It's not you, it's me

I'm sorry, dog dawg. I know I've been letting you down the last couple of days. I've got problems like A Lot of Work to Do and I Can't Think of Anything Interesting to Write About and No One Wants to Hear What I Thought of the Super Bowl and I Didn't Liveblog the Free Grand Slams at Denny's Today and so there it is.

Maybe I'll just give up and recap The Bachelor. That's the blogging equivalent of going to see The Lion King on Broadway.

UPDATE - Oh, I forgot, I do have one thing to add. Since it's me, it'll be me bitching about something. Surprise. I was at Hemlock on Friday night. Pretty busy. One bartender. Many of the customers around the bar had 24 oz. PBRs and I craved one so I wouldn't have to return to the bar and wait forever and also because I like PBR unironically. So I say to the bartender "Pabst," and I get a 12 ounce bottle. WTF? So I say, "Oh, I thought I was getting a 24-ounce can," and she said, "You didn't ask for that." Now, maybe she's right and I didn't, but given the fact that ~40% of the people at the bar were drinking the tallboys, don't you think it would have been cool to ask?