If you can make it to Wednesday evening, the very summit of the work week, it’s all downhill from there. It’s a coast to the weekend. It’s time to say, “OK, this week is pretty much shot, what have I learned, discovered, thought, seen, etc?” Here’s my round-up:

I saw a car on the drive to work this morning that was made to look like a wolf. The entire car. The front and sides were covered with fur that flapped in the wind. It went by so fast, I felt like I was hallucinating, but I checked the rear view mirror and confirmed that yes, a furry car just went by. My questions are: what kind of fur was that? How do you keep that clean? And does it smell weird when it gets wet?

Last night I couldn’t sleep. Although teetering on the brink of exhaustion all day at work, I was suddenly wide awake and even chipper the moment I got into bed. Errrrg. So I sat up and read a book called Girl on the Couch about a Scottish woman’s experience with psychoanalysis (how could I not be taken in by someone who says “fecking?). I was a little bit taken aback by how similar I am to her, both in some life situations but also in attitudes. Not in every way (I don’t struggle from one bad relationship to the next; I have one good one still going after 10 years) but similar enough that I was thinking, “I’ve never read a book where some of this stuff is addressed before.” And what some people ask her in the book is, “what’s so bad about being average?” She admits that she doesn’t attempt things if she thinks she won’t be perfect at them; that she abandons projects if she feels she’s not utterly spectacular at them. That she constantly sabotages herself in all kinds of ways – being late to things, losing things, putting things off. The more I think about it, being average and just living your life seems like a welcome respite from all the brain chatter that comes with the strive for perfection. I mean, I’m a fairly average person but preserve the idea that I might be very above average in some way I have yet to discover (ballroom dance? diving? speaking Chinese?) But what this quest causes is a lot of anxiety and missed opportunities. I mean, why was I awake at 2:00 a.m. reading a book, unable to sleep, in the first place?

I have a boycott of baby carrots going. Suddenly, after years of not giving a damn, I am outraged at the price of baby carrots, all uniformly shaped and peeled so nicely. A bag of carrots, mismatched, unpeeled, is about $1.50, maybe cheaper. Baby carrots can be about $3.00! And what about the carrots that still have their greens on? I haven’t checked yet but maybe a bunch is even cheaper yet! Down with baby carrots. If you go to a gathering now where there are veggie trays, it’s all baby carrots. What happened to carrot sticks? I wonder if we would buy baby celery in little round-edged tubes like we do carrots? Wow, do I sound like Andy Rooney here or what?

Does it seem unjust to anyone else that Bea Arthur has left the planet while Andy continues on, torturing us with his little takes on why iceboxes are still better than refrigerators? On the other hand, he’s got to be the oldest working man in TV news – he turned 90 this year.

I am unabashedly excited for The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Enough of these New York pansies! The show premiers on BRAVO on May 12th. You want to talk about women who resent being average and not wanting to admit it? Danielle Staub’s profile says, “She prides herself as one of the first female American Express Black card members in New Jersey.” I am somebody, dammit! They let me borrow crazy amounts of money, hoping I won’t be able to pay it back so they can make some interest. That makes me special! And different than all you other credit card carrying Americans! Cuz we all know Americans don’t have any credit cards. Bah. I pride myself on being number 34 to have a rental card at Winneconne Video in Winneconne, Wisconsin. They will rent DVDs to me, not to Danielle Staub.

That Craigslist Killer is one creepy dude but he’s also realistic. Reportedly, he told his family and fiancee, when they came to visit him in jail, to just forget about him. More details and crimes were probably going to come to light, meaning his ass is in the slammer for sure. And I remember thinking, before I finally drifted off to sleep at 3 a.m. last night, that it would really suck to be him, headed for prison with a face and body like that.

I don’t want to end on a total downer so… Dog face!