Mile High with a Vampire - Episode 4

The fourth chapter of Mile High with a Vampire in which I talk about Fry Sauce, losing my sense of smell, men's involvement or lack there of in child rearing and much more. The story aint getting better but the tangents and rants are. 

Transcript

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Welcome back to Storytime with Uncle Beanbag Mile High with a Vampire Episode four. This is going to be the longest chapter we've covered at twenty one pages so far. The last three chapters weren't great, and I don't have high hopes for the rest of this. Queen was standing in the hospital where she used to work. I take it that means it's a dream. Probably. It definitely should be a dream sequence. Watching with bewilderment as people rushed this way and that, each one hurrying to handle some medical emergency or other, and not one of them seeming to notice her presence. Yes, it's definitely a dream sequence. She glanced down at herself and saw she was wearing a bloodstained white silk blouse and black pants. They were the clothes she'd worn on the plane, the one she'd been wearing in the river, which is the last thing she remembered, spinning and tumbling through the rapids, swept along by the water like a cork caught by the currents. She thought she was drowning, Gwynne recalled, and now wondered if she had. Perhaps Marguerite had been wrong and immortals could die in other ways besides fire and decapitation. Perhaps she drowned in the river and was now a lost soul wandering the halls of the hospital where she used to be a surgeon before her old life had been ripped away from her. So that brings up an interesting thing. Like she's a nanobot vampire, so she's obviously not damned or condemned. Like the in the earlier chapters it mentioned that vampires, like the original ones were soulless. So you need a soul to turn into a ghost, is what I'm assuming. So because she's not a nanobot vampire, would she be able to turn into a ghost? Because she still has her soul, and then if she is able to turn into a ghost, would she be a vampire ghost that would want to suck people off? Like the ghost that sucked off Dan Ackroyd and Ghostbusters. That was actually kind of a funny scene as a kid. I didn't really understand it. But I'll take a blowjob from a ghost, no problem. That'd be kind of fun. Maybe I should go to New Orleans and wander around the cemeteries looking for a ghost that would give me a blowjob. That would be an interesting thing to bring up on a podcast saying that you actually got a blowjob from a ghost in a cemetery in New Orleans. Or you did some really good drugs in the city and thought you did. Is this where you used to work? Some quotations, I don't know who the fuck's talking. Quinn turned sharply at that question and blinked as she found herself watching Jet Approach. Oh, so he's shared hallucination because she's psychic, I guess. Maybe, maybe it's just all in her head. Unlike her, his clothes were pristine, his black slacks, white dress shirt, and black leather aviator jacket were as sharp as they'd been when he'd put them on. Even his back Nope. Even his black, white and red striped tie hung perfectly. This is the first time they've described his tie. So we've been going three chapters now. I'm super surprised she didn't do a lore dump on his tie and why it was black and white and red striped. Did you die too? she asked, finding the idea terribly sad for some reason. Oh sorry, I should have done the gruff jet voice for that previous one. But anyways, I'll I'll do it right now. Is this where you used to work? So she goes, Did you die too? What? Jet asked with surprise. I asked if you died too, Mr. Lassiter, Quinn said gently, wondering if he didn't realize that he had. It seemed the only explanation for them both being in the hospital. Maybe this wasn't the one she'd worked in, maybe this is the hospital their bodies had been brought to in Ontario. I'm realizing I don't know much about Canadian states. I'm thinking Ontario is the state, Toronto's the city. I know Toronto is a city. But I thought Ontario was a city too. Or maybe I'm just stupid. Well, you have Quebec. Is Quebec also a state? Is there a city? Or is it Montreal is the city and Quebec is the state? I don't know. I used to know all that shit about Canada, but I stopped caring. Especially when they started implementing their MAID program. And then when people decided to go with a MAID program and then rescinded their decision, Canada has been forcibly killing them. How awesome is that? Fucking commie assholes. We need to invade Canada. Let's annex it like they didn't fall out. Yeah, we'll just invade Canada, make Canada into like a bunch of American states, and then we'll focus our attention on Mexico, invade Mexico, turn Mexico into a bunch of American states, and then we'll have one United States of North America. That would be awesome. It's the 250th anniversary of the founding of the United States of America this year. Let's make that happen. Invade Canada and Mexico. I mean, about Canadians and Mexicans are here already. Let's just do it. Let's just open up our borders, give them like gun rights and stuff. That'd be awesome. But we need to expel the former Prime Minister of Canada. Let's send him to someplace interesting like Sweden, even though he's not from there. Please call me Jet, the pilot said. Quinn couldn't prevent the grimace that twisted her lips at the su that the suggestion and said bluntly, I'd rather not, no offense, but if we're dead, don't you think we should use our real names rather than silly pretentious nicknames? Jet is my real name, he told her with gentle amusement. It's sort short for Jethro Fucking seriously, it is short for Jethro. I made a fucking joke about that, Jethro from the Beverly Hillbillies. And it's legitimately actually short for Jethro, even though I fucked up and stumbled over it and called him Jethro by accident. Okay, that's interesting. It's short for Jethro, but I've been called Jet since I was a kid. Quinn blinked at his good news. I wonder if he was named after Jethro from from Beverly Hillbillies. I don't know why I put good in there. There's no good. Quinn blinked at this news and then closed her eyes and closed her eyes on a groan. Oh god, she murdered. Fucking murdering again. Muttered. And then forced her eyes open again almost at once. I'm sorry, I just assumed it was a nickname and thought it was silly and pretentious, he suggested when his her voice trailed off with embarrassment. I'm sorry, Quinn repeated on a sigh, her shoulders slumping. It seemed her afterlife was going to be peppered with as many embarrassing mistakes as her real life had been. Don't be, Jet said good naturedly. Jet would be a pretty silly and pretentious nickname for a pilot. I understand totally. In fact, that's exactly how I felt when one of the guys I went through training with who insisted we call him Ace. Oh this is just stupid lord dump shit. Fucking crap. So it's gotta be psychic because he's actually giving her information. It can't just be a delusion of her own. So it has to be like she can't really read thoughts, but she can like project into dreams or some weird fucking shit, and they're spooning, so maybe he's sent that contact with her being unconscious, she's having this dream and he's just sucked into it. I don't know. Short for Akron, she she guessed. Nope, his real name was Eugene. And unlike the flying aces he decided to name himself after, he hadn't shot down a single enemy aircraft, let alone the number that would have earned him such a title. Lindsay, do you know how many you need to shoot down an ace? Do you know? Because that line right there tells me you do not know. You have no fucking idea. Let alone the number that would have earned him the such a title means shit. You haven't you don't know. Why didn't you just put let alone the five that would earn him the title? That's fuck what the fuck already? I so fucking hate that she fucking the other guy. What, Miller was an ace? Impossible for him to be as old as he was and be an ace. He'd have to be like in his seventies. Maybe he was in his seventies, but I don't think he was in the seventies with a teenage daughter. Although nowadays you never know. That's why he was going by ace. It was so pretentious and silly. Oh, Quinn smiled crookedly, her shoulders relaxing. Jethro, huh? Yes, ma'am, he answered, stepping back out of the way as several figures in blue gowns and mask wheeled a gurney with a patient on it between them, obviously hurrying for surgery. Once it had disappeared around the corner, he considered Quinn solemn. Oh fuck you, Lindsay! I'm not even two pages into the fucking fourth chapter. What the fuck? Solemnly So you think we're dead? I'm really pissed off already, man. Quinn's shoulders drooped again, and she shrugged unhappily. It's the only explanation I can come up with for being here. Besides, no one appears to be able to see us, she pointed out. I'm only one month into the fucking podcast, and I need to go through and just have a click counter. Every time I hear solemnly, just click, click. But I'm gonna do it at the very end. Like I'm gonna compile all these episodes together and put them in one gigantic long episode. Probably we'll have to upload that to SoundCloud, but I'll include links to it in every single podcast description. I don't know how long it's gonna be, maybe twenty-four hours, maybe longer. And if you were playing a drinking game, you would be dead by chapter two with how many times she uses solemnly. He glanced around, seeming to consider that, and then said, I don't know, immortals aren't supposed to be able to die from drowning. Maybe this is a dream. Quinn snorted at the suggestion. A nightmare, I'd believe. Dream? No. Why would a hospital be a nightmare? he asked, with interest. You used to be a surgeon, didn't you? Used to be being the key words in that statement, Quinn said barely stepping back herself now as a man in surgical scrubs rushed by with a nurse next to him, briefing him on the patient he was about to operate on. Okay, that does make sense, but it's a long sentence. Turning her attention back to Jet, she added, I used to be a cardiothoracic surgeon. This just reminds me of everything I lost. I'm debating if Lindsay Sands actually knows what that is, or she just heard it and thought, Oh yeah, cardiothoracic, that sounds great. Because of course she was a fucking heart surgeon. We shall see. Being immortal means you can't be a cardiothoracic surgeon, he asked. Basically yes, she said warily. Why? Can't you just change your name and move to a different state? And he paused when she started to shake her head. Unfortunately no, she told him s fucking words again, Lindsay. Uh just fuck, I want to put this book to the torch and just chuck it off of the Laburkin Bridge down into the Virgin River Gorge. Maybe I will do that one night. No, I wouldn't do that because that would be polluting. But maybe I'll just go out and bury it somewhere like coral pink sand dunes where nobody can ever find this fucking