Warning: Serious and commonly fatal side effects of this blog include unjustified outrage, actual invincibility, passive extremism and boop.



November 2013

Corielle Heath, Champion of the Commuter Rail

Written by , Posted in STFU DIARY


    I have been a light-rail commuter for just under two weeks.

    I don’t think I need to tell you that this has been ample time for me to deputize myself as an extension of the Metra Authority.

    I’m pretty hands-off the day-to-day train-conducting tasks, of course, like pulling the forward-backward lever, punching tickets and mostly not killing pedestrians. I’m just here for when Metra needs a hero, much like Superman or the National Guard.*

    *My apologies to the National Guard. 

    My ascent from passenger to undercover rail marshall was serendipitously expedited when one of my fellow passengers suffered a massive heart attack, and I attempted to save his life.

    You know how it goes…

    You’re on your way home from work, sitting on the top level of the double-decker train (like you always do, because the air at that elevation is much too thin to transmit Consumption and other diseases commonly spewed by the wretched coughing of the community proletariat).

    20131127 094243 450x600 Corielle Heath, Champion of the Commuter Rail

    ….WHEN SUDDENLY, a teenage girl sitting several seats away and wearing a beret casually wonders aloud–without any hint of a French accent–whether “anyone has any first aid training, or something?”

    At first, no one responds. I presume this is because no one expects to be conversationally alerted to a medical emergency.

    Fortunately, I am always on alert for opportunities to secure a life-debt, so I read her loud and clear.

    Peering over the seat in front of me, I see a middle-aged man, collapsed and unresponsive, in the aisle.

    she genius gif train metra 3 Corielle Heath, Champion of the Commuter Rail

    I. am. STOKED!

    There’s no telling what I find so scintillating about mortal crisis.  I can only image that my insatiable lust for power is indiscriminate of circumstance, and, if I can seize control only when everyone else is paralyzed by fear and indecision, then so be it.

    Whatever the reason, I launch enthusiastically into full rescue mission mode, just like when I saved my brother, Tony, from that catastrophic Honda explosion.

    I spring from my seat.

    she genius gif metra train 2 Corielle Heath, Champion of the Commuter Rail
    “IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE CAR?” I bellow.  No one responds.

    I know a thing or two about saving lives because my father is a dentist, so I accept their silence as confirmation that I am the most qualified medical professional on this train. ”There are AED’s at either exit,” I announce, while sprinting toward the stairwell.

    I’m wearing high heels, but I will not be hindered by my impractical footwear and descend the steps to the lower level in a single bound, gripping the handrails like parallel bars and swinging, heels-first, into the aisle, below.

    The other passengers remain motionless in their seats, as I barrel past them and punch the emergency call button.

    she genius gif metra train 1 Corielle Heath, Champion of the Commuter Rail


    The alarm shrieks. “Shit,” I think. ”This is getting serious!”

    By this point, everyone else is so alarmed confident that I’ve got this situation completely under control, no one has made any attempt at assisting me. I sprint back down the aisle and bark, “GET ME THAT AED!”

    Still, no one moves, except for a woman in the center of the car who sheepishly asks, “…what’s an AED?”

    USELESS. With a dramatic flourish, I yank open the rear car door and grab the defibrillator out of the wall. Bursting with glorious purpose, I gallop back toward the stairwell like a running back, little blue box tucked under one arm, the other pointed straight out in front of me, ready and more than willing to stiff-arm the first person that gets in my way.

    The conductor blasts into the car right as I reach the stairwell, forcing me to pull up short at the last minute.

    In case he doesn’t realize who’s in command of this car, I immediately begin to debrief him at a full shout.


    Together, we dash up the steps while I continue to provide my expert dental opinion. “POSSIBLE CARDIAC ARREST. I’VE GOT THE AED.”

    Ignoring me, he crouches down, placing two fingers on the dying man’s neck. After a moment, his brow crinkles and he cranks around to stare at me. “His pulse is steady.”  I raise an eyebrow and resist the urge to insist on taking his pulse, myself. Looking flummoxed, the conductor gently slaps the man’s cheek. “Sir. SIR. Wake up.”

