Monthly Archives: May 2014

GIVEAWAY TIME

I used all capitals for the title of this because in real life I’d scream it at you. Real loud. FREE STUFF! 

I chose to give away candles from the Glow Co for simple reasons, really. I’ve loved these candles from day dot & there’s nothing quite like someone following their dreams. & achieving them, might I add.

If I was ever going to plug ANYTHING it has to be a brand/product/company I am genuinely passionate about, & love “in real life”. I’m not really down for giving something away purely because it’s been offered to me or is easy to flog. I have Glow Co candles around my house, & Hollywood is the best scent I have ever come across in my whole life. Even Glasshouse cannot touch this scent. BIG CLAIM, I KNOW. It’s true.

So, I am giving away FOUR Glow Co candles. TWO Hollywood & TWO Mermaid (which is my second favourite). All you have to do is repost the graphic on Instagram. Hashtag #ssxgc. Follow & tag me @courtseesquared. & then cross your fingers & wait until this time next week.

OR if Instagram isn’t your thing, you can subscribe to this blog (the button is at the VERY bottom of the page).

I love you all, I wish I could give away something for nothing. But I’m not that popular/rich/selfless yet. So plug me real good & you might win!

GOOD LUCK XXX

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The C word

Do I even need to pre-warn anyone? DON’T read this if you are particularly offended by the C word. Because, well, it’s ALL about the C word. I’ve at least traded the U for an asterisk, for some poorly attempted “modesty”.

I remember the first time I ever heard it. I was around 8, sitting on the gutter of my driveway in the quiet court that I used to live in. All the kids who lived in the street were friends to various degrees, & so when another kid was trespassing on our territory it was pointedly noted. Quickly. This little turd was riding his bike up & down OUR street & I guess we decided to pick a fight. He called my friend a c*nt, & when I asked said friend what it meant (he was significantly older than my tiny, naive self) he told me it was “every swear word in the world mixed into one”. I think this echoes most people’s sentiments. Except mine.

Pretty.

Fast forward from the 8 year old me, to my 23 year old self last Sunday night. Somewhere between then & now, the C word & I became very fond of each other. Judge all you want, being vulgar is something I’m very good at. So I was watching the Real Housewives of Melbourne (I know, I know) & was pretty fucking offended, actually. Why? Because two grown women would NOT let it go that they had been called a c*nt. They couldn’t even come out & honestly say they didn’t like the c*nt dropper as a person, it was just HOW DARE YOU CALL ME THE C WORD. “WOMAN TO WOMAN”. HOW DISGUSTING!

Now, why on earth did it offend me, you’re asking? Why is it even any of my business what these women were carrying on like animals on heat about? Well, I’ll start with the notion that a c*nt is actually a slang term for a vulva. Women have a vulva. That’s what makes them women. The vuvla. The vagina. The c*nt. So the notion that women should NEVER, EVER use this word is ridiculous. If anyone has the right to use such a word, is it not the people wielding one? The vagina is an all-mighty thing. & I have one. & I think, of anyone that gives me the right to say the C word. More so than a man. Who has a dick. & funnily enough, if these women had’ve been called a dick I don’t think they would have been sitting there calling the c*ntee “vile”. If you can let dick roll off the tongue without so much as a blink, why are you not comfortable with c*nt? Same, same. Seriously.

A lot of people would argue it’s not a ‘womanly’ thing to do. Men can drink beer & call each other a c*nt down at the pub, but women shouldn’t ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever say it. Not even when inebriated. Not even when angry. Never. This incites pure rage from the absolute core of me. We are lucky enough to not live in the 19 fucking 50’s where a woman couldn’t venture from the kitchen lest she become lost & need rescuing. Let’s not regress back to that, please? It’s just a word when you want to argue semantics. & it’s 2014. Everyone should be free to enjoy the pleasures of the C word. It’s naughty. It’s taboo. It’s satisfying.

I’m not saying to call your future mother in law & greet her with a “sup c*nt?”. I’m just saying, perhaps it’s no longer “every swear word mixed into one”. If you’re lucky, I’ll call you c*nt. If I’m really mad, I’ll call you mate. I think that nicely sums up where this word sits in modern vocabulary.

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The problem with blogging

I feel as though I’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Namely, about this long as fuck leave of absence that I’ve taken from this blog. If you’re after something funny or interesting you might be sorely disappointed. But if you’ve been wondering where I’ve gotten to, please keep reading. I’m about to write what will hopefully be cathartic for me & a bit of an insight for you.

When I started ‘See Squared’ I didn’t give a fuck. Literally. I just wanted to write because I liked writing. Simple, right? My blasé attitude towards people’s feelings about me in real life was ASSUMED to carry over into internet life. That’s where the problem began.

You could come up to me in real life & tell me you didn’t like me. I’d probably tell you I didn’t like you too, as I assume you wouldn’t like me for a reason & I probably harboured the same detest. I would sleep soundly that night not thinking about the aversion we had to each other. We would know each other somewhat well, & so we both had a right to come to the conclusions we had of each other.

When I write, it’s a little part of me. It manifests in my brain, shoots down my synapses, & materialises out of my fingers while I am typing. Even when I’m writing about ‘nothing’, it’s not nothing. It’s an hour or so of my time spent crafting something. Like an artist painting, I care about my words. They piss me off when I can’t get them right. They upset me when it’s about something dear to my heart. I smile when I’m trying to be funny.

The point is, when I surmise my two arguments above & they become one: my writing is personal & when someone doesn’t know me, & judges me for it, it can hurt. Like being called a slut when I wasn’t even discussing sex. You can call me an idiot in real life & I’ll shrug & probably call you one too. But on the internet? You don’t even know me. How can that even make sense? Why would you say that?

This revelation of sensitivity has shocked me. I’m perplexed by it & I hate it. What a sook I have become seemingly overnight. I keep telling myself if I can’t handle the heat, then WHY am I in the kitchen? Leave. It’s so simple. Stop doing it if it’s not making you happy. Life is that simple at times, I think.

But I don’t want to leave. I want to keep going. While I begrudgingly move forward I’m still working through this double-edged sword that has surprised me. It’s not laziness, I want you to know that. I kind of think about this brain-child of a blog every single day, & I want to make it better. Like it’s a digital appendage that I want to work & make stronger. It’s a representation of me, & I’ve neglected it shockingly.

I’m not saying don’t talk smack about me. That’s delusional. I’m sorry for having such weak resolve.

Onwards & upwards, I’m ready to move on.

Courtney xx

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