evil. Solemnly. I'm afraid it's a very small community. There are only something like thirty five hundred certified cardiosoracic cardiotoracic surgeons, and our numbers are dropping. Only thirteen hundred were certified in the last ten years. That makes a very small pool to swim in and raises the risk of someone, another doctor or nurse in the field recognizing me. Based upon that information, she probably knows exactly what it is. But this is the type of lore dump shit again that's j people don't actually talk this way in conversation. Quinn cast a miserable look around the hospital and added, and it doesn't help that I've published articles, given interviews, and been a keynote speaker at conventions that almost all 3,500 cardiothoracic surgeons attended. Why do you keep saying cardiothoracic? Just take the fucking surgeons in your fucking build, Quinn! It's like super important that you get the entire fucking word out the entire time when quin Jet knows that you're a cardio fucking thoracic fucking surgeon. I'm too recognizable in the field to risk it. I see, Jet said quietly, and then glanced around briefly before saying, in that case, this would be depressing. I think a change of venue is an order then. A change of venue? She asked uncertainty uncertain. Oh fuck me. I can't even read. It's the word's written proper. I just can't read it right now. She asked uncertainly. Yeah, this place is too busy and noisy to apparent what fuck? Oh, Christ. Yeah, this place is too busy and noisy and apparently just depresses you. We should go somewhere else, he decided. So yeah, does he have like latent psychic dream fucking abilities? I don't know the fuck. I don't know if we can, Quinn said uncertainly. Our souls probably can't stray too far from our bodies, and if they're here in this hosp her words died abruptly as the hospital setting was suddenly gone, and they were standing in a restaurant with old-fashioned towel on the floor with actual booths. Are they going to do a lady in the tramp? And enjoy a piece of spaghetti, but there's going to be spaghetti caught between both of them, and they're going to start munching it, but then kiss, even though they're ghost, because this is the quality of writing Lindsay Sands has been presenting me. It's so stupid I expect it to actually fucking happen in the story. Cardiothoracically solemnly. Fuck you. There was a counter, one could sit at running the length of the back of the restaurant in front of an open window to a kitchen, and it reminded her of a place she'd once eaten in, in a small town she pet Parker Wait, she, Pet and Parker had stopped in on one of their daycation drives as mortals. Fucking hate the word decation or stacation or any derivation of vacation. Fucking like the British term holiday. That sounds so much better to me. This is better, Jet said with satisfaction, and Quinn turned to him with amazement. Did you do this? Obviously he fucking did this, Quinn, you fucking moron. You cardiothoracic fucking moron. Jet hesitated, then shrugged and admitted, I'm not sure. I was thinking we should go somewhere else, maybe find a restaurant or coffee shop since I'm hungry, but definitely somewhere happier and poof, we were here. Quinn gazed around the warm cheery restaurant. It was definitely nicer than the hospital had been, she thought, and then her stomach growled, voicing its opinion on the new location. Okay, so she does need more blood to operate than blood nanobots, but she can still process food. Jet did talk about that in the last chapter that she like food was preferable as a fuel source, but then she would probably need blood to heal from her injuries, so they're not fully vampire. I still think nanobot vampires is the most god-awful stupid fucking thing imaginable for it. It almost, almost makes me want to read like four or five books before this one just to see what the Nanobot vampire stuff is. But I'm never touching the series again after I'm done with it. I am never doing another one of these fucking books by Lindsay Sands. Lord have mercy. Booths or stools at the counter? Jet's question drew her attention away from her her examination of the restaurant to his pleasant face. But she didn't answer him right away. She was too busy trying to sort out what was happening. If she was dead, surely she couldn't just zone in and out of places. Was it a dream? My choice would be a booth. Oh I thought that was her, it's Jet. My choice would be a booth, Jet said when she remained silent. And chocolate shakes and fries. Yeah, but I love shakes and fries, but I also need a drink with it because shakes and fries just gets too thick. I have slight esophical problems like my dad used to. When he was alive, he had really bad esophical problems. So if he didn't have like a hot drink to kind of relax his esophagus when he was eating, he would start choking and sometimes throw up. And so I've kind of got that a little bit. I need liquid to kind of help things go down more than just a shake. Iceberg is a local location here in Utah that has amazing shakes and fries, but they're expensive. I guess in the relative terms of things, they're really not all that expensive, but it's not uncommon to spend $20 for a full meal for one person. But they're really delicious things. And they also say on the one that near where I work that they've got combos which is uh with shakes included for under $10. That's not a hundred percent a lie, but they don't tell you that the combo is just basically your main entree and the shake. There's nothing else included. If you want fries, that's extra. If you want drink, that's that's extra. So it's a half-truth, just like the ascetai from Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time would tell you, but it's not the entire truth. But I do like good shakes and fries, and then taking the fries and like dipping them in the shakes and the ice cream and eating it that way. And my father used to date a woman named Jean Marie, I believe that's what her name was. Yeah, that seems about right, it stands out, that used to do that, and he used to get a lot of amusement about it. My father grew up in the he was born in 39, he grew up in the 1950s during the Soda Jerk Shake era, so he would go out to the sock hops and and the you know, drive-in diners and everything and date a lot of girls around Silicon City, and Jean Marie was the first one who ever did that around him, and he thought it was funny and amusing, and then when we were at iceberg years later, when I was about six or seven, he brought that up when I had a shake and fries. So I tried it, fell in love with it, and I like eating it that way. Wendy's Frosties, although they aren't technically shakes, they're kind of a more I think it's like a skim milk powder type thing. So they are dairy, but just barely. Their shakes and fries are or their frosties and fries are pretty good together. Iceberg's Frosties Frosties. Iceberg doesn't have frosties, dumb fuck. Iceberg's shakes and fries are pretty good together. It's the salty combination of the fry with the sweet of the ice cream, the cold, and if the fries are really hot, hot, that's a great combination. If you never tried it, I highly fucking rema recommend it. Quinn swallowed the sudden saliva in her mouth at the mention of shakes and fries and nodded. When Jet immediately moved to the nearest booth, she followed and slid in on one side while he took the other. Chocolate shakes and fries, he asked. I mean you just said that, but alright. Strawberry shakes and fries. Wait, strawberry shake and fries. Quinn decided. There was suddenly shakes and fries on the table between them. Strawberry for her, chocolate for him. Quinn eyed the fair with curiosity. She'd never had a dream like this where she just thought of something and she wanted and it appeared. Wouldn't it be wonderful if life was like that? If she could just think she wanted to be a mortal gal on a date in a restaurant and it was so no more immortal business, no things for or need for blood. No being chased through a boreal forest by crazed immortals in the midst of bloodlust. Unfortunately, life wasn't like that, so she just best enjoyed the dream. Quinn decided, pushing all thoughts and worries about her real life away and leaning forward to take a sip of the strawberry shake. Her eyes widened and she moaned she moaned. I guess the shake was good enough for her to come. She moaned as thick, cold strawberry creaminess filled her mouth. Oh my god. I guess it was good enough for her. Good? Jet asked, watching her with fascination. Nodding Quinn swallowed the icy mouthful and admitted, I haven't had one of these since med school. Why? Jet asked at once. They're bad for you, she said promptly. Sugar and fat, heart attack city. Her gaze slid to the fries next to her shake and she unconsciously licked her lips. I'm guessing you haven't had fries for a while either, then, Jet said with amusement as she salivated over the golden goodness, almost afraid to try them. When she shook her head to indicate she hadn't, he said, Go on, try one. If they put it in the shake, I'm gonna laugh. His voice was deep and silky and incredibly sexy. Okay. It made Quinn narrow her eyes on him suspiciously. Let me guess, I really am dead near the devil sent to tempt me. I think the devil would tempt you a lot better than fucking Jet Lassiter. Like, if the devil's gonna tempt Quinn, from what my understanding is, it would be in the guise of her son Parker, and that would break her heart. One of my favorite films is called The Ritual. And it's not The Devil, it's a Jotun. It's uh a bastard offspring between Loki and like the giants and whatnot. Where the the film, I don't really want to get into too many spoilers about it because I think it's one that you should definitely watch and it's on Netflix. Basic story coverage of it is four guys have a tragedy happen in their life. Um, they end up going to Sweden to hike to kind of have a memorial trip over the tragedy. They one of the guys gets um his ankle damaged. They have to basically cut across uh deep dark woods to get to the lodge quicker. And unfortunately, in the middle of those woods is a cult that worships a Joten monster, which is the bastard offspring of Loki that is bound to the forest, and also can psychologically fuck with people by preying upon their biggest insecurities and fucking with their mind, giving them visions and everything. Its main goal is it gets power from the sacrifices, but it also wants the one who's the most fucked up by the things to worship it, and then because it worships it, it gets more power. The guy who it decides it wants him to worship, it keeps fucking with him, and we see almost everything from his point of view and what he's seeing, and it's fucking fantastic. And then the reveal of the monster near the end of it when oh, I don't even want to spoil that. Let's just say the monster is fucking wonderfully designed. The reveal where you see the full body shot for the first time is fucking amazing. I saw a little animated gif of that and went, what the fuck is this? Because I like