An Open Letter to Maz~

Hey girl- what’s up?

So…

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

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To the Fan Interested in Reflection~

Question:

When you look in the mirror, what do you see?

Answer:

Thank you for this question.

When I look in the mirror, I see a woman, but I don’t see me.

I see blondish hair, blueish eyes, hips that might be a little too wide for some but work for me, nice lips, a killer pair of shoes, some blemishes and scars, eyebrows on fleek and other superficial things.

I stared at myself. I stared for a while. And I thought about how when someone doesn’t know me, that’s the first impression that they get. Only what they see.

When I look a little harder I notice other things too.

I see years of laughter in the lines near my mouth.

I see the future making me slouch by weighing down my shoulders.

I see bruises and cuts scattering my body from all the clumsy times I trip or walk into something.

I see a hint of skepticism in the purse of my lip.

I see a sadness in my eyes, which could be misdiagnosed as anger or detachment by a stranger.

I see how hard I work to try to look together most of the time, even when I’d rather be in my bed. Even when I’d rather be stuffing my face with pizza. Even when I’d rather look at videos of baby otters. Even when I just don’t want to see or speak or look at another human being for upwards of 3 years.

I see me.

XO, Maz

Questions, comments, concerns? Place them in my anonymous ask box:

http://ask.fm/mazforthefanz

The Non-Type Type

“Everyone has a type.”

I think, to some extent, that’s true. But I also feel like; no, that’s absolutely wrong.

What even does a “type” mean? Are we talking personality? Because yeah, every once in a while I enjoy a guy who is a total assh*le, but I also like funny guys who are sweet and caring.

Are we talking hygienic practices? Sometimes I want the guy who with longish hair, some scruff and maybe hasn’t showered in four or five days. Other days I want the guy in the suit who gets his hair cut every two weeks precisely and smells like Bang by Marc Jacobs.

Are we talking life styles? Occasionally I’ll go for the lead singer of an emo band or maybe the drummer who might be vegetarians. On the other hand I also dig the rugby-football type who have maybe never listened to anything besides rap and eat raw eggs twice a day.

Across the board, tall is a must. But other than that, qualifications vary by person.

Saying that we have a “type” is just so dumb. Why on earth would I limit myself to just having mozzarella cheese for the rest of my life. There are just too many other flavors out there. What if I also want to have brie or gouda or cheddar or any of the other fine selections? Why should I have to pick just one? Having a type is boring.