An Open Letter to Maz~

Hey girl- what’s up?


Da f*ck were you thinking?

Like literally. How do you not see the symptoms of a man-child when they are staring you dumb in the face? He literally is 25 and funneling beer in his snapchat story. How on Earth did that not scream “hasn’t left his college days behind”?

He was seeing you because he wants to relive those good old days in the basement of the Rugby House. You should’ve seen that coming when he made numerous comments about how he hated those “frat guys” but the guys on his team were his crew and how if he hadn’t fractured his shoulder, he could have gone pro or taken them to nationals.

Come on.

You’re not stupid. Stop acting stupid.

Also, stop dating pretty idiots. Sure, it was fun for a few months, but what lacks substance brings no worth to your life. And those boys lack so much substance.

Get your sh*t together girlfriend,

XO, Maz


The Mr. Something Chronicles: Part Two

Dear Mr. Something,

Hi. Me Again.

I’d just like to reiterate a few things.

You are damn charming and I find that I have a very hard time saying no to you. Yet at the same time, I know that I probably should.

I know exactly how much trouble you are.

You are not the boyfriend type. I got that without asking. And trust me, I can say with near certainty that I am not the girlfriend type either, so don’t worry. That’s not where this is going. But there’s just something about you, kid.

You don’t give me butterflies. You give me heartburn.

Hearing from you and being with you is like an intense adrenaline rush, since it only happens every so often. It puts my senses into hyperdrive. How I see it, it’s like the build up of an insane beat drop. The anticipation is there. You’re waiting for it. You’re anxious for it. You want it to happen. Then it happens and you’re still surprised at how crazy it is.

Whether your drunk *ss calls me to discuss a need for litigation over a contract that doesn’t exist, or we’re having a pick-up line war and arguing over who’s funnier, or playing two truths and a lie and realizing how poor you are at following the rules, you just seem to be one of those people that fell right into place as a good friend, who I consequently also enjoy kissing. So, excellent work Jeeves.

I look forward to not hearing from you for a stupid amount of time and then still agreeing to go out with you when you finally do call, because let’s face it, you’re fun as hell.

See you in 3-12 weeks. Maybe.

XO, M.

To the Man I Promised Myself I’d Never Write to Again~


No extra “i”s in “hi” this time. I won’t drag it out.

No flirting. No jokes. No games.

It has to be done. I can’t cry over you anymore.

Not when I’m drunk. Definitely not when I’m sober. It has to be done.

I can’t keep setting myself up for failure with other guys because I always come back to my “what if” and the great, though brief time we had.

I can’t keep pursuing situations that I know will never pan out because they’re safer than opening myself up to a potentially promising scenario that could potentially not work out and make me feel like sh*t.

I can’t keep pushing people away because I don’t want them to know how much this still affects me.

I can’t keep lying to myself, over and over again. I cared about you. I really, honestly did. And I still do. And it scares me and it hurts like a motherf*cker.

Yes, I’d say that largely, the reason I care about you so much is because of how in love I was with myself and where I was in life. You happened to be there during that time period, a time that took my world by storm especially when I hadn’t been that happy in a very long while. Your place in that happiness still holds such a special spot in my heart and mind. That is something that I will never forget or allow to be diminished.

But the reality check I need to force myself to see is that beyond the memories, it has to be done.

No more texting you at 2 AM. No more crying and blaming it on every reason but the truth. No more holding this picture of something that was “amazing” in my head and comparing everything else to it.

It’s time to move on. It’s time to realize that even though I can still care about you; I have so much more of me to give to someone that isn’t a “what if” or a “maybe one day”.

I need to focus on the now. I need to focus on the people in front of me.

And if “maybe one day” comes at a time where we are both ready for it. That would be incredible, but it’s time to stop depending on the word “if”. It’s time to be done for a while. It has to be done.

Always I wish you the best,


Minding Susan

As I sit here and write this in advance of today, I truly wonder how horrid of a hangover am I going to have?

Dear Me of the Day After My 21st~

I hope that you were well behaved last night. I’m about 94% positive that you weren’t though, let’s be real. You’re a mess most of the time, then tack on things like twenty-first and birthday and I’m sure that you were a loose cannon.

Make any apologies you need to make if you were a monster.

Have an Advil and get ready for the fact that the party isn’t actually over until Sunday. Mind Susan (Your Liver), she’s delicate and getting a lot of mileage this week.

XO, Maz of Monday, At Work, At 9 AM, Not Drunk or Hungover in the Slightest

Things My Sober Summer Self Wants My Drunk Summer Self to Know

Hey Malibu Barbie~

First, let’s start with the obvious. That’s not your nickname because you look like the plastic doll. They’re calling you that because you’re about two Malibu and Coke Mixers away from passing out in the pool.

Just wanted to check in on a few things:

We’ll start with: What the hell happened to the post Europe detox that you were supposed to be having? So far, the longest the detox has lasted is three days until you give yourself a free pass because it’s “summer and you’re worth it.” That excuse only lasts so long. Two more months to be precise

Now, let’s move on to some safety things: Swimming while drinking. Not a very wise choice. Even with friends, you bring the drink in the pool with you and fail to realize that you’re now consuming chlorinated-watered down-spritzers once your hand has dropped below the surface level of the water. Worse yet when, let’s be real, you’ve probably peed in the pool because once you break the seal, there’s no going back and who has time to get out and try to figure out how to disengage your bathing suit? So, now you’re also officially on the same level as Bear Grylls, but you don’t have the excuse of possible dehydration in a desert.