good monster designs, I like good horror, you know, things. And then I looked into it, found it was from the ritual, looked into it more and went, I've got to watch this fucking movie. And it's a movie that every time I'm at my sister's house watching her dogs while she's on vacation or whatever with her family, I'm watching the fucking ritual at least once, and so it's been like six, seven. Times now I've watched that film and it gets better with every fucking watching. So the devil would have come in the guise of Parker to tempt her. Not in the guise of Jet Lasiter Lassier. Fuck. Words are hard. Speaking of things being hard, I just read three more words in the fucking story, and that cursed word appears again, Lindsay, you fucking hack. Jet nodded solemnly. I'm the devil come to tempt you to eat a fry, which everyone knows is a sin punishable by an eternity in hell. I wish fucking Lizzie Sands could spend a day in hell, and the only thing anybody would say to her would be solemnly. Quinn wrinkled her nose at this teasing and reached for the vinegar, among the others' various condiments placed in a neat little collection along the wall at the end of the table. It better be malt vinegar. But I applaud her for choosing malt vinegar. It's really good. Mayonnaise with a little bit of mustard mix in is good. Mayonnaise a little bit of mustard and equal parts mayonnaise and ketchup. Fry sauce, Utah original. Fuck you, it's not mayo chip, you fucking assholes. It's you, it's fry sauce. It's from fucking Utah. That's the best. I will die on this fucking hill. I will fight anybody over fucking quality of fry sauce. Equal parts mayo, ketchup, just a tiny bit of mustard to get a little bit of vinegary in there and a little bit of something else in there. You mix it together, it makes a wonderfully pink sauce that goes on everything that you would put a condiment on. A burger, fries, fish, whatever. I've got Japanese cupie mayo in my fridge. I don't have any ketchup. And you go get some ketchup. That's a more vinegary savory mayo. I wonder it how what the quality of the fry sauce made with that would be. It's gotta be somewhere around what the mustard brings to the fry sauce. And for some reason, my father and mother wanted to put like a spoonful or two of sugar in it. That makes it taste horrible. Like Dairy Queen. You can get fry sauce from Dairy Queen. It's popular enough now that it's a condiment that's almost everywhere. Theirs is pretty good. Arctic Circle was the first commercially produced fry sauce. Theirs is still the best for commercial production. Fry sauce, though, predates Arctic Circle and possibly predates World War II. It definitely comes just after the war as a thing that people were talking about. But some of the people I grew up around were born before the war. My father was born in 39, but I'm talking about the generation before that, my grandparents and stuff. My grandfather claimed on my mother's side that they had fry sauce before he went to the war, but I don't know if that's true or not. Because he joined up and then Pearl Harbor happened. And he was in like the Pacific Theater working with the um the Filipinos and stuff too at times. And oh man, like the stories he told. There's a really funny story, too, that I think I might bring up in context later that I don't even know if um is true or not, but it's hilarious. I'll wait for a time when that story's appropriate, or else I'm gonna be going off about horses and Filipinos and uh, you know, swimming in a river naked. So it doesn't matter. Um, anyways, fry sauce, fucking awesome condiment. The best Utah original. I'm like me and like John Moses Browning, we're all Utah originals. Fuck you, anybody else that says it's mayo chipper or different. Uh Quinn wrinkled her nose at his teasing and reached for the Okay, I already read the vinegar part. As she splashed the clear liquid over her fries, she said, Laugh if you wish, but every journey starts with one step. First it's a shaken fries, and then it's gluttonous orgy of food on the table. Ooh, you said orgy, Jet pointed out with glee and then chuckled at her blush. What if I promise I won't suggest another item of food? he asked, his tone turning distracted as he watched her switch out the clear bottle of tangy liquid for ketchup and began pouring that liberally over the vinegar soaked fries. Ketchup already has vinegar in it, so you really don't need that much more vinegar unless you want like tons of fucking vinegar on your fries. Quinn shrugged her attention absorbed in what she was doing now as she switched the ketchup for salt and began to shake that over the ketchup and vinegar topping. What the fuck is she doing? This sounds weird. Like not weird it's it's well within normal stuff, but it just sounds like there's too much going on here. She was nearly drooling at the prospect of finishing dressing the fries and actually being able to eat them. Dear God, you aren't gonna really eat those like that, are you? Jess Jet asked Jet Fuck. Jet asked with disgust when she continued to shake the salt until crystals on it were actually visible as a thick layer on top. Have you ever had fries like this? Quinn asked and set the salt shaker back. Hell no, Jet assured her. Then you have no right to comment. Try one, then you can speak your mind. Jet ch uh Jet. She challenged eyeing him across the table. Jet peered from her face to the fries of dis dian bag. Why are words so hard for you to read? I mean you can read them just fine, but you can't say them. Are you okay? I know it was a long week. Do you need some bourbon? In fact, hold on a second. Okay, I thought I had different versions. It's just all apple bourbon still. It's the my sister for Christmas got me these little mini bottles of Jim Beam. Jim Beam's my brand of bourbon. Of apple bourbon, and uh and it had some other flavors with it too, like cherry and I think honey. And I've drank all the rest of them. I still have three of the apple ones left. So I'm gonna take this mini bottle of bourbon and just down it immediately, and hopefully that will improve my reading ability, or not. I'm here for the lawn run, we'll see. Oh hell, that's icy cold, but really good. It's like a sour green apple mixed with Jim Beam bourbon. Oh, that's nice. I love bourbon. I don't drink much, but when I do I have no idea how to finish that. Okay anyway. Jet peered from her face to the fries with distaste and started to shake his head in refusal. Funny, I had no idea you flyboys are such cowards, Quinn said lightly, picking up her fork and stabbing several goop covered fries. Muttering something under his breath. Hey, I actually said the word right for ones instead of murdered. Maybe the bourbon's helping immediately and it's only been a minute. Jeff picked up his own fork and stabbed one of her fries, then quickly shoved it into his already grimacing mouth. That grimace faded as he chewed, however, and Quinn began to grin when he reached for the vinegar before he'd even finished chewing and swallowing. Okay, Lindsay, you've actually got me curious now. I like really strong flavors because I'm a nosmic. I have no sense of smell, so my taste buds are very much affected by that. Garlic is one thing I used to absolutely love to eat, but I can barely taste anymore. Because of my lack of sense of smell, I wasn't born that way. That was through industrial accidents. By the time I knew it was gone, there's nothing they could do. And so I've lived a long time without it now. But because of that, I like really strong punchy flavors like vegemite or Guinness or rye bread. And so, like highly vinegarized fries would probably be right up in my wheelhouse. I used to love to put malt vinegar on on seafood stuff like fried oysters and whatnot. And uh I like it on fries also, so. You got me interested in trying that. But that doesn't make up for your solemnly shit. That was exactly my reaction when I first saw Cynthia Vance eating her fries like this, she told him. Jet's asking the question I was just about to ask. Cynthia Vance? He queried as he finished pouring the vinegar over his own fries and reached for the ketchup. A girl in high school, Quinn explained. We had third period lunch together in grade 12 and used to go to a restaurant next to the school. The first time I saw her eat them like this, I was disgusted. She said, Don't knock it till you tried it, or something to that effect, and go to me into trying one. Smiling Riley, she she shrugged. Smiling, okay, so that's not part of what Quinn's saying. Smiling Riley, she shrugged. Dude, I'm such a lightweight that bourbon's already popping into my brain, and it's not been very long. I'm going to be a little plastered here in like another five minutes. The next thing I knew I couldn't eat fries any other way. At least I used to. I think I read that already. She added her tone turning right. I haven't had fries since around the time I graduated med school either. Good god, for that long, Jet asked with dismay. Do you know how old she is, Jet? Do you know how long ago med school was? I would make the logical assumption that she had Parker after med school or maybe even during. I don't know. How old is she? I'm assuming 30s, but she's probably in her forties, I don't know. That's practically a crime. Fries are awesome. Yeah, they are, she agreed. On a little sigh as she what? She agreed on a little sigh as she gathered more fries on her fork. But I'm in healthcare. I have to live by example and eat healthily. No, you don't. Someone guzzling down grease sugar and salt is hardly a b in a position to lecture their pa patients on a healthy diet. Are they? I guess. I mean I've seen plenty of pudgy doctors. As long as they're good at what they do, I don't give a shit. She asked, but then her lips blattened out as she recognized her husband's words coming out of her own mouth. Patrick, okay, I guess that's her husband's name. Was the one who nagged her into a fat free, taste-free vegetarian diet, and the words she just regurgitated were the exact argument he'd used. Prize are vegetarian, so's ketchup. They're not fat free, but who the fuck cares? Reminds me of the scene in Scott Pilgrim vs. the world where the vegan police show up and the guy, you know, they'd start reading off the crimes he's done, and then he ate chicken, he goes, Chicken's not vegan? And then at the very end of it, they'd shoot him with lasers from their fingers and then have like this weird gay vegan police moment. It was a funny scene out of nowhere. I quite liked that. Please don't tell me you're one of those rabbit food eating people. Jet's question, spoken with mounting horror, drew her from her thoughts, and Quinn opened her mouth to say yes, she was, but then paused to reconsider. Was she? Off salads and seeds she'd missed French fries, pizza, and burgers, and oh my god, cakes, Quinn thought suddenly. Fudge brownies, strawberry shakes, potato chips, and cookies. The list of things she missed over the years was endless. No, she said finally. I don't think I am. You don't think? Jet asked, one eyebrow raised. Quinn grimaced