According to www.ubersite.com, a "Cock Block" is: 

The means at which one individual prevents the sexual conquest of another individual by word, action or motive and acts accordingly to prevent sexual intercourse between the fucker and the fuckee.

Maricruz works for a French-Canadian named Faudeux who happens to be both a dickhead and a major cock blocker. 

He has most likely tried and failed to dip his own pen into her company ink, and therefore now feels it his duty to also make every other man fail who attempts the same.

So as I was talking to Maricruz in her cube, Faudeux kept interrupting as if he needed to discuss business with her. I patiently waited until he ran out of fabricated business issues, then he went back to his office until he was able to fabricate more. He did this several times.

Faudeux is only a manager. However, he believes I'm a director because I have a couch in my office. Only directors get couches. I only have a couch because Emily the Facilities manager also believes I'm a director. She believes this because she counted my ceiling tiles in the last office I had, and since only directors have that many ceiling tiles, she assumed I must be a director. Ironically, I was moved out of my office because I had more ceiling tiles than I deserved because I am not a director.

Fortunately, the couch still moved with me.

I say "fortunately", because that is the exact location I was planning to fuck Maricruz. Unfortunately, I've been cock blocked by dickhead. 

The next time I stopped by to talk to Maricruz, I knew I had been fucked over immediately.

"Who's Blair?" she asked.

"Blair? Blair who?"

"I heard there was something going on between you two," she said.

That little French-Canadian cock-blocking fucker.

Well, a momentary delay. Nothing that can't be remedied.

I just need a plan. A cock blocker block plan. 

Maricruz is married. That's just one of the things I like about her. 

Never fuck around with anyone who doesn't have just as much to lose as you do.

That's one of the guiding principals of The User Pool. Certainly, I have broken that rule. Remember Megan the Suicide Hotline volunteer? Blendi the Virgin (and Unvirgin)? Athena the Lesbian? None of them are married or in a committed relationship like I am (or am supposed to be...). What's stopping them from getting a little crazy and calling my wife? Not what stops Blair. Or Lucia. Or any of the other married women I see.

So whether Maricruz is married or not and giving me the fuck me look is irrelevant to the fact that I'm going to fuck her through and through. I break my own rule more than I should because the fuck me look is the fuck me look and my dick apparently doesn't like the rules my head comes up with that interfere with what that fuck me look leads to.

So the fact that Maricruz is married is a good thing because my dick and my head can be aligned on this particular project. No inner conflict, no argument. Dick and head are one in purpose.

I actually spoke to Maricruz today. She's a Marketing Coordinator for the International Marketing department. She gave me the fuck me giggle throughout the whole conversation. That's the giggle you get every time you say something just mildly humorous. Doesn't deserve a giggle, but it gets one because it's the giggle that says, fuck me.

There's no reason to giggle this much, but I want you to know that I want you to fuck me.

I know some of you might be thinking, shit this guy is really self-absorbed. Well, that may be true. But one thing I know is when someone is giving me the actual fuck me look. Or the fuck me giggle. Or the fuck me anything. I know there are guys who think any look is a fuck me look. They're delusional. That's not what's happening here. I don't get it from all women. Not even close. I'm not so self-absorbed to think that I do or should. I'm just saying that when I see it, I know it, and I'm telling you that this girl wants it and I'm going to give it to her.

When?

Good question. But when a person gets the fuck me giggle from a woman, I can tell you this: it's right around the corner...

Since the 30th floor has more offices with 15X15 ceiling tiles (and above) than any other floor, it was decided that more executives should be occupying those offices and the middle managers like myself should be moved out. 

Executives at this company count ceiling tiles to determine who's got the bigger and better office.  I had a 16X17 ceiling tile office.  It was always interesting to watch someone with a higher title than me count the tiles as they spoke to me in my office.

Most of them ended the conversation pissed off once they'd gotten the final tally.

