I really shouldn’t read the Powell’s Books newsletter. It just makes my wishlist even longer. I’m usually not even a big fan of newsletters. Most of the time I delete my Amazon newsletters without even having a glance at what might be in there. But the Powell’s newsletter kind of just has exactly the stuff in it that I love and I usually end up adding at least two books to my ever-growing wishlists.

(Also, I know there are some people (well, one, actually) who complained about the lack of books on my Amazon.com wishlist. Well, duh. I have a German one as well, which is just overflowing with literary stuff… I’m not sure if you can just sign on with your normal account, but just try and click here. Plus, you can even save money on delivery charge and it doesn’t take weeks for the things to get to me.)

This Flickr photoset really is fascinating, especially since isn’t that where How I Met Your Mother’s Marshall comes from?

And now I can totally see myself waiting for that one episode of HIMYM where they drive by the bakery. Please, Powers That Be, make it happen.

Why, why, oh why do you insist that there is no acceptable temperature other than either boiling hot or freezing cold? Yeah, I know you sometimes try to understand my weird way of thinking and make a half-hearted attempt to try out this strange and obscure temperature I would call comfortably warm. And just when I think ‚There we go‘ you decide that this is way too strange for you and why would anybody would want warm when they can have HOT! HOT! HOT! I mean, what am I even thinking?

You know that I really like you. I like that you’re surrounded by transparent whatever-material-this-is and not a not-transparent shower curtain, because really, one of the few things I’m really afraid of is that some ghost will attack me while I’m under the shower. Yeah. You heard me. Ghost. Not burglar. Not rapist. Not murderer. Ghost. Because my brain works in mysterious ways. However now I can watch the bathroom while I’m showering which is so much better than pulling the curtain aside every freaking two minutes.

So, yeah, I really like you. I even think I could love you, if you could just do this one tiny little thing for me and just give me warm water. Please? Pretty please?

Some weeks ago we ordered the internet. Today it finally arrived. There you go.

More to come soon…

Nothing like a phone call from your crazy bitchy soon-to-be-ex-landlady to screw up your morning. At least I have colleagues who are able to cheer me up.

Please let this be over soon.

We have curtains in the bedroom now. And, yes, I consider this big news, because this is what my life is right now. There’s curtains and lamps (we have seventeen lights and only got lamps for about half of them… the rest is still fancy light bulbs swinging happily from the ceiling) and pictures and whatnot. If somebody had told me how much work it is to get your new home homey, well, we’d still have moved, but we probably wouldn’t have been so surprised.

In other news I found a network that will let me access my mail and my mail only. I have no idea why that is, and I don’t really care. It’s more than I had before and I totally can work with that. It’s like… „News? Nope. Amazon? Are you kidding me? Skype? Pfff. Google Mail? Sure, go ahead.“

Apparently it’s a crazy world I live in. As if I didn’t know that already.

Oh my god. I found some unsecured network again. Sure I’m kneeling in front of our living room window with the notebook on the windowsill, because I’m too scared to move it like even a tenth of an inch, because who knows what might happen. The internet might be gone again and never come back! And who would risk that?

So, here’s the scoop for you and hell, am I typing fast for fear that the internet might be gone again. Like, as if I didn’t have access from work where I spend half of my time anyway or something like that, but still, I don’t really like blogging from work, so I usually don’t do it. Everything is fine, we still don’t have a kitchen, but are working on it. We’re also working on having our own internet access, so that we don’t need to ruin our knees but can sit on the couch instead, which – believe me – is way more comfortable than what I am doing right now.

Ouch.

I’m sort of crouching now, if anyone is interested.

I also want to say, that YES, Caitlin, I got your present and it’s awesome. So there you go. Of course my conscience is killing me now, because I didn’t send you anything, but there you go. There will be something somewhen soon. Promise.

So that’s it for now, but stay tuned. There’s still hope that we might be no longer internetless really soon.

Ted: No, I meant do you have a cold?
Barney: I’m fine. [blows his nose from a cold]
[Ted and Robin look at him]
Barney: I’m fine. My nose is just overflowing with awesome and I had to get some of it out.

(How I Met Your Mother)

Yeah. Exactly how I feel today.

And that is because we don’t have internet yet. Yes, you heard right. Me. No internet. This is a very strange world where something like this actually happens and nobody dies or at least goes crazy because of it.

There once was some unsecured network in the new apartment, but it’s either gone or its owner went to the trouble of securing it. Either way… Me. No internet.

And since I usually don’t blog from work it’s possible you won’t hear a lot from me for the coming days and weeks. Just know that we’re fine. Tired and exhausted, but fine. And without internet.

So here I am, staring at that IKEA table and wondering whether I should take out those last screws as well. I have no idea how it will fall apart and I remember this part was a pain in the ass back when we put it together, so I’d rather just leave it as is, which means it will probably take up a lot more space in the car. Or maybe not, who knows, because I don’t know what will happen if those screws are gone.

So I guess I’ll just keep staring until Andreas is here and then ask for his expert’s opinion.

Moving also means being confronted with the wonders of how to dissemble IKEA furniture. Because of course you throw the instructions away right after the thing has been assembled. Which is stupid and now here I am, staring at a table. The IKEA mystery table as it will be known from now on.