To My Nissan Juke on this Palindromic Birthday: You’ve seen a lot these past 3 months: Coolidge and Florence, AZ where we danced in you until the car shook, drank in you until we should have re-thought driving you, slept in you and, all the while, avoided puking in/on/around you. You got us home safe and sound.  Tucson, AZ where we parked you in some slightly shady areas, where PJ freestyled his best freestyle all up in your backseat, where you started smelling like marijuana even though none of us were smoking, where we blessed your speakers with Mariah Carey’s rendition of “Oh, Holy Night” and damned them with Uncle Kracker’s version of “Drift Away”. Where you miraculously and stealthily avoided a speeding ticket on the way home through Casa Grande. Again, home. Safely and soundly.  San Diego, CA, even when you were only mentally prepared for a drive to Williams and Flagstaff. Still, you powered through the rollercoaster backroads to I-85, delivered us to some swanky hotels, provided back support for those of us napping, sang along to Destiny’s Child and didn’t allow me to drive into a ditch when “Hotel California” was rocketed into your earholes. You took us over That Bridge (twice) and to see the sunset even though the sun was behind That Cliff.  You’ve seen your fair-share of ‘Bertos, In-N-Out Burgers, and McDonalds Egg McMuffins and never once have you judged me.  We’ve avoided many an accident in rush hour and scoffed at those who didn’t.  Today, as we drive through the rain on the 101, you allowed me to take this photograph of you and you made sure you didn’t blink.  You dealt with my indecisiveness for weeks on end as I tried to choose the punniest name possible. But today, Juke of Earl, your day has come.  You’re the best rocketship a gal could ask for.  Here’s to 4,996 more! 

To My Nissan Juke on this Palindromic Birthday:

You’ve seen a lot these past 3 months:

Coolidge and Florence, AZ where we danced in you until the car shook, drank in you until we should have re-thought driving you, slept in you and, all the while, avoided puking in/on/around you. You got us home safe and sound. 

Tucson, AZ where we parked you in some slightly shady areas, where PJ freestyled his best freestyle all up in your backseat, where you started smelling like marijuana even though none of us were smoking, where we blessed your speakers with Mariah Carey’s rendition of “Oh, Holy Night” and damned them with Uncle Kracker’s version of “Drift Away”. Where you miraculously and stealthily avoided a speeding ticket on the way home through Casa Grande. Again, home. Safely and soundly. 

San Diego, CA, even when you were only mentally prepared for a drive to Williams and Flagstaff. Still, you powered through the rollercoaster backroads to I-85, delivered us to some swanky hotels, provided back support for those of us napping, sang along to Destiny’s Child and didn’t allow me to drive into a ditch when “Hotel California” was rocketed into your earholes. You took us over That Bridge (twice) and to see the sunset even though the sun was behind That Cliff. 

You’ve seen your fair-share of ‘Bertos, In-N-Out Burgers, and McDonalds Egg McMuffins and never once have you judged me. 

We’ve avoided many an accident in rush hour and scoffed at those who didn’t. 

Today, as we drive through the rain on the 101, you allowed me to take this photograph of you and you made sure you didn’t blink. 

You dealt with my indecisiveness for weeks on end as I tried to choose the punniest name possible. But today, Juke of Earl, your day has come. 

You’re the best rocketship a gal could ask for. 

Here’s to 4,996 more!