Cast Blog: #WWHL

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Paris Fashion Typhoon

‘Tis the End of the Eighth Season

Ask, Believe, Receive A Kiss From Andy

Wish Upon a Giggy

Giving Thanks to WWHL

Weathering the Storm

Blue Cheese and Blunders

Pranks for the Memories

The Devil's Contraption

Jill Zarin Gets Fiesty on 'WWHL'

A Researcher's Dream!

To 300 More!

Watch What Happens Fire!

We're Back and Full of Surprises!

'Gossip Girl' Star Makes a Cameo on 'Watch What Happens Live'

The Weirder the Pair, The Better!

The Queen of Puns

Here Since the Beginning

The Housewife Wannabe

Bedazzled Legs, Anyone?

...And Nordstrom!

Why We Like Mike

When a Ginger Man Loves a Woman

The Locomotion!

The Body Roll

Take This Lollipop

Normal Office Conversation

From the Sky

Things I Need to Tell You

Happy Summer!

Andy's Career Advice

My Book!

How Did This Happen?

A Bravolebrity Bonanza

Viewer Mail: Andy Pleads the Fifth on Martha Stewart

Back from Vacation!

Pancakes!

Wednesday Morning

R.I.P.

Getting Myself in Gear

Viewer Mail: Andy's Most Difficult Guest

Paris Fashion Typhoon

Andy discusses his Paris Couture experience.

It is 8:30 p.m. in Paris, the bewitching hour for the Valentino Haute Couture show. My friend Bruce and I are surrounded by the fashion elite as we await the show. It's like a movie but it's not.

The shows usually start 30 minutes late and like clockwork, the models hit the catwalk at 9:00. I am constantly puzzled by the way models strut like baby giraffe who don't know how to walk. It is an odd juxtaposition to the elegance of their Valentino draperies.

The clothes are light and delicate and the collection and presentation was meant to reflect "powdery shades of desert sand with only the faintest hint of color to evoke the sky over the sahara at certain times of day". It did!. Lots of light and white and one solitary Valentino red, which Bruce wants for his birthday. We don't know what he will do with it.

"Project Runway" judge and Elle Magazine Fashion director Nina Garcia watches and scribbles from the front row. Forty One dresses later, and ten or twelve minutes after it began, Valentino takes the runway to rapturous applause and it is over. People love it, kiss cheeks, and disperse.

The party is at the Ritz Club below the famous hotel. Valentino enters to flashbulbs, air-kisses and acclaim. The celebration begins slowly.

The buffet is served and I am going to state this as a fact and sue me or write me hate mail but it is my experience: the French Butt in Line!

I have never waited in line in France where someone did not jam their way in front of me. The line for this buffet was like an endless stream of fashionistas keeping us stagnant and steaming like never-ending placeholders. Scavengers! By the time we made it to the plates we realized why everyone in fashion is so thin - toast points, smoked salmon, string beans and salad awaited us. We were ravenous.

But Bruce and I are idiots. We keep forgetting where we are - France. Yes they butt in line but they also serve a full dinner around midnight. We'd fought so hard for the first course at 11 that we'd mentally moved on by the time the real deal arrived. The meat looked fantastic and in true European style the party really began to kick in late night.

Valentino and Giammetti are great hosts, they know how to throw a party. The models arrive with their boyfriends. We chat with David Furnish, Mr Elton John, who's diamond ring puts Bruce's to shame. We meet heiresses and Princesses and writers and ambisexual Euros who leave the door ajar. All are presented titles stenched in hyperbole, "the richest heiress in Transylvania" or "the most influential fashion writer of all time." As my friend meets "the hottest actor in French cinema," they arrange either a potential apartment swap or a ruse for a tryst.

I am introduced to a beautiful blond with spectacular (real) boobs and a top that's barely covering them. She's "the biggest TV star in Italy - 11 million people watch her a week". No more description given, or needed, as we begin to engage but we both hear a ticking clock. It's the beginning of "Hung Up". Our eyes meet - we don't speak but we instinctively know we must book it to the dance floor immediatamente. I take her hand and guide her to what is quickly becoming a mob scene as the entire party converges for a mutual disco freak-out.

Dancing with Italy's biggest TV star made me see why she's an Italian Superstar. She owned the dancefloor. By the middle of the song (when the vocals dip for the heavy bass portion) someone had taken off my tie and I'd lassoed her as her top barely maintained it's status as a "top". I contemplated marrying her and moving to Italy to work for and write a blog for RAI.

