The Italian And The American

I watched my friend open a two set sitting next to the fish tank. His opener — he informs the girls that the orange-colored fish goes by the scientific name “orange creamsicle” — was a little lame, but serviceable. Nothing the God of Game wouldn’t let you into hell for. The prettier of the two girls responded well, with bright eyes and animated gestures. She wasn’t in tip top shape (she had a big bottom) but her face was lean and tan and she had a natural, wholesome beauty. Although my friend addressed both girls, the other girl was not as committed to the conversation, and her eyes wandered around the room. While the prettier girl smiled, her friend’s stiffly pursed lips barely nudged.

I stood nearby in case my friend cued that he needed a wing, but his set didn’t last long enough to require my assistance. The reason for this is because the girl who was less invested in his conversation performed a brazen cockblock move, which involved stepping a few feet away from her friend for a couple of seconds and then stepping back to her friend, grabbing her by the arm, and pulling her away from my buddy with some sort of “Hey, our friends are here” excuse. As cockblock maneuvers go, this one was simple and effective. The RPG of urban sex war.

Why did this girl cockblock? There are many reasons, but one would stand out, which I’ll get to below. For the moment, a general rule of thumb states that girls cockblock when:

1. Their friend signals in girlcode that the guy hitting on her is beta. (This did not happen to my friend in this case.)
2. They sense that the guy hitting on their friend is beta. (This likely did happen to my friend in this case.)
3. They are jealous of the male attention that their friend is receiving. (My friend opened both of them simultaneously, so this was not likely the cause.)

The only time a girl will *help* her friend with a guy (i.e., she’ll be a cockbacker) is when none of the above conditions are operational; she isn’t getting signaled to intervene, she judges the man hitting on her friend to be alpha, and she isn’t motivated by jealousy. This is a rare confluence of preconditions, so when it happens to you be sure to savor every last minute.

I suspected that the reason my friend got blown out by a professional cockblocker had to do with the incongruence between his body language and the words coming out of his mouth. I sensed a disjunct between the confidence exhibited by his verbal game and the lack of confidence conveyed in his nonverbal subcommunication. (And if I could sense it, then certainly the girls with their honed female intuition could sense it.) His strong tonality, voice projection, and decent conversational skills were sabotaged by jerky whole body movements, “pecking”, and overenthusiastic laughter. I’ve seen this phenomenon so often that I’ve come to the conclusion that how a man says what he says to women is far more important than the substance of what he says. If you have the world’s cleverest opener, or gina tingle-iest routine, it will fail if your body language betrays betaness. If your body language is solid, you can get traction with a simple “Hi”.

After the two girls vanished I asked my friend how it went. He said the prettier girl who was smiling and seemingly enjoying his conversation was Italian, in the States for a visit, and the cockblocker with the early onset double chin was American. My friend was doomed from the get-go. Never underestimate the raging jealousy American girls have for foreign girls. Although my buddy’s game was not tight, what really sealed his fate was the unstoppable juggernaut of envy, bitterness, and low class callowness that fuels the American Woman’s pissiness when in the company of foreign women.

The Italian girl may not have been blown away by my buddy’s game, but she treated him with respect and projected an air of feminine charm the whole time. She may have even thought he was beta, but you would never have guessed it by her pleasant demeanor and winning smile. Meanwhile, the American girl acted like a pouting, heavily sighing bitch, a snake in the grass coiled and ready to spring into action with a venomous quick strike cockblock.

Italian girl – feminine and elegant.

American girl – minefield.

There is one thing American women do better than foreign women — suck all the fun out of life. An American woman is always on the lookout for the slightest hint of betaness in a man, unwilling to budge an inch should the conversation not proceed exactly in alignment with her most fervid Cosmo-ized romcom fantasies. American men have perfected the art of game because we have to deal with entitled American women. Foreign women, quite apart from their bloated American sisters, are not hounddogs constantly sniffing out betaness. They are more willing to allow a conversation with a man to slowly develop and see where it leads. Their’s is an attitude of natural curiosity and love of the company of men.

An American woman I’m seeing treats me well, has a big heart, and fucks like a champ. Yet, every time I’m around foreign girls I ask myself the same question: Why am I not in Estonia?