    Would you believe that WOLF-CRYING SON OF A BITCH gasps for breath and sits up?

    NEITHER COULD I, but he does, while sputtering some nonsense about a very deep sleep. I pay little attention because this man has a demented sense of humor, and clearly CRAVES attention, and he’s not going to get it from ME.

    “It’s a goddamn miracle,” I pronounce angrily, before returning to my seat to glare resentfully at him for the duration of the trip.

    Anyway, long story short, I found an abandoned hiking backpack-bomb on the top level luggage rack several days later, to which I immediately alerted the conductor. Unfortunately, that was a false alarm, as well, but everyone was very supportive of safe over sorry because ignoring ticking luggage is how Houdini died.

    A few days after that, I intervened to terminate an incident of on-board bullying, and, soon after that, I tricked the Metra Conductors into launching a futile, 24-car search and rescue mission for my iPhone, though it turns out that someone hid it inside my lunchbox and put it in the refrigerator at GXUSA…

    gxusa iphone in refridgerator 450x450 Corielle Heath, Champion of the Commuter Rail

    I have no idea who…

    The moral of this story has something to do with Bystander Intervention, but I wouldn’t know, because I have no soul, so….HAPPY THANKSGIVING!




      October 2013


      Written by , Posted in OMG News, STFU DIARY

      GeneXus USA Logo

        I FINALLY have a job, and it pays me in real dollars!

        My new place of business is called “GeneXus USA,” and we* help businesses build web and mobile apps for their customers or employees.

        *Corielle Heath is not involved in the development of web or mobile apps, as she is not even capable of working the printer, let alone giving birth to something that can survive in an iOS ecosystem.

        gxusa JOB!

        I am the SENIOR-MOST marketing and PR person at GeneXus USA, and I have no time for trivialities like developing the technologies or printing things, because I am also the SOLE marketing and PR person at GXUSA.  It’s my responsibility to incept people with the seeds of an idea for an app that lives in your iPad, solving all your problems, making you rich and heralding a new era of world peace.  I also write our social media content:

        Though it’s not in my official job description, I can’t imagine that my talent for art and coming up with wildly unfeasible ideas will go to waste.

        For example, here is an original, hand-drawn concept map for an app that lives in your iPad and tells you how to make all the money:

        genexus dancer JOB!

        GeneXus USA – an enthusiastic return on your investment!

        Last week was my first week of laboring for compensation in usable currency, and sweet shit is it easier than actually finding a job. For one thing, my office is no longer located in my childhood bedroom, which is really good for my soul.  For another, the people in my office are all confident, intelligent and funny, whereas nothing pisses-off the hiring side of a human resources department like over-achievement or laughter.

        The moral of this story is:

        After a 14-month mission of exploration, I am so happy to arrive at GeneXus USA and join my new family of good-humored tech-geniuses. I don’t even mind the two-hour commute required to arrive at my new place of business, because I have ample train-time to write these posts. I’m shooting for one per week. Maybe I’ll even get my first comment!

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          September 2013

          This is How A Winner Wins At Chess and Love

          Written by , Posted in STFU DIARY

          Sportsmanship is for chumps
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            Sorry it’s been so long since my last update, but last week was my 25th birthweek!

            Yes, the whole week.  My birth lasted 72 hours and strongly resembled the trash compactor scene in Star Wars, Episode IV.  I didn’t spend three days Shawshanking my way into the world through a green sea of my own fetus-poop in exchange for one Birth”day” per year.  What if it’s a Tuesday?

            Fuck Tuesday.

            Also, finding time to blog is tough because Glenn and I dedicate 100% of our free time to obsessive-compulsive chess playing.

            Holy crap, is it a sad state of affairs over here.  We play at least three hours of chess per day, and that’s only because we were forced to impose a rigid, three-match maximum.  As any seasoned couple will tell you, nothing’ll make you stop loving each other quicker than unlimited chess playing.

            A significant part of my chess strategy involves psychologically traumatizing Glenn.

