I was the victim of a random “de-friending” this past week. To my knowledge I’ve been de-friended about 3 or 4 times on Facebook and all by “friends” in New York. Most likely, there have been other occasions and I just haven’t realized it. I wish there was an option to know who defriends you, sure it might be uncomfortable but if I defriend someone then I want them to know and vice versa. Perhaps we could throw in an option of giving a reason like on eharmony when a match is closed. For example, options for defriending could include a) your status updates make me yawn, b) no one but you cares what your kids are doing every second of the day, c) I suspect you FB stalk me too much and it freaks me out, d) you take too many damn FB quizzes and I don’t care what Twilight character you are, and things of that nature. And if I could add one other feature it would be a permanent blocking of people who appear in a search result just like you can on match.com. For example, say I want to search for classmates from high school, but I don’t want to be friends with this person or we already are friends, then I’d like to click a box so they don’t come up in my search results the next time.

Although not obsessed with the idea, I am curious who defriends me. When I suspect a defriending has occurred, I have a list of usual suspects whose names I type in to see if we’re still “friends,” which is guys I’ve dated, pseudo-rivals, and frenemies. Beyond a group of say 10 or so people, I’m just willing to let it remain an unsolved mystery.

My first de-friending occurred after a then friend blatantly stole some random dude away from me while on vacation. One minute Mr. Ivy League is whispering sweet nothings to me and telling me he wants to take me on a date when we get back to New York, the next minute my “friend” was sucking face with him. And it wasn’t like she didn’t know that he wanted to go out with me because he was vocal about his feelings in front of my crew. I can’t remember his name, but I remember he went to Yale. Yale looked to me for help when she sexually assaulted him, but I figured his Ivy League educated old money booty could extract himself from the situation. Dude got into Yale, he can riddle himself out of being sexually harassed by the backup girl. For the record, had I been interested in him then I would have told her to bugger off, but if memory serves Yalie was about seven years my junior so I didn’t see a future with him past a few dates and I wanted to see how far she’d take it. Evidently, she took it all the way to a slumber party. In fact, the only reason I remember he went to Yale is because he had to come back to the house in the morning because he had forgotten his sweatshirt and I had to answer the door. He even stayed for coffee after the Seductress woke up (talk about awkward). Although she was dead to me the moment she broke the “girl rule” by moving in on him, I kept her as a FB friend out of sheer laziness. However, 3 days later I noticed she defriended me! Um, ok.

The next time it happened it was as a result of a falling out with a mutual friend. I guess I lost this person in my “friendship divorce” with said mutual friend. Apparently I didn’t get the memo that I was either back in the eighth grade or part of the cast of the West Side Story where you’re either a Jet or a Shark!

The third was an unsolved mystery and the most recent defriending occurred this past week when I was defriended by an ex who I’ve dated on and off for four years. He’s been shacking up with some chic for the past year and dated her even longer. One would think that would put an end to the late night texts, right? Sadly it hasn’t. I woke up last Sunday morning to an email the contents of which would not pass the NYT test of “all the news that’s fit to print.” However, being the WASP that I am, I figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie so I ignored it because in the words of Mary J., I don’t want “no more drama in my life.” On Monday I received an apology email telling me he was sorry for sending me the email as he was “absolutely wasted” at the time and he didn’t know what he was thinking sending me the “inappropriate” email. This time I responded and thanked him for the apology and mentioned I knew he was trashed based on his history of sending me inappropriate emails/texts(so in other words grow up and knock it off before you end up on an episode of Cheaters)! Upon receipt, he promptly defriended me. I’d like to think it was his way of trying to remove all traces of me in order to be good, but I’m skeptical. But as the recipient of the “inappropriate” email shouldn’t I be the one who had the right to de-friend? Either way, homeboy should count his lucky stars that I’m not the vindictive type because thanks to good ole FB, I know his “roommate’s” name and I could easily drop a dime on the would be philanderer by forwarding it to her, but I won’t do that (the Mary J motto once again serving as a major reason). Side bar, although I’ve never met her, she and I have five mutual friends (none of whom have any connection to each other except an affinity for the Hamptons). FB has been rather pushy about us becoming friends by making the suggestion on several occasions, which always amuses me.

So that’s how with one click of the send button I lost a “friend” and alienated people. Excuse me while I go grab a tissue.