This isn’t to say that you won’t get dehydrated, because you will. The pool is not going to “re-moisturize you through your skin.” Science doesn’t work like that, even if you want it to. If anything, you’re losing more hydration the longer you spend swimming around trying to perfect your synchronized swimming routine. News flash. It’s not synchronized swimming if you’re the only one doing it. Then it’s just you spinning around in the pool looking like an ungraceful dolphin.

Something else, when you sat down for the day and planned out your meal schedule, it didn’t include that 1 AM trip to McDonald’s or the Big Mac that you inhaled. You know it’s especially a problem when you wake up with a fat lip and the only thing that you think could have caused it was the velocity at which you shoved fries in your face.

I think that it’s time that you commit to the detox, if only for another four days (because Fourth of July is actually a freedom pass).

Get your sh*t together lady.

XO, Maz

Tough Love Sunday

I don’t know about everyone else, but it has been a pretty terrible and rainy weekend where I am currently living. And there’s just something about the rain and being in Hometown, NJ that has made me feel extremely gloomy. I’m feeling sad and I’m feeling stuck and I’m feeling like Unspecial K. So, to kick these harsh feelings to the curb, I’m going to write myself a little tough-love pep talk.

Dear Sad Sack~

Cheer the f*ck up. Life and this summer are way too short to spend any moment not having a great time.

You’re sad because you’re “lonely”? Get up. Get off of your ass right now and go make a friend. There are six billion people in the world, let alone probably the hundred thousand that summer in your town, there’s bound to be one interesting person out there to get to know. Or better yet, get over your pride complex and text that boy back. Because you’re really being an idiot.

You’re bored. Okay? So, get a hobby. Take up knitting, learn origami, clean out that shed that you’ve been meaning to get to for weeks but just “haven’t found the time”, finish one of the million projects that you’ve started but didn’t “feel it anymore”. Just do something. Laying around and complaining about being bored is not going to make you any less bored.

You don’t feel like seeing people because you feel ugly? News flash: YOU’RE NOT UGLY. You are as beautiful as you perceive yourself to be, and if you can’t see that yourself, no one else will. Stop eating weird sh*t at 2 AM and maybe your break out will stop and you will get over your pity party. Maybe get up and take a walk, and you’ll feel less blob-like. Where’s that fearless girl who gave no sh*ts three weeks ago? She was way cooler than you.

You still have post-trip depression? Okay well, guess what? Europe is still there. You can go back for a visit whenever you want. Or you know what? See somewhere else. The world is ginormous. Why are you limiting yourself? Maybe now is the time to get some of those guide books on New Zealand or South East Asia. Start planning a new trip! Maybe there’s a place that you will like even more than London .Also, turn off the break up playlist. It makes you weird since you haven’t actually gone through a break up. Breaking up with Lodnon doesn’t count.

Ultimately, you need to remember that life goes on with or without you and if you choose to waste this brief amount of freedom before you start your senior year and embark on a real world job, well, that’s your problem. You’ll only come to regret it later. And when you want your life to be together and normal by the end of July, it’s going to take longer than a week to fix the problems that you’re setting up for yourself right now.

So girlfriend, turn off Friday Night Lights. Get off the couch. Stop complaining. Get a grip.

I promise, you’ll thank me for this later.

XO, Maz

To the Sainsburys Cutie, With Love~

Hi, hello, Cutie from the local Sainsburys,

Can I just say, I was a little overwhelmed upon meeting you. I entered the shop in a state of confusion. I was totally flummoxed over the fact that my beloved Tesco Express didn’t have a singly jar of jam. Insane, am I right, or am I right?

So, I’m sorry for my appearance. I don’t normally walk around like Quasimodo. I don’t normally have a backpack over flowing with groceries and two hands full of bags. But I was desperate. I needed jam, it was the last thing on my shopping list and Sainsburys was on the way home.

To say that I was surprised when you approached me, well, that would be an understatement. I know that you were just doing your job, when you asked me if I’d like to use the express check out, but it felt like so much more.

Then I went and did that American thing where I don’t have a card with a chip and pin, so I had to use my swipe card. Then you went and did that British shop keeper thing, where you had to validate my signature.

I showed you my card and you asked for my ID, no doubt trying to gauge our age difference. But then when you started telling me about the time you went to Rutgers and saw an American football game after you noticed that it was a New Jersey driver’s license, well. That’s when I knew it was destiny.

I know very little about football. I know even less about Rutgers, other than I have a few friends that go there, but you see, in that moment, I was willing to learn.

That’s how I know that next time I roll up to Sainsburys, I should probably be wearing a cute outfit and buying a bottle of wine and a pack of gum, or something ladylike, like that. Maybe next time I’ll dazzle you with my historical facts about Rutgers football. Then you can ride me off into the sunset on your motorbike, or we could just take the tube, to a magical night of laughing at that time you were in America and how it’s so funny that we met in a Sainsbury, of all places.

Looking forward to our next encounter,