and shrugged. I'm afraid I've eaten mostly rabbit food since I was pregnant with Parker, so nearly she did the math quickly in her head. Parker was twelve now, or would be, he's currently dead. And she'd start eating vegetarian six months before he was born. Nearly thir nearly thirteen years now. Didn't realize that was quotation marks. But I didn't really enjoy it, so I don't think I'm a dedicated rabbit food eater. The rabbit food comment was like a one-off. And then you could just talk about being a vegetarian. Or whatever the fuck. But they're stuck on rabbit food, so whatever the f I don't know. Jet considered that his gaze moving over her. He simply said, That seems a shame. Why eat vegetarian when you didn't enjoy it? See now he's saying vegetarian instead of rabbit food. I'm drunk already. That bourbon smacked my brain super hard and fast. I'm tipsy. I'm glad I'm not operating machinery right now. I'm just operating a microphone. Reading a goddamn book that's still got, I think, 11 pages left. Let me double check real quick here. And I'm drunk. Yeah, 11, well, ten and a half pages left. It's gonna be interesting for the rest of the podcast. Maybe I just need to do the rest of these things drunk to get through them. I might go get a bunch of Guinness for next week. We'll see how that pans out. Sometimes in life you enjoy what? Sometimes in life you have to do the things that you might not enjoy for your own good. Oh. This is Ah, why did the fucking page? It shows that Jet said why eat vegetarian if you didn't enjoy it, and then it continues on the next page with the same fucking thought. It's printed weird. So it's actually Quinn that's talking, but it looks like Jet's fucking talking. Sometimes in life you have to do the things that you might not enjoy for your own good, she added when she frowned. Maybe that's true when it comes to blood test and colon colonoscopies. It's just the word fucking hard to look at. And stuff like that. But not eating. Good lord, a person has to eat three times a day. That's not necessarily true. That's just what we've established now. Before common era, people rarely ever had more than maybe two meals a day, or they would have like a light lunch and a big meal much later on, but the three meal a day thing only became common with food being readily available, and then people trying to scientifically approach things and kind of sussing out. And then if you have three reasonable-sized meals a day, that gives you enough food to work through. But the problem is American portion sizes are anything but fucking reasonable. And I just noticed that I'm drunk. Every time I say butt and fucking together, it sounds like butt fucking. And I think in episode one I said butt fucking vampires. And butt fucking reasonable. Yeah. I'm blitzed, guys. I'm having a good mellow time right now up the bourbon. What kind of life is it if you don't enjoy at least some of those meals? Pretty unappetizing, Quinn muttered under her breath. I can read better drunk. What the fuck? I didn't read murdered again, again. And didn't tell him that wine had helped wash down most of her meals over the last ten of those years while she was mortal. Looking back on it now, she recognized that she'd been well on her way to becoming an alcoholic. Wine hadn't just helped wash down her meals that had taken the edge off her irritation with her husband's late hours and arrogant bossiness. I bet he was having an affair. But he's dead now, so it doesn't matter. Well, that's really sad. Quinn glanced at Jeb with a frown, half afraid she'd spoken about her wine drinking aloud. What is? That you spent thirteen years eating that way, and if you didn't enjoy it, he explained. I'm not saying you shouldn't eat healthily for the rest for the most part, but life is too short to avoid such pleasures altogether, he frowned as he finished saying that, and then added dryly, Well, it's short for most of us anyways. Maybe, she said with a shrug. But as Patrick used to say, food is fuel, and like that expensive car given only premium gas, we should feed our bodies only premium food, she scowled and then added, My brother-in-law has a car which takes premium gas. Wonderful car. I don't want to know how much it was because it's probably super fucking expensive. It just reminded me of that. Because like when I went to fill up when my sister and I went to Salt Lake to visit our cousin, um, it it was only by premium gas that the car was supposed to take. So it was cost a little bit more to fill up, but that's fine. It was a nice car ride, and I really like his car. I really like my brother-in-law too. I mean, he's one of the best guys I've ever met in my entire life, and I was so happy that he was interested in my sister because she deserved a good guy and she definitely got a good guy. Like the, you know. Sister in Finland got a good guy too. Does she appreciate him? Fuck no. But at least the sister here, my good sister, my favorite sister, appreciates her husband, and her husband appreciates her. And I love him to death. He's helped me out a fuck ton. So, Christian, if you're ever listening to this, thank you. I appreciate it. And I love you. And that's not the alcohol talking, even though I'm totally drunk. I tell you that to your face too, anyways. So, and I have. Um Where the fuck was I? Uh oh my sister too, not the finished one, the good one. Toto, you're great. You're awesome. Thank you too. Especially for the fucking bourbon. Kinda just want to lay down and have a nap now and watch some anime. She scowled and then added, Mind you, he said that a lot. I found a cache of MMs and chocolate bars at his desk after he died. And when I was going through his paperwork after everything settled down, I noticed he had charges on his credit card bills for McDonald's and other fast food restaurants. So I suspect he didn't want me to get fat. I mean, he did start on this kick about eating healthy when I began gaining weight while getting pregnant, so he's a fucking asshole. I have a a would you call him my father? No, he wouldn't be my father-in-law, because he's my sister's father-in-law, the Finnish. His name is Arrow. And he loves American fast food chains. Wonderful guy, too. I really like Arrow. Uh, I don't know what I would call him in relation to me because he's my sister's father-in-law. He's not my father-in-law because I'm not married to one of his daughters. I'm not married at all. But he's such a fun guy to be around and stuff, and so every time I think about like American fast food stuff, I think about his reaction to it and how much he loves it. So he'll never listen to this, but that's another guy I really like. Jet's eyebrows I I Jet hmm Jet's eyebrows can't read that. I can read muttered just fine, but eyebrows confuses the fuck out of me. Rose at this. I kind of thought it was normal for a woman to put on weight while pregnant. Yeah, Quinn said on a sigh, and then told him. Pet thought he was just being controlling ass, but then she didn't like him from the start. She didn't think he respected me or how hard I worked and she sighed and shook her head. I'm afraid in the end I agreed with her. Patrick didn't see me as an equal, or maybe it would be even closer to the truth to say he didn't want me to be an equal. I think he wanted me to continue to be the cheerleader to his star quarterback, like in high school. So Jet doesn't have a fucking clue who Pet is. Why is he not asking about her? Or since they're in the dream, anytime she says anything like that, does he immediately know who she's referencing? Does he get an image of her? Because he has no idea who the fuck Petronella is, unless she is a vampire and she's alive and he's flowing her around and he knows that they're sisters. Does he know that? No fucking clue. I'm wondering if it's just something that Lindsay Sands forgot to address. Instead, you both ended up being quarterbacks, Jet suggested. Your husband was a doctor like you, right? Quinn hesitated and then explained. Actually, he was an oncologist to my cardiothoracic surgeon. Why do you keep saying that? Jet's eyebrows rose at this. So you were the quarterback and he was the cheerleader. Quinn blinked in surprise at the suggestion. No, you were right. They were both quarterbacks. They? No. Fuck. Hard words. No, you were right. We were both quarterbacks. Jet looked dubious at this claim. I think a heart surgeon beats out an oncologist for a position of quarterback. When she opened her mouth to protest, he asked. Who needed more schooling and training? Well, I did, she admitted reluctantly. Uh-huh, he said, not seemingly not seeming surprised. And who made more money? Me, she said almost apologetically. But oncologists cancer is Jet arched his eyebrows, waiting patiently for her to finish her thoughts aloud, but every time Quinn opened her mouth, she heard her husband's words leaving her lips and stopped. Mostly because she was now questioning her husband's words. She had been she had been since he detached and turned on her. Maybe even before that. According to Patrick, oncology was the most important area of medicine. Cancer killed in huge numbers and didn't discriminate, taking both the old and the young, which I've got people who died from cancer in my immediate family too. My grandparents. At least two of them. Okay, one of them was suicide, one was cancer, another was cancer, and the other was just kind of uh uh re not remission. What what do you call it when it comes back? He got hit horrible by malaria in his last uh couple months of life and they just fucking killed him. So my parents didn't die of cancer, that's good. I'm sure with my uranium exposure, I've definitely got some weird cancer somewhere. And you know, I smoked for a decade and all sorts of other shit. Like, you know, part of losing my sense of smell was it was uh okay, well, I guess I'll just tell the story. I mean, most of y'all don't know, or if you do, you've known me for a while long enough to know the story. I used to work at an oil company in uh Midbell, Utah, and they had a faulty tank sensor, and when the tank would get to a certain level, they would automatically order out an entire tanker full of antipris. Well, the faulty tank sensor ordered it, even though the tank was almost all the way full. And so it shows up the next day from Los Angeles, and we connect up all the hoses and everything and turn on the pumps to pump all the antiprys into the tank, and I'm in the tank forum kind of cleaning up some of the stuff that's in there, and all of a sudden I hear this rumbling, and I look up, and thankfully I had goggles on, or else my eyes probably would have been burned out of my skull too. The goggles that day they did do something. So the tank rumbles. I look up, and all of a sudden, this geyser of red fucking antifreeze is shooting out the top of the tank. Because the pumps are on, it's pressurized. The antifreeze is cold as fuck naturally, so it's like you know, a lot colder than 70 degree Canadian river water in eastern fucking Canada, Lindsay Sands. It's shooting up about 20 feet over