On Friday my team and I moved from the 30th floor to the 25th floor. 

The good news is that Mulhausen and Fernandez will both remain on the newly crowned executive floor. And since offices on that floor will only be occupied by Directors and above, Smithee will stay there with them. Dinton has also now been moved to the floor and will occupy my old office.

So two of the largest offices in the building will be occupied by an executive who doesn't exist and another executive who hasn't been seen for months.
 

Since the floor we're moving to does not have a large enough space for my entire team of 23, half my team will be located all the way on the other side of the building.

At lunchtime, I went over to Target and bought a scooter. Going from one end of the floor to the other takes a long time. But not with a scooter.

We share the floor with Marketing. I don't think they like my scooter.

The good thing about sharing the floor with a non-I.T. department is that the female talent ratio shoots way up. And Marketing tends to be the best department for hot women because it doesn't take much to get a marketing degree.

I'm not saying hot women aren't smart; I'm saying hot women are lazy. 

A tight ass and a bodacious set of ta-tas gets you everything in life. Why work for anything if you can get the same thing by just smiling and showing some cleavage? 

As I was whizzing by International Marketing, I noticed a dark haired Latina woman wearing dark red lipstick over plump, pouty lips, a white blouse and a blue skirt with slit up the back nearly all the way to her crack.

I found out her name is Maricruz.

I haven't spoken to her yet, but she will become a member of my user pool. I know this because she looked at me. Not just any look. It's the look I'm very familiar with; it's the look I love to get.

I was riding by on my scooter and skidded to a stop when I saw her. I smiled and there it was:

Fuck me.

Working remotely for me is like taking vacation. 

I will only go on vacation if I don't have to go anywhere. So whether I'm working remotely or on vacation, I am sitting at home doing nothing.

My wife decided to take a week off and visit her parents in Florida, which is why I decided to take a week off and stay at home. She asked me to come along, but I said I could not take a week off. Since working remotely and taking a week off are the same thing for me, I was somehow actually telling the truth for once. A twisted, fucked up truth--but the truth nevertheless.

Blair decided to give her husband a plane ticket for his birthday to go home and visit his parents for that same week. Blair had already worked it out with his boss beforehand, controlling bitch that she is.

So Blair worked remotely for a week also. From my place.

I know you'll all be very surprised by this, but Blair and I got along really well for an entire week, just the two of us. 

How is this possible you ask?

Naturally, there is an extremely dysfunctional reason for this.

Blair is obsessed with making me want to leave my wife for her. She does not want me to actually leave my wife for her because she would not leave her husband for me. She just wants me to want to leave my wife for her. 

Blair's father left her mother for another woman when she was a kid and she does not understand how I cannot want to leave my wife for her. How can she not be worth it?

So during this week Blair was the kindest, sweetest, sexiest woman alive. She intended to show me that this was a taste of what I would get if we were together. However, I knew that this was only a performance and what I would really get is the real Blair, a raving lunatic. Sexy, but a raving lunatic.

On the last day of our flawless week she asked me if I would leave my wife for her. I said no.

We haven't spoken since.

I'll give her until Monday.

I have not been MIA for the last couple of weeks for any of the following reasons:

• Conklin's Dead Slutty Wife's Evil Sister Fiona the Cunt finally got the best of me and I now lie cold and dead in a shallow grave out in the woods.
• Blair found out I not only cheated on her with my wife, but also with about 15 other women at work
• Mulhausen finally snapped and went postal on my ass because I spend most of my time with him either usurping his authority or mocking it
• Fashingbauer blames me because he can't quit his job and decided that murder would get him out for sure (although not a bad idea because I'm sure it would get him out of this job, but I'd rather he murder someone other than me).
• I finally couldn't take this corporate bullshit anymore and decided to jump off the top of the building.
• The anonymous death threat finally came to fruition.  
• I died in a fake fire during a fire drill.

I will tell you the real reason I've been missing just as soon as I think of one.