In November, I wrote about the English language needing a term for negative anniversaries, and the event I'm currently writing a blog about is to steal a phrase I used in my last blog, a gray area.
On March 7th, 2020, I infamously ate 43 McDonalds hamburgers after someone challenged Dave "El Pres" Portnoy to do so on Barstool Radio (r.i.p.). I did this for two reasons: his honor and to bring attention to the website you're currently reading. #HireDozo
This post is already looking dangerously close to the blog I wrote in March of 2020. If you wanna read a typo-ridden recap from before I was a Grammarly subscriber and watch all the videos, please click on THIS. This blog is about the aftermath.
March 7th, 2020, was one of the best days of my entire life. I know I was shoveling processed meat down my throat, but it was a blast and my last legit social experience before lockdown. Dozens upon dozens of people came out to support me, my blog, and my dreams (getting hired at Barstool, not the burgers). Strangers were screaming my "name" at O-Mist as a random drunk read the paper. It was wild.
It felt like the start of something great, given how much I was crushing 2020 to that point. My creative juices were flowing; I was talking to three different girls on tinder, I looked great, met Caleb Pressley at a URI game, and was simply loving my life again after spending two years putting back the pieces from the Nashville disaster.
Then less than a week later, the world shut down because of a pandemic we're still dealing with to this day (although things seem to be a lot better). Obviously, all the loss of life, jobs, and resources are much more important than some blogger trying to get his break, but getting a taste (no pun intended) of having a "following" and support before two years of isolation and loneliness, has for lack of a better term "fucked me up." I don't regret trying and putting myself through the physical toll of eating #43Burgers; I'd do anything for content and the chance to live my dream as a Barstool Blogger, but March 7th, 2020 got the wheels in motion for a disgusting lockdown/depression/horrors of the world/fucked up family drama weight gain. I didn't weigh myself beforehand, but I was sub-3 bills, and now I don't know for sure due to a combination of fear and not having a scale that goes up that high, but I'm undoubtedly the heaviest I've ever been. I've tried countless times to get back on track but end up getting low about something and eating my feelings. I've been dreading writing this because it feels like a waste of my time, and I get bummed thinking about how awesome my life was before Covid, but it also reminds me of what I'm capable of achieving. With minimal planning, I had tons of people following me around watching me eat fucking hamburgers. I hate feeling how I currently feel. I miss being funny and enjoying life as I did on March 7th, 2020. I wish I could snap my fingers or take a pill and not be so depressed and passively kill myself with food, but it's tough to find the strength. I've lost a significant amount of weight (50+ pounds) at least four times in my life, and now I'm at a place where I'm 30 and don't know if I have it in me again. I'm sick of yo-yoing. I know I have to do something, or I will die (I have two doctor's appointments lined up for next week). My life is in limbo given my current size and job status because of a situation that I cannot write about at this moment, but I will when I get the chance. I feel like I'm at a crossroads. I want to make more content and be funny again, but it feels like the Dozo from before lockdown is dead. I don't recognize myself anymore and don't wanna be on camera. I know he's still inside me somewhere, but right now, he's gone, and I desperately want to resurrect him (not to compare myself to JC). I know I need to make my next big thing and not dwell in the past, but it's hard to avoid, especially with the timeline of how all this went down. This blog is basically public therapy for me because it feels good to let stuff out even though I feel like I'm just rambling at this point. I don't know how the response to #43Burgers would've gone if the world had not shut down that week. I wish I did a better job of planning and that this was the moment that got my foot in the door at Barstool, but it wasn't. I haven't given up by any means; I've got sucked into a job I hate and trying to survive during a pandemic where half the country supports fascism. I want to entertain and inform; I've felt this way my entire life, but my confidence has never been lower. I know I can get back to where I was in March 2020, both physically and emotionally, but I'm so sick of feeling alone and forgotten. Hell, this could very well all be part of my story. I just don't want to be someone who dies prematurely and becomes a "what could've been?" and given how much more life has gotten out of control since March of 2020, it's something I have to address. The truth is I eat my feelings, and I feel A LOT. I used my ability to binge for my blog; I don't regret trying, only how much shit has snowballed and that I've let myself get to this point. I can't believe it's already been two years since that fateful Saturday and now over six since I started this website. I've grown into a much better human being than when I first started. Even if I never make it as a blogger, I know this website wasn't a waste of time because of how much it's helped me evolve. Still, I can't help but feel shitty when I tweet something and get zero likes or interactions, especially when I see legit bull shit go viral on the daily. Or when I spend hours on a blog and hear nothing good, bad, or indifferent. It sucks. It's the same when I can't get students to listen or respect me. I can barely even get the Cheapies to show me love, and they literally love everybody. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!?!?!?! I don't know what else to say other than it sucks. I used to not give a fuck, or at least thought I didn't, but it does wear you down and make you think maybe you're the one who sucks? All that truly makes me feels like I don't matter and it breaks my heart because that's all I want to do with my life; matter. I want to matter enough to people where they want to read my writing. Perhaps I'm not a good blogger, or I was never funny, I don't know? But my memories say otherwise; I'm just in a terrible funk right now and trying to break free like Freddie. What I do know is when I ate #43Burgers, I put asses in the seats (metaphorically, most people were standing), and despite this ramble, I know I would at Barstool if given a chance. P.S. Here's some more clips from 3/7/20, but that blog I linked really does have everything!
Double P.S.
Thank you to everybody who was there on March 7th, 2020 or tuned in online. You have no idea how much the support and help making it happen means to me.
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