the top of the tank because the tank. Is already full, so it just keeps pumping the antifreeze in. All that antifreeze has to go somewhere. Guess where it went? I got knocked on my ass by a geyser of fucking antifreeze. A thousand gallons went up, and a thousand gallons came down and hit me right in the fucking head. Knocked me flat into the tank. I almost drowned in an inch of antifreeze. Or, you know, the tank farm where the tanks were kept. That was fucking horrific. Not only that, it was extremely bad on my skin. I'd already had my camo patterns on my skin, which is another story I'll tell you another time. Yes, I have adapted camouflage skin. I have had a slew of fucking problems happen in my life. I'm a bad luck magnet. Most of the time I can laugh it off. There's never been any major injuries, but I have a lot of problems because of shit that happened to me. Namely, the Santa Freeze did not help anything. So we quickly went to the showers and and you know washed myself off and I changed in new clothes and everything, but it did get up into my nose. Thankfully, I didn't breathe any of it into my lungs, but it kind of made havoc with my nose, and I slowly started losing the ability to smell through there. The job I had before that was at a warehouse called R.C. Willie, or I almost said Ar We Silly. That's what we used to always fucking call it. The first instance of starting to lose my sense of smell was I had a pole in my hands. I was trying to unjam the trash compactor, the pole, which was a really long solid metal pole. Kind of like if you think of about if you remember recess, the poles which you would put tether balls on, it was that length and about that thickness. So incredibly heavy for what it was. It slipped off of the cardboard in the trash compactor and cracked me right in the skull and burst a lot of the blood vessels in my nose, uh my nose. So the last thing I legitimately remember smelling was blood. Well, I didn't think too much of it, but I did went and get checked out for a concussion, but they never thought to check out for loss of sense of smell. And at the time I uh was quitting smoking anyways, and so but I'd smoked for a while. About a month later, I switched to the other job, and then about you know, uh a couple weeks into that, that's when the antifreeze geyser hit me. So I got a one-two punch, didn't realize I had completely lost my sense of smell until uh almost a year later, because it was something that just never registered for me. It was a little bit of a gradual decline. So I'm completely a nosmic now, have no sense of smell, haven't had one since what, 2008? Yeah, 2008. Uh like late 2008 was the last time I had a sense of smell. I don't know where the fuck I was going with any of this. It's gonna be interesting listening to this later and being like, okay, you're on this tangent, where are you going with it? And then I just stopped dead. No fucking clue. Can't remember what starred me on this at all. But yeah, I'm a nosbic. Don't have a sense of smell. Do I miss it? Nah. I have no memory of what anything used to smell like. And I know I like smells. Can't remember anything. Don't see it as a loss, see it as an advantage in many ways. Very drunk. I know where I am in the story, but why was I talking about my loss of sense of smell through cancer? What the fuck? Uranium exposure, tangent, something like that. Oh yeah, I also got exposed to uranium too. I've had uranium poisoning. Would not recommend. Cancer killed in huge numbers, didn't discriminate, taking both the old and the young. Everyone trembled when a cancer diagnosis was spoken. Not so much with heart problems. Hell, half of our patients wouldn't follow diets or even take their pills regularly. I really have no fucking idea why I got on the subject of me not having a sense of smell. That's gonna be super funny to go back and listen to and be like, oh, that's why, you dumbass. Even so, Quinn. I mean, I hope that's why you're here. I mean, you're not here just to hear me read the book. You're here to see how my mind just fucking goes AWOL whenever I start thinking about shit. Because the way my mind works, see, I'm doing it again. The way my mind works is it's not linear thinking, it's more of like a spider web. One thing will spark something like something an insect landing in a web, kind of like tingling on it, and then that will send vibrations down the web. So one little thing, all of a sudden I've got 20, 30, you know, different things all vying for my attention, and I'm trying to put it in a cohesive story that I can tell you in a linear fashion. Because to me, I've got all the information at once. That's great. I can do I can deal with that. You probably can't, so I need to put it in a narrative for you to understand. But then I go off on a rant and I get sidetracked and talk about fucking uranium poisoning and losing my sense of smell. I'm hoping that's why you're listening, is for the tangents and the craziness of my fucking interconnected mind. Otherwise, it would just be reading a boring book. Even so, Quinn hadn't really agreed with Patrick's assessment, but suspecting his self-esteem was a little bruised by her success, she'd kept her mouth shut and let him spout off about how much more important he was than everybody else. Now she said what she really believed. Everyone working in the medical profession is a quarterback from nurses to brain surgeons. Every one of them is necessary and important. Doctors, whether uh general practitioners or specialists in oncology or cardiothoracic surgery, couldn't get along without the nurses, phlebotomists who take blood to be tested, lab technicians, x-ray technicians, and so on. I like that view. Fuck you, Lindsay. Fuck, Jet said solemnly. It's the truth, Quinn said with a shrug, and then wanting to be fair, she added. As for my husband, I think I might have been giving the wrong impression here. Patrick was a good man and a very good oncologist. He cared about his patients and did his best by them. What about you and Parker? Jet asked. Okay, it just occurred to me that Jet had been asking everybody else who was flying with them about Quinn. So he probably knows about her son Parker, probably knows about her husband Patrick, probably knows who the fuck Petronella is. That just kind of sparked that memory of reading that when he was talking about through his own fucking monologues and shit, I think in chapter one, maybe two. Jet asked, and when she stared at him blankly, not sure what he meant, he asked, Was he a good husband and father? Quinn sighed and peered down at her plate, surprised to know that it was empty. She'd eaten every last spry while they t while they talked. Now she set her fork down and took a sip of her shin, it says shake. It doesn't say sake. I'd love some sake right now. My friend and Johnny and I used to do sake plum wine offs where we would have the little sake sets and we would have four cups, so two for each of us. We'd have a bottle of sake and a bottle of plum wine. You take and fill a cup with sake and a cup with plum wine, and you take shots until one of you passes the fuck out and you record how many shots that was. We didn't really last that long. We kind of would pass out by the time the bottles were empty, so there wasn't very much in there, but I think it was like ten total back and forth for each person. Used to have a lot of fun doing shit like that with Johnny as well. We would do wasabi ice cream things, we would do like syrup and coffee or other weird shit in coffee, ketchup, malt vinegar, and whatnot, just to see who could gross each other out the most and where the line would be drawn. Unfortunately for him, he didn't know that I grew up eating Laotian food and Japanese snacks and Chinese stuff and like Norwegian food and Dutch things and all that, so my food tolerance was pretty fucking high for weird shit. I always won. But at what cost? It makes a good story though. There's still people who talk about shit like that too. It's funny, I'll run into people who were part of my friend group back in Probo in the early 2000s, or who knew parts of them. And then when they realized that I'm Uncle Beanbag, they're like, that's fucking you. I heard this story about you, I heard that story about you. I'm like, yeah, they're all fucking true, because I was crazy back then, man. Everybody's got a beanbag story, and they're all right. She now set her fork down and took a sip of her shake, not her sake, her shake, while she considered the question. Finally, she sat back and said carefully, Well, he wasn't always an alcoholic or drug abuser. Or he Oh. So for some reason I put always in there. Well, he wasn't an alcoholic or drug abuser, and he never hit a verbally abusive to either one of us. That's the kind of basics expected by most women, like tires on a car, Jet pointed out, eyeing her closely now, as if trying to read her mind. Yes, you're right, of course, Quinn murmured. Toying with her fork on the plate, she said slowly. He was a good husband at first, very affectionate and supportive. He encouraged me to pursue cardiothoracic surgery. Just fucking say. Heart surgeon, why do you have to use the entire fucking compound word every single fucking time? Are you getting paid by the Cardiothoracic Surgeon Association of Canada or America or wherever the fuck every time you mention any of that? Are you getting paid by the s Big Solemnly Foundation? Every time you put Solemnly in your thing, do they give you another hundred dollars? That would explain a lot, Lindsay, or you just are bereft of any vocabulary. Which I know you're not because you use other words. Fuck. Pausing she licked her lips and then admitted. But in the end I think he regretted it. I think he struggled with my success. I was gwaning. I was gaining quite a rep in my field. I was starting to draw attention and garner job offers from big name hospitals across the country. I was even asked to be the keynote speaker at a convention the week he died. And the more success I had, the more he seemed to withdraw emotionally, the more he seemed to need to control things around us, she paused briefly before acknowledging. And I let him why are you telling Jet all of this information? You don't know him. Just because you get wet over looking at his face doesn't mean you should be telling him all of this. Even if it is a dream. I mean you think he's actually there with you. Why? Jet asked it once. Because it was easier. She was she sh fuck me. She was she was so ashamed. There's so much sh sounds right there. She was so ashamed in like four words. To admit it. Sh sounds in four words is what I'm saying. She was so ashamed to admit it. The words were almost a whisper, but then Quinn cleared her throat and went on. Because my job was so high stressed, and I always had to be in control, and on top of things there, it was actually something of a relief to just let him helm the ship at home. Even if I didn't always like the outcome, she didn't add that his emotional withdrawal had been easier for her because it allowed her to withdraw as