June, your 43-year-old blogging pal, returns.

Okay, first of all? To everyone who actually knows me and who was part of the ONE HUNDRED FORTY SEVEN (literally!) emails I have since I went "up North"? I have been without contact to the outside world. I have been like the Unibomber, or that grizzly guy. There is no phone at my mother's place up there, and no Internet, obvs.

Anyway, those of you who know me, thanks for the birthday greetings, and yes I know you do not have my new phone number in Greensboro yet. We put off getting a real phone so we just got one and I was all swept up in World's Largest Textbook proofreading assignment; I haven't had a chance to send out a "We've Moved" thingamabob.

And I will answer emails thanking you for the bday greetings when we get back to Greensboro tomorrow night. Hey, how'd you guys know it was my birthday, anyway?

By the way, why do they no longer make pre-done "We've Moved" cards? I searched high and low. I did, however, buy some really pretty stationery with brown birds on it, so if you know me, look for the brown bird "We've Moved" note coming soon.

So. Other than flashing the maintenance guy, my birthday was fun.

I was at my mother's cabin, and as we were putting things away on the first day, she said, "Oh. The propane tank is leaking. We may blow up, and we certainly have no hot water."

Okay, now, what now? I don't care if we blow up, but I will need to SHOWER. No hot water?!?! I hate to be all Zsa Zsa Gabor, but again, NOW, WHAT, NOW?

Of course, as I have mentioned, there is no phone up there, so like Ma Ingalls or something, my mother had to drive into town (Ma was often gettin' into her SUV to make calls from town) and call the propane guy. So on the day of my birth, we knew propane guy would come at SOME point, we just didn't know when.

Well, this is not good for someone like me. We had 750 people coming up for this birthday dinner and I looked like sparklefraffle. Have you SEEN my hair in the morning? I look like a dead dandelion who mated with a mountain goat.

Finally, I decided I could not take a chance at friends and relatives seeing me in this shape. So folks, I took a cold shower.

It was in the top five of the worst experiences I have ever had.

Do you know Katherine Hepburn took a cold shower every morning? This could explain her terrible shaking.  IT IS SO PAINFUL! You can't even really BREATHE right, it is so awful. And I had to do it all: wash, condition, shave the legs. I mean, it was my BIRTHDAY, I had to look nice.

I got out of that torture chamber, wrapped a towel around me, and went into the living room to complain. "That was HIDEOUS!" I screamed, running into the room.

"Um. Ma'am? Do you know where your thermostat is?"

It was the propane guy. Gettin' a nice look at my middle-aged self all in my Royal Canon. Nothing comes between me and my Royal Canon.

Is Royal Canon a towel or a typewriter? Whatever.

Of course, the worst part of this story is that seeing as propane guy was THERE, it meant that 20 minutes later the water was warm.

I hate everything.

Anyway, I am in my mother's basement and I have much to tell you about our anniversary and our dog and how I have been a poor vegetarian (but a good runner!) but Marvin is all antsy to get on the road back home. I am looking forward to holding Miss Dog Pants and her enormous blonde butt for 600 miles again, too.

So I will talk at you soon. Please be sure to send lots of emails telling me how you can't get ahold of me during the rest of my vacation. I love that.