A few days ago, I went to see a friend's show in my hometown of Houston. I met said friend a couple of years ago when I lived at my old roommate's place. We met several more times, but he never remembered me. Finally, I found him on Facebook, and we started talking online occasionally. As a result, he recognized me when I went to his show. I brought him a small knitted pet blanket to give to his sister, and I brought some cookies for him. My intentions were not honorable: Said friend happens to be drop dead gorgeous and super smart, and, knowing as I do that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, I brought him cookies. It worked.
My friend saw me in the bar and came up to me, and we began shouting over the music and then went outside so we could hear each other. I gave him the knitted blanket and the cookies, which he sampled and complimented abundantly. He smiled at me a lot, and I began to wonder if he were interested or if it were just wishful thinking. Then he lightly brushed my arm several times and even hugged me a couple of times, and I got the idea. I marveled at my good luck.
The second my friend disappeared backstage, I texted a friend who'd been privy to my crush on this friend.
"So far so good—talked briefly outside—he was a little handy," I wrote.
"Handy huh, sure you didn't mind," came the knowing reply. No shit. I didn't mind at all. I looked forward to more of the same later in the evening.
Back inside, I watched the show, cheerfully anticipating seeing my friend later while fending off a couple of would be suitors. One guy initiated a conversation by complimenting my hat and then asking,
"So what brings you to Houston?"
"I came to see my friend," I replied, looking pointedly at the stage where he was. The stranger took the hint and left.
Lesson learned: Do not cockblock. Much appreciated. Thanks for the social grace, stranger.
My friend came up to me after the show—smelling suspiciously fresh—and resumed where he'd left off. He talked to me some more, still smiling at me a lot and occasionally brushing up against me, seemingly accidentally. Accidentally, my ass. I knew that trick. Obviously, I let him get away with it. We continued talking, smiling a lot at each other. At one point I caught myself staring at his lips and looked away quickly, embarrassed. I don't know if he noticed, and I wondered whether I hoped he'd noticed or not. Then he excused himself for a drink, leaving me to collect myself. I was ecstatic.
Then it happened.
Somebody tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned around and saw, to my horror amazement, my old roommate. I had known there was a chance he'd be there, but I hadn't spoken to him in so long I didn't bother to message him and let him know I'd be in town.
"What are you doing in these parts?" he asked.
"I came to see the show," I said. Obviously. He and I caught up a bit, and then my friend returned and greeted my old roommate. They knew each other already and began amiably discussing the show, and my old roommate complimented my friend on the show and the great lineup. I stood there, my eyes flicking between the two in mild panic, taking in the strange dynamic. My old roommate was seemingly oblivious to the conversation my friend and I had been having previously, despite the increasingly unfriendly looks my friend was sending him. My friend had been flirting with me and wished to continue, as did I, yet my old roommate was taking his time leaving us alone. Meanwhile, I found myself leaning against a supporting column on my right side, with my friend on my left side, and my old roommate on the other side of him. I don't remember consciously steering our little trio in that direction; "somehow," my friend managed to put himself between my old roommate and me. Simultaneously, my friend brushed up against me a few times, seemingly accidentally, but come now. Still, I noticed my friend was talking more to my old roommate than me, and I wondered if I hadn't imagined the whole thing. I reluctantly decided I was being ridiculous and dismissed it.
Finally, my old roommate managed to get me alone. I don't remember how exactly, but the point is that my friend wandered off for a bit, leaving my old roommate and I together again. That, of course, was when my evening really went downhill.
"So what are your plans for after the show? Are you giving anybody rides . . . ?" he trailed off transparently. I glared at him. 'Crap. You cockblocker,' I thought. 'You fucking cockblocker—dream on! UGH!' "Can you give me a ride?" he asked.
"Yes, I can give you a ride," I said as enthusiastically as I could manage. I did not want to give him a ride; I wanted to go and make out with my friend. Regrettably, I owed my old roommate many many favors and couldn't say no, as he well knew.
A moment later, my old roommate wandered off, and shortly afterward—their timing was growing highly suspicious—my friend appeared at my side again.
"I have to give [my old roommate] a ride," I told him glumly.
"What?"
"He asked me for a ride, and I couldn't really so no since I owe him," I added lamely.
"Doesn't he have a car?" my friend asked irritably.
"He got a ride here with somebody else who wants to stay later," I said, ignoring the blatant irony that I also wanted to stay later.