well. Dealing with another's emotions and needs could be exhausting, and between Parker and her work, Quinn's life had already been exhausting and demanding enough. Not that she'd found Parker's needs exhausting or overly demanding, that had been different. She loved her son and always made time and found the energy for him. Anybody who's a parent, though, understands exactly what she means by that. It doesn't need the second line of justification. Am I a parent? No. But I still understand. Quinn simply hadn't been able to find either Hm? I must have missed the line. She loved her son and had always made time for him and found the energy for him. Okay, I didn't. Quinn simply hadn't been able to find either when it came to dealing with her husband's insecurities and the need for control they caused. Jet was silent for a moment, but rather than comment on what she'd said, he asked, and how was he as a father? He loved Parker, she said firmly. I hear a butt, Jet asked quietly. Or Jet said quietly. Quinn glanced down at her ketchup stained plate and thought about her son and the lack of relationship she'd had with his father. Finally, she said, Well, like most men, Patrick was completely useless when Parker was a baby. Yet see, that is a truism. I'm the exception to the rule on that, and I don't consider myself above normal men because of that. But my mother ran a daycare and was actively wanting me to learn everything I could about child rearing for when I would become a I almost said a child rearer. That I mean kind of fits, but that's not exactly what I was trying to talk about. She ran a daycare, she wanted me to know how to take care of children completely, like every single way that you know you would take care of a child, just so that when I would have my own children eventually, which never ended up happening. Sorry, Mom, but you know, you're dead now, so as soon as you die, that obligation went off my shoulders, and you know, we had that conversation. I'm never going to have children for because of things that happened in my past that I don't want to get into on this podcast. But the information was really good to know, and I was really good at it, so I'm excellent with children nowadays. I can, you know, I mean I've taken care of several people's children for them. Most men though don't have that type of exposure. They don't have mothers that want them to know all the intricacies of child rearing, you know, like they're bringing up their education how to change the diapers and what the various stages of it are, which I completely understand. My mother was an exception to that, and she forced it upon me, but I took to it because I genuinely like people, and that extends to children, so I'm great with them. So what she said is true. I'm not gonna fault her for that, because most men have no idea how to interact with a baby. I'm not most men, and I love interacting with babies. They're fucking awesome. He wanted nothing to do with diapers and burping, which I'm perfectly fine with because it's all part of the process. And forget him getting up in the night with him, which I've done a few times as well. She said rolling her eyes, and then realizing how bad he was making she was making Patrick sound. She tried to be fair and added in his defense, but he was an oncologist and needed his rest. Yeah, but so did you. You're a cardiothoracic surgeon, Quinn. You're kind of the mother in this relationship. The father's role is vitally important, but you kind of need your rest too. You know, it can't just be all him and you sacrificing everything and then burning out. I just said that too. Here's Jet on the next line. And you were a cardiothor thingy, he pointed out. Quinn smiled and mangling of pro of the at the main Quinn smiled at his mangling of her profession's name, but didn't correct him and said, I wasn't yet. I was in the middle of my five-year surgery internship when we had Parker. Okay, so that kind of puts things in a little bit more perspective when I asked how long she'd been in med school. Did she have Parker after med school? Oh, well, still you'd have needed your sleep too, he argued. Well, okay, Jet's not wrong. Yeah, she agreed. Fortunately, Patrick agreed to get a nanny so that my surgery internship wouldn't be interrupted. Quinn didn't mention that it had taken nagging and threats to get him to do that. She simply hadn't been able to manage her internship and being a full-time mother both. Especially not when after insisting they start a family at that point, Patrick hadn't lifted a finger to help her with Parker. Which is another thing that a lot of men don't do. Because they don't have mothers or fathers that teach them how to be involved in their children's lives, and a lot of men have to kind of figure that out. My dad was very hands-off when it came to the kids, unless it was something like mountain man stuff, hunting or fishing, or watching sports. My brother, who's 16 years older than me, who I don't talk to for reasons I won't get into, he got the sport side of my dad. I got all the other stuff, the hunting and fishing and all of that, and shooting from my dad. But he didn't know how to raise kids. His mother didn't know how to raise kids, his father didn't know how to raise kids. He didn't have good examples, he didn't have good teachers. My mother knew how to raise kids, but was internally frustrated with my father because he was extremely hands-off. He would go do work and then come home and want to relax without interacting with the kids and get very annoyed when my mother wanted him to interact with the kids. So I understand that, but I also got the benefit of a mother who wanted me to be a very active participant in childcare, in rearing, and as a marriage partner. Her lessons aren't wasted. I will never marry and uh will never have kids, but I can apply that to other people and at least help people who don't know what to do learn what to do. Because most guys are extremely hands-off with their kids until their kids get old enough to kind of take active um interest in the stuff that they're into, like sports and whatnot. It's just kind of a default setting of the society that we live in right now because they're not taught how to do any of that. So I can't exactly blame them, but I understand Quinn's Quinn's frustrations, and I understand women's frustrations with that a lot, especially since when I was told and taught and had firsthand experience with these things, and then I see guys, uh, I don't know what to do. And it's like you just you just be with them, you just interact with them, especially small babies. They're small babies, you just need to hold them and cuddle them and coddle them and love them, and they're cute, and then change their diapers, burp them, feed them, you know, we'll do whatever. They're fussy. You you know, bounce them up and down slightly and walk around while supporting their head, and you start singing, what do you do with a drunken sailor? Like I used to sing to my knees, what do you do with a drunken Nyla? What do you do with a drunken Nylah? What do you do with a drunken Nylah early in the morning? That type of song. It's great. You don't have to be verbose about it. You're engaging them, they you're used to your presence at that point, and then when they grow up, you still have a very strong bond with them, even though they're a lot years older, they still really like you because you were involved in their life. It's not hard, but unless you know what to do, it's difficult to figure it out because men aren't wired that way until switches get flipped, and then it makes perfect sense. So men be an active participant in your children's lives, especially when they're little. Babies are awesome. And seeing children develop from newborns into walking, talking terror machines is a fun journey, and I love it. I also love being the uncle, so when that shit got extremely difficult, I could be like, oh here, here's your baby back. But you know, there were times where I was taking care of them solo, but and I did a great job because I had a good mother who taught me well, and I had a good sister who also told me what she wanted out of how I approached her kids and and you know, helped with them, and I respected that. So it's great. I want more men to be involved in child rearing like that. You know, I want more men to understand how to deal with things like that. And deal's a little bit of a harsh word for it. But it's something I'm very passionate about that men need to be more involved properly, though, not just there. You need to be properly involved engaging with the child. So Patrick hadn't lifted a finger to help her with Parker. In fact, if it weren't for her sister, Quinn probably would have dropped her internship and become a general practitioner, but Pet hadn't allowed that to happen. She stepped in to help with Parker and was the one who suggested hiring a nanny and then encouraged her to harass and nag Patrick until he gave in. What was he like as a father once Parker was out of diapers? Jet asked. Quinn grimaced before she could stop herself. I'm really wondering if Jet does have a daughter. Like if he's had a child in the past who's dead. I'm getting the feeling that Jet knows the right questions to ask because he's had experience like I have in child rearing. Either that or I'm too fucking drunk to see what's obviously there right now. So who knows? Quinn grimaced before she could stop herself, but then cleared her expression expression. She was determined to be fair here. He was proud of him. Parker's exceptionally smart. Was exceptionally smart, Quinn. She explained. He's a freaking little genius, really, and Patrick was proud of him for that. That's it. He was proud of him, Jet Jett asked, tilting his head. Did he take him to ball games or to movies? Take him fishing, anything? Quinn actually felt tears rising in her eyes at the question. Those are the things she'd wanted for her son, a father who spent time with him and took him out to do guy things together. It was what she'd expected and hoped for, but Patrick was very busy with his practice. He didn't have a lot of spare time. Jet nodded silently, but there was a deep understanding in his eyes that made her uncomfortable. She felt like she blabbed that her husband had basically ignored her their child for the most part. That's what had happened. And she often felt like a single parent. Mm-hmm. Heard that complaint a lot from the people I love. And by the time of the attack and his death, like it's how guys are structured though. It's frustrating to me because I do understand it in a way that a lot of guys don't, and I've already talked about that at length. But it's also frustrating to me because I didn't wouldn't have known otherwise. But I also would have asked the questions at that time. Well, how do I take care of the kid? How do I how do I involve myself with the kid's life? And a lot of guys just don't do that. They're just like, okay, well, here's a kid. Uh uh, okay, that's it. And I'm like, oh man, all right, whatever. No wonder someone. Many