            The rest of my strategy involves playing only with the white pieces.  So, technically, the daily limit is in place because I have an obsessive-compulsive chess habit, and Glenn is trapped in a cycle of chess abuse.

            glenn is unemployed This is How A Winner Wins At Chess and Love

            Which is exhausting for both of us.

            He KNOWS that he is not allowed to beat me at games.

            ESPECIALLY not at games of wit — and, yet, he CONTINUES to invalidate my feelings of infallibility.

            EXHIBIT G:

            We chessed this morning, after I got back from teaching Zumba.

            jk This is How A Winner Wins At Chess and Love

            Yes! I make almost EIGHTY real dollars teaching Zumba each week!
            (Artist Rendering. Not Actual Footage)

            I am tired and hoarse and have sweated myself into crippling dehydration, but Glenn doesn’t care.  He tricks me into taking his Queen, then checkmates me with his Knight.  But, not before forcing me to waste 45 minutes of my life losing at chess, and that’s one Battlestar Galactica episode that the past 45 minutes will never get back.

            “I’m sorry…” he laughs, good-naturedly, which is enraging and causes me to Hulk-out, angrily smashing my late-King onto his side in defeat.  The Time-Murderer continues to apologize profusely and offers to replay the last several moves, as if that can somehow undo how hurtful his behavior has been to my pride.

            corielle hulks after chess This is How A Winner Wins At Chess and Love

            “THIS IS WHY I HATE PLAYING GAMES WITH YOU!” I roar, then lash out at his pieces, wiping those stupid little smirks off their stupid little faces.

            chess she genius This is How A Winner Wins At Chess and Love

            One of my pawns is caught in the crossfire and decapitated. Glenn just WATCHES it happen, then peers down his nose at the trembling, accusatory finger I raise.
            “YOU!” I fume. “NOW, LOOK WHAT YOU’VE MADE ME DO, AGAIN.”

            This is actually the third piece in our Sherlock Holmes-themed chess set to lose its life in this manner.

            “I love you…” Glenn offers, hopefully.

            “Clearly, you do not,” I bark.  My lower lip quivers.  ”And, now, I hate you.”

            “What?!” he sputters.  ”No you don’t…”

            “FINE!” I gurgle. “I DON’T.  But I am NOT happy about loving you, and I hate that shirt you’re wearing, and I don’t understand why you keep doing this to me!”

            *Laughing Affably* “Winning?  And, hey! You bought me this shirt…it’s Irish Linen!”

            I tell him to go chess himself and lurch off.

            Scuttling up to my lair, I pull my portable chess set from my purse and immediately begin calculating my revenge.  Glenn skips cheerfully in, fifteen minutes later, and extends his arm toward me.  He’s holding a mason jar and looks very pleased with himself.

            “I caught you a black hornet!” he announces, insisting it into my hands.

            I peer into the jar, and, for some reason, the hornet appears to be very pissed off.  I lay it on the windowsill, next to my dragon egg, to examine it in the sunlight.

            bee sting1 This is How A Winner Wins At Chess and Love

            Immediately recognizing me as an enemy to hornet-kind, the hostile begins hurling itself at the glass in a foolishly futile effort to sting me on the eyeball.

            “That was really brave,” I acquiesce, while the hornet experiments with squeezing its stinger through the little holes Glenn has punched in the lid.  ”And, your shirt is pretty stylish…”

            “I love you…” he prompts, smiling triumphantly.

            I requite, and, then, we have make-up chess.

            I DESTROY Glenn, and it’s SO much fun, and I LOVE chess!

            It takes me nine moves, and I’m so goddamn clever about it that we’re both completely surprised when it happens.

            Glenn’s like, “Wait a sec…that’s checkmate!” *sigh* “Good game, champ.”

            And I’m like:

            chess victory corielle she genius This is How A Winner Wins At Chess and Love

            “WAKA WAKA, MOTHA FUCKA!” then, take off for a victory lap through my house.

            As you can see, the moral of this story is that sportsmanship is for chumps and I’m not very much fun to play games with.

            And you can take that to the bank.

            The end.

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