My friend, though obviously annoyed, said nothing.
That was when I knew I hadn't been allowing my whiskey-addled imagination to run amok. No way could I have imagined my friend's obvious irritation at my old roommate. I could feel the hostility rolling off him, which, perversely, I found pretty hot.
My friend then disappeared to deal with stuff regarding the show he'd just played, and my old roommate disappeared as well, presumably to do some socializing of his own.
Left to my own devices, I reflected on the bizarre, unfortunate turn the evening had taken. I had gone from quite happily flirting with a crush to being epically cockblocked by my old roommate, who seemed utterly unaware of the damage he'd inflicted in the name of asking a simple, well-owed favor.
I snorted into my water glass. Unaware, my ass. My old roommate wasn't born yesterday, and my friend definitely wasn't. I'd heard that irritated inflection in his voice and seen the dirty looks he directed at my old roommate. Hell, I could feel dirty looks he directed at my roommate. Scorching glares of pure venom. No. I had not imagined that.
My old roommate, it should be known, always liked to consider himself (erroneously, in my opinion), something of a ladies' man. I never liked his attitude toward women, which was why I hadn't talked to him in the year and a half before the show. If only my friend had known that before, he might not have been so annoyed. I made a note to tell him as much in the future by way of apology.
I also picked up on the way my friend and my old roommate were sizing each other up. Perhaps they acted unconsciously and instinctively, but I noticed the classic signs of battling male egos, more obviously from my friend. No guy gets annoyed at another guy like that if he's not hoping for a happier ending of the evening. He shot daggers at my old roommate, whose reaction was a silent "Yeah, what are you going to do about it? So what?"
My old roommate had a point, of course: Neither my friend nor I could do anything about it. My friend sulked off to deal with band stuff, and my old roommate socialized a little before finding me again. He cheerfully tapped me on the shoulder and said "I'm ready [to leave] when you are." I gritted my teeth, noticing he wasted no time at all in making a hasty exit.
"Fine, but I want to say goodbye to [my friend] first," I said.
"I don't know where [the band guys] went," my old roommate said, not bothering to look around. I hadn't mentioned the guys in the band; only the one. Also, didn't see where they went, my ass. Without even looking for him, I spotted my friend right away, standing in the one brightly lit spot in the whole bar, dealing with band stuff.
"Oh, he's right there," I said, taking off before my old roommate could stop me. I walked over to my friend and explained apologetically that my old roommate wanted to leave. I tried not to roll my eyes for fear my friend would think it was at him, and he shook my hand. Actually, it was more like he held my hand. He took his time letting go of me, not that I minded in the least. It was the most contact we were going to have all night, after all. I tried not to swoon as he smiled at me, and I grinned dopily back (actually, I probably shamelessly leered at him), enjoying the feel of his hand on mine. I noticed how his hands were bigger and rougher than mine, which I found sexy and masculine. In my head, I cussed out and then murdered my old roommate.
All the way back to my old roommate's place, I thought of nothing but what might have been. I mean, damn. If my friend had that effect on me with a mere handshake, what might the rest of evening have been like? I imagined those hands all over me. Damn it! I didn't say a word to my old roommate, though. It would never have done. He would have vehemently denied any wrongdoing, acted defensive, made me doubt myself and feel embarrassed, and he may have wound up saying something to hurt me. I knew; we'd argued plenty in the past. Besides, I still wasn't entirely sure he'd acted unwittingly.
