Jolene Wants Fire Sauce, not Hot Sauce

Hilton Head Beach at dusk

Hilton Head Beach at dusk with Buddha belly

Co-worker: “Are you going to Hilton Head Island …again?”

Me: “Yes, I am” (while thinking: “thank you for asking in that judgmental way”).

Co-worker: “Didn’t you go there, to that time share thingy, last year?”

Me: “Yes, I did” [while thinking: “and the year before, and the year before… all the way back to 1981, and I’ll probably go again next year Chapstick (my higher power) willing and the zombies don’t rise”].

I can’t help it.  That touch of OCD, mixed with neurotic-level attachment issues, makes me crave routines.  While some of my old habits have been replaced with new ones over the years, the Hilton Head in April schedule hasn’t changed.

Don’t get me wrong; I really can go out on a limb when it comes to changing up routines.  For example, this year at the time share pool, I suggested that my nieces and nephew yell out “Peanut… Butter” or “Beavis… Butthead” instead of Marco… Polo”.  It didn’t go over well, but I tried.

The most recent vacation habit that I can’t seem to break started a few years back on the Macon to Savannah leg of my Hilton Head road trip.   About half way through this drive along I-16 is Dublin, GA, the Laurens county seat and home to Kevosnik School of Hair Design.  Speaking of hair, here’s a quick intermission to share a conversation between me and Pam, my hairdresser, at the salon yesterday:

Me: “It’s Shakespeare’s 450th birthday this week. Can you believe we’re still reading stuff written by someone born 450 years ago?”

Pam: “Only because they make us.”

Anyway, I always plan my trip to arrive in Dublin around lunch time so that I can treat myself to the only Taco Bell on I-16.  I order the exact same thing every time: three soft tacos and fire sauce.  Not hot sauce, it has to be fire sauce.  On this year’s trip, the Taco Bell cash register lady went all Starbucks on me.  Instead of just telling me my order number, she asked for my name so that they could call it out when my tacos were ready.  Whenever I give my own name, there are too many questions.  Is that with a “C” or a “K”?  An “ie” or a “Y”?  one “R” or two?  So I gave the first name that popped into my head: Jolene.

Damned if the girl didn’t ask how to spell it. I should have just said Pat.  What was I thinking?

So then she said: “you know there’s a song about you?”

And so I got all into character and said: “yes, people tell me that all the time, and sometimes they even start singing the song to me”

And she said “well, I ain’t gonna be able to do that today but I do love me some Dolly Parton”.

I paid her my $3.53 and waited for my new name to be called.

Jolene's order

Jolene’s order

Speaking of routines, next month I’ll celebrate my three year anniversary at Ashtanga Yoga Atlanta.  As hard as it was to break my gym habit, I certainly warrior lunged into this Mysore thing and am still loving it (most days), back bends and all.

Cheers to obsessive behaviors and fire sauce.

Here’s Doc B. lunging toward the ocean…hhsc 011


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