children have issues. She'd been considering divorce for several years, but that was just too she was just too busy to pursue it. That was the truth, though. She'd been considering divorce. She hadn't been happy. Patrick certainly hadn't seemed happy in their marriage anymore either. He hadn't been happy since the year after Parker's birth. That's when Patrick suggested they start trying for another child. This plan was one every two years until they had three, he said. But Quinn had been horrified at the prospect with his lack of help and interest in the child they already had. Yeah. Good on you, Quinn. I fully support that. It's not gonna change when you get more kids. It's not gonna get better. It's gonna get worse. You're gonna have three neglected children at that point. Well, she refused to have a second one at that point. That's what I just said at that point. Anyways, saying they'd wait and have another child once she was done with her internships. It was the first time she'd said no to him and not to let him have his way. She didn't think he'd ever forgiven her for it. By the time she was done with her internships, she and Patrick were hardly sleeping together anymore. Separate rooms. That's familiar. Parents had separate rooms. One upstairs, one downstairs. Conjugal visits every year, I guess. Not entirely sure. Fucking weird situation growing up as I was as a kid, too. I've been thinking about that a lot recently. But oh well, I don't want to drag my parents right now. They were flawed. As all people are. I legitimately believe they were trying to do the best as they understood it, even though it didn't really work a lot of the times because both of them were coming from extremely fucked up situations of their families. So they didn't treat us as bad as they were treated. That's an improvement. Couple hundred more generations, and maybe we will stop doing all this shit to each other. Or not. Patrick? No. Yeah, she and Patrick were hardly sleeping together anymore, and the marriage was already on shaky ground. Having a second child while she was considering divorce hadn't seemed a smart idea. Yeah, it definitely is not. And all this was something Gwen had been avoiding thinking about these last four years. It felt unfair and unfaithful to think of her husband's flaws when he was dead. So it did her anger at attacking his What? The fuck? Okay, so did her anger at his attacking and turning her and her son. Why is Parker dead and you're not then? What's going on with that? Is Did I ask that question last chapter? I think I did. Is Parker actually dead? Or does she just think he's dead? Did she see a decapitated body? Can you still put the bodies and heads swap him around? I don't know. That no information on that. So did her anger at his attacking and turning her and her son, and she still had a lot of that anger, but couldn't even think about it without feeling guilty for being angry at her dead husband. Pushing these thoughts away was too depressing to consider. Quinn picked up her shake and sat back to consider the man across from her rather than the man who had betrayed her. This is very weird that she's using Jet Lassiter as a therapy session in this dreamscape. Jethro Lassiter was a good looking man. He was also tall and well built with dark hair. He looked like the physical outdoorsy type. Her husband had been tall and dark haired too. If you are a nanobot vampire, can you have children? Abs, Jet's friend, who I did not catch last time I was reading through it, that when he started mentioning abs, Queen got very jealously defensive of what's his relationship to her. I didn't even catch that when I was reading that. Abs is married to a proper immortal named Tomaso, or as I want to keep saying, Tomato. So Abs is married to Tomato. Abs is a Nanobot vampire, right? I don't know if she is or not. Tommaso can't possibly be unless Lindsay Sands does some weird wibbly wobbly timey whimy shit and nanobots existed hundreds of years ago too, which is fucking retarded. Nanobot vampires are fucking retarded in the first place. They gotta be able to reproduce, right? And then if you come inside of a nanobot vampire and you're a nanobot vampire and you have a child who's a nanobot vampire, are they a nanobot vampire or are they just born normal? Do nanobots travel in semen? I don't think they do because they're blood-powered nanobots, not cum-powered nanobots. And then that opens a whole nother kettle of fish. If you do have cum-powered nanobots that go inside of a woman and can impregnate her and pull up with the semen and just eating the child, do you need regular injections of semen while the child is being built up to power those nanobots and then do they eventually become blood-powered nanobots, but blood and semen don't exactly mix that way? So biologically it's completely fucking ridiculous, Lindsay. What the fuck were you thinking about nanobot vampires? Fuck you. Come bot vampire fuck. So your father used to take you fishing into the movies and ball games? She asked to change the subject. Much to her surprise, Jack shet shook his head. My dad was a navy pilot too. He died in the Gulf War when I was two. I don't think there were any naval fat navy fatalities for pilots in the Gulf War. But if he I'm older than Jet Lasseter, fuck me. If he died in the Gulf War when he was two, the Gulf War was ninety ninety one. February ninety one, I think. I was in third grade at the time. I remember that. Third grade is when you're 10, right? I was born in 81. No. Was it third grade or was it because 93? When did I shoot the gun in the school? Okay, I need to put more context in that before you think I was a school shooter. I was not a school shooter. We used to do mountain men demonstrations. I believe it was January of 1993. There's a clip online that of me dressed up as a mountain man, shooting a black powder rifle in school as the end part of the demonstration, and people going, whoa, wow, and one kid going, Shaziam. It was a video that my mother recorded with an old BHS camcorder, the ones that had the VHS tapes in the side of it. Didn't even know that existed until after her death. My sister found it, digitized it. Got a wonderful record of that presentation and me as a 11-year-old with the black powder rifle shooting it in the school, dark humor kicking in. I debated on saying this, fuck it. I'm just gonna say it because I'm not gonna regulate this shit. I was a school shooter before it was cool, guys. But I legitimately shot a wall of a school with tin foil and black powder, not people. Anyways, yeah, I was in third grade during the Gulf War. Didn't last very long, like a month or whatever. So if I was in third grade, I would have been about 10 years old. Jet or 9, 10, somewhere around there. Jet Lassiter was two, so Jet Lassiter is younger than my sister, my youngest sister. Fucking weird. I work with a guy who said, Oh, well, how old do you think I am? And I'm like, I don't know. 26, 27. He's like, No, I was born in 2002, and I went, Good lord, September 11th didn't even fucking happen when you were born. I was already getting fucked over psychologically and shit by the time you were fucking born. I'm old enough to be your fucking father. Anyways. Oh man. Getting old is so weird, especially when you have decades of experience to draw upon and to think about. And anybody who's like born after the year 2000 fucking does not compute at fucking all. But I always imagined that's what it would have been like had he survived and been around to help raise me. He smiled crookedly and added, and now I imagine doing all those things with my own child someday, giving them a childhood I missed out on so I can enjoy it vicariously, I suppose. He confessed with a grin. Okay, so he doesn't have a daughter. He never had a kid. I'm hoping that's what that means, because if it's not, why the fuck did you write it that way? Quinn smiled, charmed by the idea that he was already imagining the child he'd hoped to someday have when was actually planning to spend time with him and his offspring. Yeah I was imagining that too when my girlfriend got pregnant. Didn't really work out. Let's just say I had one chance of being a dad. Well, that chance died. She suspected he'd be a good dad, the kind she'd hoped for her own son to have, she thought, but tilted her head slightly and asked, You were a Navy pilot before working for Arginoma Enterprises? Jet nodded. Oh, she breathed, imagining him flying fighter jets into dangerous missions. Your mother must have been horrified when you joined the Navy after your father died that way. Jet shrugged. I'm afraid my mom didn't take losing my dad and being a single parent too well, although mostly I think it was the guilt. Guilt? she asked with confusion. Jet nodded. It seemed Dad had been unemployed for a while when she found out she was pregnant. What? Unemployed? I'm not reading ahead, but okay, he's unemployed when she gets pregnant, so he joins the Navy and becomes a fighter pilot and dies when he's two years old. Does that fucking work? Did he join the Navy because of Top Gun? If you tell me in this next paragraph, which I'm not purposely not looking at, your dad joined the Navy because of Top Gun, I called you a fucking Maverick at one point because in reference to Tom Cruise's character Maverick being a naval pilot. Is that the whole motivation for why you're part of the Navy? Because your dad saw Top Gun, thought it'd be fucking cool, and joined up, and then because he died in the Gulf fucking war, you decided to join up Jet Lassiter? Jethro fucking Lassiter? They had a big fight about it. Her demanding he get a job or she'd leave him. He stormed out and joined the Navy that night. Lindsay, you had an opportunity there. You don't have to pay royalties to that. Just say you saw Tom Cruise in the naval pilot movie or Top Gun or whatever. You can mention it, and you don't have to pay fucking royalties. That would have been actually an interesting plot point. No, it wouldn't have been. Who the fuck am I kidding? It would have been a plot point. Let's put it that way. That would have made more sense than half the shit that you fucking write. Two and a half years later, he was dead and she kind of crawled into a bottle and still hasn't crawled out. He pushed his own plate away and sat back before smiling faintly and adding, Fortunately, our neighbor Marge Forsythe was a wonderful, caring woman who was more than happy to take care of me when my mom wasn't able to. Marge basically raised me along with her daughter. Abigail, I bet you. It's got to be Abigail, because Abigail, I think her last name was Forsyth. Okay, that makes sense why you're fucking really good best friends. Because you were basically raised by Marge. My third sister. Let me see if I can I'm a little drunk. I have a third sister who was adopted by my husband. My husband's fucking, I don't have a husband. Fuck. My father's first wife had a sister who was a drug addict and had a kid but was incapable of taking care of her. So my father and his first wife adopted her as their own