After I dropped my old roommate off, I drove back to Austin. On the way, I continued pondering the strange turn of events that evening, and the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. My old roommate didn't really need a ride. He did that on purpose. He did the entire fucking thing on purpose. He knew I couldn't refuse a favor, and he wanted to prove he could get a girl away from a guy, no matter who the girl or guy was or what his intentions actually were. Well, that may be an exaggeration, but it's not beyond the realm of possibility. As I said before, I never liked my old roommate's attitude toward women; it was hypocritical as well as misogynistic. He would pay lip service to women's rights, complaining about how degrading the sex industry was, etc., yet his actual attitude toward women he met and interacted with seemed to be "use well before shaking." I recalled how once when I'd been living there, I'd talked to him about it, and he told me that he'd sleep with anyone who met his standards, but he wouldn't necessarily consider a relationship till later on. I pointed out that that was quite selfish, and it indicated that he didn't care about women as people, but only about what they could do for him. He replied that he had encountered that attitude often but didn't see the problem. I rolled my eyes and observed that if he kept encountering the same problem with different people, the problem rested with him, not them. He shrugged it off. I remembered that conversation often, and, not detecting any change in him, distanced myself from him. Aside from that, I also recalled his selfish streak. While outwardly considerate and kind, my old roommate certainly possessed a selfish streak, at least with regard to personal needs. He was also out of touch with his emotions and unwilling to deal with major issues. Not that any of that made him a bad person. Well, the attitude toward women didn't help, but I suspect his attitude toward women had far less to do with intentional malice and more to do with social ineptitude, combined with aforementioned selfish streak. Perhaps the problem would have solved itself had he been more willing to confront his emotions, since along with his own feelings, he could also be oblivious to the emotions of others. I considered that and wondered again if he genuinely hadn't understood that he was being a cockblocker. I snorted again in disbelief. No. Of course he knew what he was doing. I remembered the stranger earlier in the evening who'd hit on me, and he hadn't needed more than a pointed "I came to see him" to back off. My old roommate asked what I was doing in town, and I told him I'd come to see the show, with an unspoken "and I didn't bother to tell you I was in town. Hence, nope, I'm not here to see you." No. No. My old roommate could not have missed that. He knew, he had seen me flirting with my friend, and he knew I couldn't refuse him a favor. I could almost admire the Machiavellianism of it if it weren't so ham fisted. Subtlety was never his strong point. That was precisely why I preferred my friend; his approach was subtle.
Subtlety is of course relative. My friend was fairly blatant when he shook my hand before I left. "He was so transparently going for hand holding with witnesses and without getting slapped," I told a friend on instant messenger later. I added that I "[s]hould've shoved [my old roommate] into a cab or something, but I owe him too much to say no. Besides, it's THAT time, so I couldn't have done anything reprehensible anyway. Just as well really that I was forced into behaving myself and pacing it and all." I did not want to behave myself, but perhaps it was for the best. Anybody who's as good a catch as my friend should not be rushed into.
However. "Just as well" aside, my old roommate's behavior disgusted me. On the surface of it, all he did was innocently ask for a ride home. Innocent, my ass. I know what he's like, and damned if I let it happen again. Friends do not cockblock friends, especially not two at once. I will have none of it.
Incidentally, you may have noticed that throughout this story, I have only referred to one of the two guys as a friend. This is because I will never voluntarily hang out with my old roommate again. If I do run into him again, and if he cockblocks me again, I will just deadpan "Quit cockblocking" right the fuck in the middle of the venue. I will pay for his cab fare before I let it happen again. Five dollar bill, cab, boot, out.
I'm not sure if it even matters who the guy was; it's the principle of the thing. But the fact that my friend is drop dead gorgeous and super smart to boot makes it so much worse. Oh, and my friend and I also have a lot in common and converse easily together. FUCK. Only, that didn't happen, thanks to my old cockblocking roommate.
Now. To the points of this rant.
- Cockblocking is a douchey, selfish move. It makes you look like a jackass and infuriates both parties.
- Spontaneous mutual physical attraction is a rare thing—at least for me—and should be acted upon. Without interference.
- Karma is a bitch. Actually, no—I'm a bitch. Somehow, someday, I will exact horrific revenge on my old roommate. It may take years, but it will be epic and ice cold. Perhaps my friend I can get together and epically cockblock him and see how he likes it.
As a direct result of that disastrous evening, I now carry a twenty dollar bill in my purse on which I wrote in Sharpie marker "Quit cockblocking and take a cab!" I have affectionately dubbed it the ACDC, for "Anti-Cockblocking Device: Cash." I named it in dubious honor of the band since my friend is an AC/DC fan.
If I ever find myself in this unfortunate situation again, I will wordlessly hand the twenty to my old roommate. I just hope my writing is legible. If not, I will shout the words at him.
On a final, but certainly not tangential note: This rant was in no way intended to offend or mock my friend who got cockblocked. I realize how it might be embarrassing, but that was not my intent. (If anything, I only embarrassed myself, both then and now.) I intended, as I do with all my rants, to make a point with humor and possibly at the expense of somebody who irritated me, in this case my old roommate. If my friend is reading this and is upset, I apologize. I think very highly of you and do not want to cause you any distress.
(On a further note: Trust me to cockblock myself.)