Cockblocks
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One night in 1997 I went out with the fellas to a hip-hop party being DJ-ed by old school legend DJ Red Alert at a spot called Downtime in Manhattan. Nice spot, the music was great, the place was packed with just-dirty-enough chicks, my game was on fire, it had all the makings of a good night.
For anyone who doesn’t know much about New York, what you need to know is we’re renowned for our pizza, bagels, cheesecake and thirsty, thirsty thirsty ass dudes. I mean Sahara thirst. Just got out of jail, locked up in solitary most of the time with no lotion and a mouth too dry to even spit on your hand type of thirst. As a result cockblocking is out of control here, especially in the dog-eat-dog world of hip-hop parties. If you immerse yourself in enough of these spots, not only do you have to have your cockblock defenses up all the time, you have to refine your own cockblock game just to remain competitive. Luckily I had just returned to NYC from living in Buffalo for a few years, one of the few places on the East Coast with thirstier guys than NYC, so I was well ahead of the local game in my defensive and offensive cockblocking skills. It’s like doing combat in the Marines for a few years then coming back to your small town and joining the local police force. Buffalo is like CB Special Forces for real.
I’m dancing with some girl and this guy keeps hovering around us. He’s sticking to the periphery, hoping I don’t notice him. If I was a rookie I probably wouldn’t have, but as a graduate of Buffalo nightclub game I’m endowed with 360-degree cockblock vision so dude was on my radar right away, but I didn’t pay it much mind at first. The girl and I are dancing close, facing each other, and the pest keeps trying to stay out of my sight while catching her eye. He’s winking, licking her lips, doing all this slick shit. This annoys the hell out of me, especially after three songs or so. She doesn’t smile back or do much to acknowledge him because she’s busy talking to me. She’s basically ignoring him.
I finally ask, “Yo, who is that dude? Do you know him?”
She responds, “Oh, he’s a guy danced with for a song earlier who won’t leave me alone. I’ve been blowing him off all night.”
Dag, that’s thirsty. Worse, a bum like this isn’t just hurting himself, he’s contributing to blowing the girl’s ego out of control, which hurts everyone, most importantly me. He then positions himself real close to us the side with his back to us like he’s not paying us any mind. (Remember, he still thinks I’m not on to him) I notice his hand behind his back facing outward, moving closer to hers. Now I’m in a pickle: if I call him out over some girl I just met, I get into a dispute over a girl I don’t even care about and just boost her ego even more. Women love when guys fight over them. Even though the dispute would really be over his disrespect of me and would have nothing to do with her, that’s not how it would register in her brain. But at the same time the longer I let him stand there doing slick shit, the worse I look. The place is too crowded to just move elsewhere easily. I refuse to leave the girl alone for him to swoop back in just out of principle at this point. I didn’t care about hooking up with her at this point, I just wanted to make sure he didn’t (because I can be petty sometimes, sue me). When you are willing to crash and burn in the process of ruining another guy’s chances, this is known as the Kamikaze Cockblock.
I let my hand brush against his. He obviously thought it was hers and he took it (I have small hands for the record (not that that implies anything of course (no, really, it doesn’t))). Then this bitch-ass actually starts writing letters in my hand. This is the kind of desperation move thirsty guys do that just blows my mind, because not only is it horrendous but even if on the off chance it works, how can you respect yourself after? Even if you win you’re a loser. At life. So I tell her, “This nigga’s seriously writing letters in my palm right now. He thinks it’s you. Watch this.” And I start writing back, but looking straight ahead with a poker face. She starts cracking up, which just makes him think she’s loving what he’d doing to “her.” I see him start smiling too. She and I are just cracking on the guy for about five minutes like our own personal in-joke.
When I think I’ve let the guy dig a big enough hole for himself, I squeeze his hand firmly. He looks back, surprised. I slowly wink at him with a totally creepy deadpan expression, still holding his hand. The dude’s jaw drops and the girl bursts out laughing right there. The guy just bolts.
Fun fact: the average NY guy has become ten times as thirsty in the 10 years since this story took place. Especially in hip-hop clubs. A desert nomad couldn’t top the stories of NYC thirst I’ve heard in recent years. It really is no wonder a girl can be a strong 6 at best here and still walk around like she just finished booking the cover of Vogue and Maxim on the same day.
Later on I’m at the bar, its near the end of the night and I’m pretty drunk. On the dance floor is a couple dancing, and I notice the girl seems to be looking at me. She’s really attractive, with a slightly exotic look I’d discover later was a Puerto-Rican/Irish mix. I don’t pay it much mind, but each time I glance it that direction I can swear she’s looking at me. Her expression is blank, not flirty. She’s pretty far away, and the club is pretty crowded so she really could be looking at someone else or just staring in my general direction. It’s so far away I can’t even be sure she can see me clearly.
I think, “What do I have to lose? Let’s see what happens.” I put on my best Blue Steel face, lean back against the bar, cock my head back, raise my hand to my hip and do that “come hither” thing with my fingers at her. She just keeps staring in my direction blankly. Did that even register? Can she even see me from that far? I try it again, extra cocky this time. Nothing. She’s still dancing with the guy.
Oh well, it was worth a shot. I turn to the bartender and order a beer. Takes less than a minute. I turn back around and inches from my face is the same girl.
Her, half-defiantly, “You called me over?”
Holy shit, that actually worked?!?! I can’t believe it myself, but no way am I letting her know that. Even though in the years following I will disavow cockblocking in general as a dating concept, at the moment I’m particularly proud of this one. I play it off like this is my everday norm.
Me: “You know I did.”
Her: “Do I know you?”
Me: “You will.”
Little do I know I have just met the hands-down dumbest girl I will ever date.
Will be continued…
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That’s cold bro, you punked him good. NY scene sounds a lot like Seattle. Some true hotties, but lots of crisco chicks with unjustifiably inflated egos in hoodies and flannels. Also phenomenal numbers of single mothers, most very young. In places like these you gotta go where the money is and take gmanifesto’s approach. Here it’s the Eastside. Those chicks are like the valley girls of our area. Or go slummin’ where there’s lots of ethnic girls who are lookin’ for a way to prosperity. I do like that approach myself as well, because I often like to roll casual. Male competition here is often very weak though, more in SWPL areas where the weezer look prevails. Just makes a confident man stand out more.
alphadominances last blog post..Don’t Hate a Player, If You Want Sex, Be an Alpha
I had no idea men go thru this too. Know this though: For every Skanky McClaps that ever showed you her titties or perhaps offered you head in a parking lot, there was a “friend” that was like “Girl, look but don’t look over there. He is fiiine…”.
Nothing makes a man look as good to some women as another woman’s interest in him. Especially if its a fit woman with good morals, a job and her own hair.