child, and then had my brother. So she's the third sister that I don't really talk about. My sister has some interaction with her children, so I don't know if she has any interaction with her. I really don't remember anybody on that side of the family except for my brother and my father's first wife, which, you know, I still like her. She actually popped up recently in my life with questions about things trying to help me out financially, and I really thought that was cool of her. Didn't expect that at all. So that was a nice bonus. Don't know if anything's ever going to come of that, but hey, thank you for that thought. I know you'll never listen to this, but I do appreciate it. Anyways, so that explains the whole connection with Ab. Uh Abigail is that basically Marge Forsyth raised him as her own son alongside Abigail. Yeah, we were the same age, so Abs and I have always been best friends. Abs, Quinn echoed with confusion. Is she gonna get jealous again and want to question him over it, grill him over it? Abigail Forsythe, now note, he explained. I guess that's Tommaso Note or Note or N-O-T-T-E, whatever. Her mom is the neighbor who helped raise me. Well, she raised us together really. We're more like brother and sister than anything. Abigail Not? Quinn's eyes widened incredulously and she set forward. Any relation to Santo Not? Yeah. Abigail's husband and lifemate, Tommaso, is Santo's cousin, he explained. Oh my god, Quinn breathed, her eyes going wide. Then you are and I are related by marriage. What the fuck does that mean? Jet blinked in surprise at the claim. He'd never really thought of it that way, and he wasn't comfortable thinking that way now. Good lord. He'd been lusting after her for four years, didn't want any sort of familial tie, even if only through marriage, so he pointed out so he pointed out. That's just red weird. Well, abs and I aren't legally related. Quinn waved that away. You just said you're like siblings, which makes you one of my sister's husband's cousin's wife's brother. What the fuck? Former roommate, which makes us absolutely nothing, which is what Spaceballs was talking about. That doesn't make that doesn't fucking let me read that line again. Which makes you my sister's Petronella must be a vampire at this point. Which makes you my sister's husband's, so Petronella's husband, cousin's wife's brother. So her sister's husband is cousin to Santonaut, and Santonaut's cousin to Tomaso. Or maybe her sister's husband is Santonaut. I don't know, it's too fucking confusing for my bourbon adult ass to make sense of right now. Well, that fits the old six degrees of separation rule, Jet muttered. Yes, it does, she agreed, and then said, I think Parker must have met you at one of the Knott family dinners. I remember him chatting away about some pilot he talked to, she said thoughtfully, and then shrugged and offered him a warm smile as she held out her hand across the table. Well nice to meet you, Jet. Wait, so what the fuck? Parker's dead. I'm trying to piece together the fucking logic of the situation. So they're related through marriage before becoming a vampire. But Abigail's been a vampire for four years. Quinn's been a vampire for four years. Parker's been dead for four years. So how the fuck did Parker meet Jet at one of the family functions when Abigail wasn't a vampire yet? Because he would have been alive and that was post pre four years ago. Lindsay, none of this makes any fucking logical sense. I hope you're gonna explain this at some point. Give me a fucking flowchart so I can keep all this information and fucking correct you know whatever. Doesn't fucking matter. Let's just go. We've got just a few pages left. Just a couple. She said thoughtfully and then shrugged and offered a warm smile as she held out her hand across the table. Well, nice to meet you, Jet. Her eye his eyebrows rose and he hesitated, but then he did reach out one large hand to enclose hers. It was a really big hand. He disappeared inside of it. No, he disappeared inside of it. That's not at all what that says, beanbag. Fucking hell. Hers disappeared inside of it, and Quinn felt a small tingle slide from her fingers up a palm. Up her arm from the contact as they s oh God I'm just putting in random punctuation. I don't know why. Hers disappeared inside of it, and Quinn felt a small tingle slide from her fingers and palm up her arm from the contact as they stared at each other. But neither of them actually shook. They just held hands across the table for a moment, and then both broke the hold at the same time and set back to eye each other with speculation. Quinn had no idea what he was thinking, but she was wondering how old he was and if he was married. We're almost done with this chapter and it hasn't split to Jet's perspective yet, so I'm guessing the next chapter will be that way. We'll see. He probably was married, she decided. He was too damned good looking to escape the hordes of females that would have chased him. Besides, she was pretty sure he was more than a couple years younger than her own 40 years. She says she's 40. Okay. That helps put things in context. And if he was two during the Gulf War, that means they're basically the same age. Because the Gulf War was 91. This book was published in 2020. Wait, hold on. No. I can't math right now, guys. I apologize. So he's like early 30s. Okay, and she's 40. That's fine. I was with a woman who was twelve or thirteen years older than me. At least twelve, so it doesn't matter. My parents were ten years apart. She was no cougar, not that it mattered. She was in no position to be interested in anyone right now, anyways. She needed to get her head on straight before she even considered dating, and Quinn knew it. She had a son she had to consider. A son whom she'd left in Italy with his aunt Pet and Uncle Santo earlier that day, where he was waiting for her to get her shit together. So Parker's actually alive. So her husband's the only one that's fucking dead. Parker's actually alive. And Pet is fucking alive and a vampire. They're all vampires. It's a whole fucking nanobot vampire, fucking orgy, whatever the fuck. Quinn's mouth tightened at the thought. She'd flown to Italy three and a half years ago. Oh. Okay, probably not. Determined to bring her son back with her instead. She straight stayed to visit her sister, who had been caring for him while she recovered from the turn. What's the fuck? Oh, I'm just I'm trying to piece it together. It doesn't make any sense. So from what I can what I understand right now, her husband became a nanobot vampire, attacked her in Parker. She became a nanobabot vampire. Parker probably didn't actually become a nanobot vampire. Petronella probably didn't actually become a nanobot vampire. Or Petronella did become a nanobot vampire, but for some reason that has not been mentioned yet. I'm assuming Parker is still alive and has not been turned into a nanobot vampire. And then what? I don't fucking know. I'm so confused by the story, Lindsay. In the end, she just not returned to America. She'd rented a cottage and lived in Italy for three and a half years, moping around in misery when she wasn't homeschooling her son. Okay. So he is actually alive. Finally, Pet hadn't been able to take it anymore. She tried gentle talks and encouragement the first couple of years, but finally this last year she'd gone the hard ass route, telling her that she was wasting her life and moping around being miserable and didn't her son deserved better than a mother who wasn't even wholly present mentally and emotionally most of the time. Her sister knew she was so he's gonna take fucking Parker fishing and hunting or whatever the fuck. He's gonna do the guy things with Parker. Alright. I don't know. I don't know if I like that her son's alive or not. I don't know what they're gonna be doing with the fucking son, like story-wise. Just fucking so convoluted. Her sister knew she was struggling with this whole immortal business and her feelings about Patrick. She started badgering her to go back to North America, but Toronto rather than Albany. And she'd given her the name of an immortal psychologist. Okay, so the psychologist is actually a vampire. I axed asked axed. I asked that in the last episode. Who might be able to help her? Gregory Hewitt. Quinn had almost laughed when Pet meant mentioned the name. Marguerite has suggested she see the man before Quinn had flown off to Italy. But she'd refused, assuring her that some time with her sister would mend what illed her. What's Pet's reaction going to be when she meets Jet? Or have they actually met before? I don't know. But he seems to know who Petronella is. And now he clearly knows who the fuck Parker is because they've met before. And here the whole time I thought fucking Parker was dead. And so was Petronella. But her husband's dead. I don't understand this. She should have listened to Marguerite. Quinn acknowledged that to no, that there's no that. Quinn acknowledged to herself now she'd gotten to know the woman pretty well during the time they'd stayed with Marguerite and her husband Julius after waking up to the nightmare her life had become and realized rather quickly that Marguerite you it's way too many instances of the name. Just say her. Are they is Big Marguerite paying you now, Lindsay, to write fucking Marguerite all the fucking time? Was a very wise woman. Ah well Quinn thought now. No, ah well. Ah, comma. Well, comma, Quinn thought now, comma. Better late than never, she'd go back to Toronto and see the psychologist who happened to be Marguerite's son-in-law. And get her head on straight. Then she'd get on with her life and be a proper mother to her son. She didn't have time for men before all that was done, and probably wouldn't afterward for a while. Do you want anything else or would you like to go for a walk? A walk? Quinn asked, glancing around with confusion when Jet gestured out the window next to them, her eyes widened when she saw there was a beach across the street from the restaurant they were in. The sun was setting, it was quite lovely. Nodding, she slid out of her side of the booth and allowed him to take her arm and walk her out of the restaurant. That's the end of chapter four. I don't know what the fuck to make of that. Oh Lord. So it's been a month now since I've been doing these podcasts. Ideally, I would like to continue to do these for a very long time. I do enjoy them. I've always got extra shit to talk about. The story itself is kind of like a a focus for me to read something and then react to, and if If you listen now to four episodes, you understand that my mind can go any witch fucking way, and I have no control over that. So, yeah, it's gonna be fun. Let's pick up next week with chapter five. So, thank you for listening to Storytime with Uncle Beanbag, Mile High with the Vampire Episode Four. I'm gonna go drown myself with a bunch of margaritas, and uh hopefully I won't see solemnly again for another chapter or two, because I'm seriously considering bashing my brains out with a hammer next time that pops up.