I’ve ordered two free samples of Danielle Steel’s fragrance, received exactly zero samples of said scent, but am nonetheless on her email subscription list. So therefore I am informed with Many! Capital! Letters! in an email that appears to be from Danielle Steel that she and Ladies’ Home Journal are hosting a short story contest. According to Danielle Steel’s site the winner will be “hand selected” by Danielle, which cracks me up. “Hand selected?” Is that really the same as “personally selected” or does “hand selected” mean someone will close their eyes and point?
The short stories have to be titled “Believe in Happy Endings” – which could create some absolutely fantastic erotica entries, doncha think?
You want me to walk over to her house? I have the address and she is local.
You know, she bought twenty parking passes for all her cars and caused a big uproar about parking limits per household in her Pacific Heights neighborhood. That’s probably what’s wrong.
TWENTY parking passes?!
You’d think someone with twenty cars would have, I don’t know, a GARAGE.
And the combination of “hand selected” and “happy endings” is just slaying me!
This is San Francisco. People spend millions to live in basically tree houses with no floor space. These people don’t think about parking when they buy they want the ritzy vieeeew.
Wow. Daniel Steel has her own fragrance? That’s interesting. What does it smell like?
Co-dependency – with a slight hint of whiny enabler on the end.
Oh *SNAP*!
The whole parking/tree houses thing is what makes me say I’m not moving back to SF until I get really rich. At which point I will garage my cars in the East Bay and have a flunkie drive them in when I need ‘em.
Joanna S. – Bwahaahahaha!
Oh my. There are possibilities for mayhem here.
And celebrity fragrances puzzle me. I mean, what’s the appeal?
Gee, do you think she’d hand select a fantastic erotica entry, I mean, if I really, really believed in a happy end … ing?
I have this image of the hero, eyes closed, rubbing the um, “magic lantern”, and repeating “I believe in Happy Endings, I believe in Happy Endings…”
Joanna – You, my darling, almost made me snort my Christmas breakfast of Cinnaparts (from Pizza Hut, I’m an incredibly traditional girl) out my nose.
Ya know, I think I prefer being known as “that chick with the ridiculous answers to the Nora Roberts quiz” rather than having a “hand-picked” short story from a woman I stopped reading in high school.
Wow, that was pissy of me. I’m going back to my Cinnaparts now…
Am I the only one who thinks she looks a lot like Vanessa Williams?
So…“I’m dangling a freebie, except you don’t get it but instead you’re on my ‘I am wondrous and you are lucky to be vaguely associated with me’ spam list.”
Okay, let me devote three-quarters of a second to this proposition. I’m sitting in the middle of six snow-clogged acres, and I know what resale-shop books smell like—especially the ones that have been hanging around for a very long time.
Guess I’ll pass on this one.
Count me among those who requested, but did not receive, a sample. I wanted to know what a best-smelling… whoops, best-selling—author smelled like. Guess I’ll just have to guess she smells better than me, in my ratty old jammies that are coated with hair and Ewwww de German Shepherd from snuggling with my dog.
It somehow makes me think of “massage with a happy ending” … damn my slutty mind.