The Midnight Hour is close at hand as I write this, not since 1997 can I think of a triumvirate of celebrities passing away in such a short span as Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson, the King of Pop. In 1997 we had Gianni Versace, the King of Fashion, Diana the Princess of Wales, and the beloved and blessed Mother Theresa. Diana’s death was the most shocking of all at my age as I was too young to know or care about John Lennon’s death. I remember where I was when I heard about Diana. I had flown home for a visit and my mother picked me up and told me Diana had been in a car accident. My youthful arrogance and belief in being invincible made me confident she’d be fine. I couldn’t have been more wrong. We waited up until 4.a.m or so when it was confirmed that Diana, the Princess of Wales was dead. It took weeks for it to sink in and I don’t think it became real until I moved to London and saw the massive amounts of flowers that people left at her residence.

Today, I have a similar sense of disbelief with the news that we lost a “PYT,” Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson today not to mention having lost Ed McMahon earlier this week. No more, “Here’s Johnny,” “I’m Charlie and they work for me,” and moon walking. It feels like the death of my childhood. I also feel sorry for Ed and Farrah, especially Farrah as I feel like her death is eclipsed by MJ’s.

Growing up, I wanted to be an Angel. Granted as a brunette, I saw myself more as a Jacqueline Smith type Angel than Farrah, but I loved them all! As for Ed, I truly believed as a child that I would be on the Tonight Show and meet Ed one day (hey a girl can dream). And as for MJ, I was in love with him when I was in the second grade. I wanted to marry him. I loved him so much and in only the way that a young girl can that it hurt. I didn’t quite get the whole 20 plus years age difference. I was totally jealous of the fact that my best-friend at the time had the MJ purse with his picture from the Thriller album on it and I only had a school folder with the same picture on it. I think it was then when I first learned to covet something someone else had that I wanted. So, in addition, to my first violation of one of the Commandments, I also ruined a pair of parachute pants by trying to imitate a dance move of MJ’s. Not only was my MJ move poorly executed and a laughing stock to my living room audience, but I ruined the coolest pair of parachute pants ever to be worn in my 4th grade class and I caught the wrath of my mom.

Although my affection for MJ has gone the way of Tom Cruise, which is to say I loved him until he started to get weird, he will be missed. From what I’ve noticed everyone is yada-yada-ing over the bad, but you’ve got to take the good with the bad. OMG did I just subconsciously pseudo-plagiarize the Facts of Life theme song? Um, a little bit. I will say this, my dad saw the warning signs even as early as Thriller and he’d remark that there was something off about MJ. The all knowing seven year old me told my dad he didn’t understand, which is a mantra I would repeat for the next 15 or so years, including the “Menudo years” when I bought a teddy bear with the intent of sending it to one of the Menudo members (so embarrassing). God only knows which one, but it definitely wasn’t Ricky Martin because I thought he was too wimpy looking back then (the RM obsession would have to wait until law school when Ricky became unbelievably hot and ambiguously gay). The teddy bear never got sent as clearer heads prevailed (translation my dad told me that they had so many girls sending them teddy bears that it was stupid for me to do it and after throwing a minor temper tantrum, I had to admit to myself that he was right. Plus he refused to pay for postage and at that age I was on what one might call a fixed income). Anyway, it is only after years of dad being right that I now use him as my oracle. Dad has never been wrong about any of the guys I’ve brought home for him to meet. He can sense someone’s freak flag before they’ve ever even bought it. I should rent dad out to my friends to detect if they’re dating a lemon.

Back to MJ, I was at drinks with someone tonight and I had learned that MJ had passed away earlier in the day. I think I learned earlier than most, so I wasn’t surprised when CNN finally broke the story. When the news flashed on the TV screen, you could hear people murmuring and then the bar went silent for a moment until the DJ played Billy Jean. I thought it wasn’t the right MJ song for the occasion. I thought Thriller might’ve been more apropos, but a nice gesture nonetheless. Part of me feels like I should run up to the Apollo Theater and join in the tribute to him, but instead I will choose to remember him privately. Oddly, I randomly did the moonwalk two days ago when I was at the bowling alley as a celebration of picking up a spare, which to me signifies how eternal MJ’s influence was.

You just never know where life is going to take you. I remember when he was born. I was a young girl. I remember watching him grow up in the public eye. We all watched him grow up, but if you ever told me I’d watch Prince Harry play polo at a charity match on Governors Island I would have told you that you were one sandwich short of a picnic, but that is exactly where life took me on Saturday. The fact that my favorite NY anchorman Pat Kiernan from NY1 was there interviewing the Polo announcer was just gravy. I have an oddly inexplicable crush on Pat Kiernan. For those of you who don’t know him, he’s the morning news anchor on NY1. I feel like if I’m not waking up with Pat then my day just isn’t the same.