Our Madonna high took us through several more songs until near collapse. She told me later in broken English about her shows. From what I gather she has two, one is perhaps like Celebrity Survivor and the other is maybe a cross between a sports show and SNL. I don't really know but she's the biggest star in Italy so I thought it best not to insult her for details. I don't know her name but hope to see her on a television or dancefloor soon.

Several of us retired to the Hemingway Bar upstairs at the Ritz. At the table beside us we found Kate Moss with singer Donovan Leitch and several other Euros. To me Kate looked great and it looked like she was drinking Evian. My jaded companion argued his interpretation: a distinct bloat, a fall off the wagon, and a large vodka soda. Several rounds later, as Bruce spills his Bordeaux all over his suit, we shut down the bar and leave Moss' party in deep conversation.

We are starved and up to our throats with champagne. It's after 3 and the Hotel Costes is blaring chillout music, lit by hundreds of candles with not a sole in sight. Who are they awaiting? Us, we figure. Can we sit and have dinner in this red gilded perfection? Of course we can, we're told. He eats pasta, I eat an omelette with toasts served sans crust. A little more champagne before bed and a Paris night is over.

Ask, Believe, Receive A Kiss From Andy

WWHL’s Research PA dishes on one seriously unique work week.

Hey guys! My name is Laura and I’m a Research Production Assistant here at WWHL. For the first 3 seasons on this unbeweavable show, I was the permanently glittered hands crafting the crazy fun props and prizes gifted to the guests. You name it, I’ve bedazzled it! (No but seriously: pacifier, pickle, ‘fro pick, condoms, whip, hookah, mannequin leg...the list goes on!) This past season, I closed down my crafting corner and now I have the pleasure of helping Megan, Christie, and Lindsey with research and interactive. Every night, I get to read all of your amazing questions for our guests and help make sure that Andy’s got a stellar selection on his cards. But who cares about me?! On to this crazy week of shows!

Sunday: Kim and Reza did NOT disappoint.  They served up some wig wearin’, stache sportin’, truth tellin’ realness.  Kim rocked “The Farrah” like only she can, not to be outdone by Reza’s gloriously quaffed upper lip.  I swear that man’s mustache is the 8th wonder of the world...

There’s something so refreshing about two guests truly unafraid to tell it like it is and it makes for great TV.  Reza musta had Santa on the brain ‘cause he couldn’t keep from dropping those Ho, Ho, Hos! And say what you will about Kim, but that lady just wants to be home with her hot hubby and you can’t hate a ho for that!  

Monday: Let’s be real for a second: I’m 23 and I’m not even gonna PRETEND to be ashamed that I used to drink up every drama filled minute of Laguna Beach and The Hills. So of course I was LIVING for Kristin Cavallari’s confession that it was a big pile of producer induced drama. Shocking? Eh, not really. Exhilarating for the teen in me? Abso-freaking-lutely. There’s no shame in my game, hunny!




Taylor Armstrong was on her absolute A-game and she totally wins for my favorite one liner of the week: “The only thing uglier than a drunk woman is a drunk woman’s 40-yr-old ass flying through the air!” And please let us not forget the arm wrestling. Oh my word, the arm wrestling.  

Epic.  

Tuesday: Truly, there are no words for the amazingness that was the luscious lipped Lisa Rinna and Jeff Lewis and therefore I simply gift you with this kisstacular clip:




You’re welcome. 

Wednesday: I really think that one of the things that is so unique about WWHL is our unexpected guest combos. You never know who will end up in those chairs!  So when I saw ‘Carmen Electra and Billy Ray Cyrus’ on the calendar, my achy breaky heart skipped an achy breaky beat.

When Carmen slinked into the studio I couldn’t believe how amazing she looked. Does that woman age?! She was KILLIN’ it all night long complete with sex appeal and sock bun. I admit I was bummed when Billy Ray plead the fifth on the Miley Ex-BF question. I mean really, who wasn’t hoping for a little juice on a JoBro?! But fear not! Carmen saved the day (and all the imaginary swimmers) by teaching Andy and Billy to patrol the beach, slow mo style!

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Thursday: Apparently agelessness is going around because Jane Fonda looks SPECTACULAR. She and Sandra paired up for the perfect storm of hilarity and the show ended with my favorite new holiday tradition: Secret Sandra! 

And may I just add that the legendary, Oscar winning, fitness flaunting Miss Fonda went home wearing a menorah hat? So yeah, my life is complete. 


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Love and Light ;)
Laura