians in Cars.
I think she'd be great. Their house remains the centerpiece in Elegant Adventures in Semitic Living. Next I headed to Amanda and Jim's, where we hung out and took a walk to their private beach. We found four ticks on Amanda, one on Jim, two on me, and two on Wacha. So I keep checking and checking to make sure we found them all. Terrifying. Then I had to stop by Mark and Kelly's because they were hosting Albert and a gaggle of gays by the pool, which sounded delicious and it was, like a gay pool club with Kelly as Julie McCoy—very satisfying. More rosé. (I would just like to take a moment to mention that all of today's visits were by invitation.) Hung back at the house with the dog for a few hours chilling out, doing work. Listened to the Grateful Dead the entire car ride home: summertime on the highway with the Dead, marveling at how I used to be alone and now the dog is there, always by my side. It feels good. Turned on Howard 101 near the Midtown Tunnel and Greg Fitzsimmons was interviewing John Henson. I was trying to call in to say, “I went to college with John—I've known him since before
Talk Soup
!” but the phone just rang and rang. Must've been on tape.