CBS news was there and a reporter interviewed the group of girls next to us and asked why they were there. Although I hid behind my Guccis so as to not be picked up on camera, I did think to myself, if I were interviewed would it be too obnoxious to say, “to be with my people, to drink champagne, and to see his royal hotness and to land me a prince?” (BTW, I can’t take credit for HRH nickname as my friend came up with that one).

I have always loved Polo and Polo players. I cannot reiterate enough that we really blew it with respect to maintaining some of the best British traditions such as high tea, strawberries and cream and polo. I truly believe this is because we broke away from England too early and too violently to care about maintaining an interest in these lovely traditions (hello Boston Tea Party anyone?). Polo is where my people congregate. Who are my people? They’re your Vineyard Vines, Nantucket Reds with lobsters embroidered in them, popped collar polo boys (jury is still out on whether I think the time for the popped collar has passed and how I feel about the enlarged Polo pony on the new RL shirts…when I know, you’ll know) and your Lily Pulitzer dresses for the ladies (shockingly short in supply that day, but it was hard to select the proper attire when half of it is free and open to the public and half of it has attendees who dropped $50k for a table). Despite the fashion dilemmas, anywhere people gather in big fancy hats, wear oversized sunglasses, and where the sound of champagne corks popping off sounds like a symphony is where I want to be on a fantastically sunny day.

So, it was with perfect weather and with the backdrop of the Manhattan skyline that I saw the Prince enter the Polo grounds wearing white pants and a blue blazer. He walked in with an entourage and only mingled with the VIP section (lawn seats went for $500 and a seat at a table went for a cool $1K). Evidently 5-10 Benjamins got you complimentary Veuve and a private audience with one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. It was slightly annoying that he did not give any face time to the commoners camped out in the free section, which is where yours truly could be found (hey it’s a recession give me a break). Riddle me this, how is a girl supposed to land a prince if he’s surrounded by body guards and other people’s body guards? Hello Harry, it’s not like you’ll need to worry about abdicating the throne a la Edward VIII to marry an American. That’s William’s problem, pas vous!

Prince Harry breezed in and out of Manhattan. He was here for a grand total of 36 hours. They kept the wild child and international playboy on a tight leash. He was basically here to visit kids in Harlem, lay a wreath at ground zero, dedicate a garden, and look sexy in a polo outfit. I think the only bar he hit while in Manhattan was the hotel minibar at the St. Regis or Carlyle or the like.

We enjoyed a picnic lunch and some bubbly. The Veuve was refreshing on the warm sunny summer day. We clicked our glasses filled with heavenly nectar from the French gods and watched three of the four Chukkers. We didn’t stay for the fourth Chukker because we knew the ferry ride back to Manhattan, which comes only every half-hour, was going to be a nightmare if we stayed until the end and thus we missed PH getting sprayed with Veuve apres-polo. We did stay for the time honored tradition of divot stamping, which in addition to the fashion and the sound of the ponies rushing from one side of the pitch to the other is one of my favorite things about Polo. Divot stamping occurs at Polo’s equivalent of half time (evidently this happened in a scene in Pretty Woman, but I don’t remember it). Rumor has it that there was a VIP divot area where the well heeled including Madonna and kids, Marc Jacobs, Kate Hudson, Matt Lauer, David Lauren, Chloe Sevingny, and L.L. Cool J did a little divot stamping. After I did my own divot stamping I headed to the “stables” to do a little Prince stalking and caught some of these shots below.

Although I didn’t see Madge et co, I did see Nacho Figueras, famously hot Argentinean polo player and now face of Polo Black. Aye Dios Mio! Talk about muy guapo! Somebody get me a glass of champagne because I need to cool down. He’s outrageously gorgeous. He played opposite Prince Harry’s team. PH’s team was named Sentabale, in honor of the charity he and another prince started to benefit orphaned children suffering from AIDS in Lesotho. Nacho’s team was named Black Watch (or as I like to call it “Team Crazy Caliente”). I didn’t really care which team won, but it was Sentabale who won 6-5 after four abbreviated Chukkers.

Although I didn’t land me a prince (yet), I did pick up an adorable t-shirt that seduced me into buying it for a mere $22.