A Good Ole Cock Blocking Time!

One of the many definitions of “cock block” on Urban Dictionary goes like this:

(n.) one who prevents another from getting "play", "poontang", etc.

(v.) any action that impedes or stalls another's "game", "mack", or "pimp maneuver"

One of their many definitions of a “cock blocker” reads as:

Insecure male that horns in on any developing interaction another male has established with a female, an extremely embarrassing and pathetic event to watch.

I will admit…I’ve been a cock blocker on occasion. Only to friends though. I’ve never cock blocked a total stranger. Also, I only do it when I deem it necessary. When do I deem it necessary? Let me give you an example.

I was at a rave one time, nicely rolling, when I noticed this girl. At the time I thought she was gorgeous…on x though…everyone is gorgeous. I’ll take that back. Most of the time I could still tell if a woman was attractive or not. In fact, a lot of my friends would ask me about the attractiveness of a woman before actually going after her. So I see this attractive girl and I start talking to her. Talking led to me giving her a massage. I’ve been massaging her for about fifteen minutes, talking to her for about an hour, when she leans back and asks, “That’s your friend right?” I look up to see my former best friend dancing. “Yeah?” She looks away from me, back to him, and smiles. “Is he single?” What would you do in that situation? You’ve been massaging, you’ve been talking, to this girl that you are obviously attracted to. I did what any sane and logical person would do…”Him? Hahaha. He’s gay.”

Yep…I did it. She ended up dancing with him all night. On the car ride back home he says to me, “Dude. When I asked that chick for her number as we were leaving, she laughed at me.”

Now let me tell you what happened Monday night.

I go to the same bar pretty much every Monday. For awhile there I went every Monday for about 3-4 years. Seriously…it was like a weekly ritual. I used to sit at the same table (it practically had my name on it), had the same server, ordered the same thing to drink, the same food to eat, and I would usually have a ten minute discussion with the manager, T. After the break up with the last ex (who I met there) and moving into the apartment (I had no money), I stopped going. There was a bar down the street from my apartment (read: hella cheap) and I had basically no chance of running into said ex there. Recently (because I moved back home, read: more money), I started going back. It doesn’t hurt that my friend and former coworker (M), a tiny little tattooed deviant, is also the bartender there. So now, instead of my table, I sit at the bar. Was that a good rundown?

So Monday night I grab a friend (Brad) and we head up there. We take a seat at the bar, pace ourselves through the first two quarters of the game (Giants vs. Cowboys), and then start drinking after half-time. Sitting next to us were these two guys. One of them apparently used to be a regular there, we shall call him Mr. No-Chin. Or…Mr. NC for short. I ended up having a couple of football related conversations with the guy. He was ok, but he was also a money man…buying shot, after shot, after shot. At some point his buddy leaves and A and E show up. Now, I know A, she’s a server at the bar (I don’t think she’s ever waited on me) and a roomie of M's. She was looking…delicious.

Now here is where it gets confusing. I can never tell if a girl is flirting with me. Seriously, its like some goddamn glitch in my brain or something. If I’ve ever told the “So what’s it like to kiss a smoker?” story…you’d understand this. But I thought A was flirting with me. Mainly with the eye thing. You know how you look at someone, like, with the flirty eye? I thought we kept exchanging glances. Of course, she could have just been looking over and I inferred I was getting the flirty eye. I walked by her once and she stopped me and said something. The only thing I heard was “Ty.” For the life of me I am terrible with names. Fucking terrible. I…I don’t know her name.

It’s around this point that M quickly sneaks out of the bar, but not before I ask her what her roomies name is (or maybe I asked T…but I‘m pretty sure it was M), and she tells me its A. She got cut from her shift early and she didn’t want her roomie to catch her and start drinking. So, I text her a little while later.

Is your roomie A single?

Yup

So if I could get these cock blockers out of the way. A is the one you work with yeah?

Yeah. E is the one with dark hair.

You are a fantastic text wingman.

I try!

*cue 30 minutes later*

Well this is hopeless. Haha.

For some reason I feel like there are texts missing…Oh well…I was drinking.

Where was I? Oh right, the cock blocking.

So, every time I tried to talk to A someone would interrupt. Never a female…oh no…always a male. If it wasn’t Mr. NC it was Mr. Fat Dude in a Half Business Suit. Seriously. At one point we were in the middle of a conversation and suddenly all I see in front of me is a large white dress shirt. I was like…uhhhhh. This happened…repeatedly. It was like a chain reaction.

Lock eyes.

Dress shirt.

“I saw your post on M's wall. About your hoodie.”

“Oh yeah, do you know where it is?”

“In a box somewhere. I told her to sell it.”

"You did wha..."

Dress shirt.

Eyes.

Shirt.

“So your team is…”

Shirt.

“So Ty…”

Shirt.

Holy shit he moved!

“Your team can still come back and win.”

“No they can’t.”

“Oh ye of little faith, of course they can. They have to score, get an onside kick, and score again.”

“Like that’s going to happ…”

Shirt.

Eyes.

Shirt.

“Don’t look at me like that Ty. Don’t judge me with your eyes.”

Shirt.

“Does you cell phone cover match the shirt you’re wearing?”

“I guess so. It wasn’t intentional.”

“Uhh huh.”

Shirt.

It was like the fucking Never-ending Story. Could I have simply taken advantage of one of the opportunities when the seat was open? Moved over? I suppose I could have, but that would have been dick. Mr. NC had technically been sitting there longer than I had.

So, I pretty much give up. I end up in a seriously long conversation with T. During which, the cock blocking was actually discussed. Note: the conversations from now on will be roughly translated. Like I said, there…uhh…was alcohol involved.

“Who keeps cock blocking you?”

“The dude in the half suit.”

*she shakes her head*

“He’s a regular here, he doesn’t have a chance.”

“That doesn’t stop him from cock blocking me.”

The night is winding down, the bar is closing. I go to the bathroom and come out to realize that A & E are playing pool with Mr. NC and some other dude. So what do I do? I slide over there. Finally, I get to talk to her. Not much mind you considering she’s playing pool (drunken pool is very slow), and trying to talk to the people she’s playing with. But, I’m trying (although my creative conversation meter has been beermatized). When…cue drum roll. Brad walks over (who, by the way, had been bugging me the whole night to go over and play wingman for him with other women. When…I was obviously occupied).

“Dude, you ready to go?”

FUCK.

So, the moral of the story is this. I didn’t ask her out, I didn’t even get her phone number. For fucksakes, I don’t even know if she would be interested in the first place. But cock blocking seriously sucks, and that was by far the worst cock blocking I‘ve ever endured…from a stranger.

Also, I’m not one to ask out a server at an establishment I frequent. It’s like a rule I have. The one time I tried it…ended up horrible. If they flirt with you when they are working its likely because they think they will get a better tip. Which they will. BUT, she wasn’t working…and she looked delicious.

Ohhhhh. Icing on the cake? This!

And yes…that like would happen to be the bar I go to. I also realize that means anyone who goes to this bar will also know everyone I am talking about. I was going to use their real names throughout the blog because of this fact, but I decided that not everyone who reads this will know that. Therefore, their one letter title's.