“Listening to your Dad tell me the story about “Connie!” Will she rally another time?”

Mom, don’t talk like that!

This is important information. There is a Van. It is no ordinary Van. A 1994 Dodge minivan that has been in my family for 20 years. Not just my nuclear family. This van is waaay more intense than that. My aunt who lives in Tennessee (that’s a state in the Southeastern United States) owned it before my family did. My cousins drove it to high school, prom for christ sakes. There are some weird fucking residual ownership stickers on this van. Dave Matthews Band. Middlebury College. My cousin’s old college Improv Troupe. Also a Coheed and Cambria  sticker (my addition, motherfucker).

And this van is in crisis mode before its twenty first birthday. We have a potential transmission failure. This van has carried so many drunk people. This van once transported my entire improv troupe through the streets of Chapel Hill, NC in the pursuit of free parking. This van is Legend. We named her Connie because I figured if she was ever personified, she would be a burnt out waitress at the Waffle House. And maybe one day, after Connie passes, I will meet her at the  Waffle House in the sky. But that is not this day. Live, Connie, Live!

My buddy Rob said that if Connie goes down, she needs a Viking Funeral. I agree wholeheartedly. Connie will make it to Valhalla. 

Also, my parents don’t get a chance to catch up on the most important event of this decade until 10pm. That’s pretty busy, mom.