Miss Wrinkles SIngs Jingle Bells

A Star at Work

Ratatouille Ad

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You! I’m Blowing Kisses of Gratitude to All My Fans! Come Bask in My Aura!

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You! I’m Blowing Kisses of Gratitude to All My Fans! Come Bask in My Aura!

Mes Amis, I’m back with the holiday cheer that only a canine with a large mouth and great jowls like me can bring! As turkey has come and gone, this lucky girl knows she has lots to be thankful for, especially the love and adoration—dare I say, the feeding frenzy?—that I’m showered with nonstop because of my enormous popularity. Kiss kiss, dahlings! I know you simply crave being in the presence of greatness. I’m addictive!

Of course, you all don’t know the downside of being the major icon that, according to my polling data, I am: always having to be on paw, so to speak—at the top of my game—which is certainly as hard as a ballerina being en pointe; leading my legions of worshippers, the Miss Wrinklers, who clamor for life-tips from moi; and maintaining my celebrity status by constant attention to dazzling couture and to pawing in place daily to keep my girlish trim. Alas!

Anyway, I’d like to get off my furry chest a few things for which I’m not thankful. Drum roll, please!

First, though I am thankful for the love of my mistress I cannot stand all the pinching, patting and petting that she inflicts on me. I know that it’s affection but the headaches it gives me are simply agonizing.  Somehow, I’ve got to teach her to stay on message but clam up otherwise.

Second, I’m truly prostrate with embarrassment, being such a giga-star with these ugly creases on my face. A weekly regimen at Vivesse could make them disappear, but oh no! All I get is a big fat world full of no from Her, who pretends she thinks my sagging, lined cheeks are works of art.

Third, I am simply not happy with my name.  I mean Miss Wrinkles.  At least it’s not Rin Tin Tin. There’s a dumb-ass name for a dog.  But something more befitting my inner beauty would be appreciated.

And, fourth, I am deprived of some of the best eats on this day of thanks. No turkey meat or skin or fat. My family just gorges themselves, plastering their faces with bird drippings, while I’m forced to sulk in a corner, waiting for those bones to be flung my way. I’d sure give my aching haunches for some of that gobble-gobble. I may just make my point by springing onto the table when no one’s looking and grabbing some game. Yes!

Time to turn in and tune out. I must avoid getting bags under my eyes—the wrinkles are bad enough. Toodeloo, mes precious petites.

A Big Bow-Wow from Your Own—

The Divine Miss Wrinkles

Bigger Than Anyone Imagined—The Buzz Stops Here!

Miss Wrinkles’ Blog

Bigger Than Anyone Imagined—The Buzz Stops Here!

Mesdames et Messeurs, I know how you’ve all been holding your breath, waiting for me to post again—all you tweeters, texters, blog-nuts and Baby Gagas out there, and especially the swarms of sweeties whose skin has been streamlined by Vivesse. Sorry, sorry, sorry, with hugs and big wet ones, but it’s been such an incredible week that I haven’t had a moment even to get my paws done!

Bulletin to my love-crazed crowds: Dahlings, I’ve burst on the scene with such a bang that it’s like constellations colliding. Yikes! There’s Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, TV and newspaper ads, the Billboard, the Video—I simply can’t keep track. I know you fans at large would totally ADORE a tee-shirt. And, if I can get that up-in-the-air mistress of mine, Ms. Ditz, to stop squeezing my face for two seconds, I think we have to start taking meetings about the series. In fact, there’s a hunky Rottweiler in the ‘hood that I have my blinkers on for the male lead. But, boo-hoo, there’s not a free second for a girl to flirt!

I’m so gassed, I can’t even get my earbud to stay put. To calm myself from the feeding frenzy, I’m trying to stay in touch with my past, as the Method teaches. Recently, while meditating, I discovered that I may have been a fruit or vegetable in a past life. I bet you don’t have a clue what it’s like to try to stretch yourself, to dig deep into a former self that may have been a tomato with the sweats. But I’ve got to go on with it, because Miss Wrinkles is BIG. I try to remember what Stella Adler said, even though I’m betraying Strasberg’s memory: “Never go on stage without your motor running.”

And speaking of running, I’m almost on empty due to the barrage of calls and letters. Merci, but I must beg you all to please please please be patient about the paw-graph souvenirs you’re demanding. There’s only one of me, and two working pads. Anyway, the longer you wait, the more the paw prints will be worth.

Et moi, I won’t be worth a woof if I don’t get my beauty sleep. Tomorrow I’ve got dance lessons, leash learning, and singing class to keep my bark sharp. Plus, more cute clothes to try on—although I’m getting a little sick of thinking pink. Now if I could just get the ditzy one to book me at Vivesse to smooth out these sagging jowls. Ah, well, I can dream….

Bonsoir, Mes Amis!  

Love and yips from Your Own—

The Divine Miss Wrinkles

I’m a Star, and Everybody Loves Me!

Dahlings, I’m so excited that I can’t even do my crunches! THIS IS IT—I’m Center Stage, and my public is calling. I must respond. And you thought Miss Congeniality was armed and fabulous? Well, move over,Sandra—you’re yesterday’s news.

My adoring fans, all of you out there in the dark, you’re probably even more stoked than me about my ad debut. I know c’est magnifique, and everyone will want my paw-graph. But my darlings, as great as I am on screen, you have no idea how draining it is to achieve such perfection. No one really understands what you give up to be in the spotlight.

It’s definitely true that great actresses like me are born, not made—you have to have the DNA—but of course everyone has helpers on the way to the top. The Method that my beloved mentor, Lee Strasberg, taught me demands so much of me emotionally that, like Brando, De Niro, and all the boys before me, I am simply prostrate when I turn it off.

And you think it’s just like a faucet that you give a little twist to the right? Ha! Think again, my lovelies. It’s soooo hard to turn it off, once you’re deep into character. Sometimes I’m still Her, even when I get back to the ranch. I can’t eat, sleep deserts me, I throw up my guts. It’s a terrible sacrifice!

What it does to my relationships, I can’t even go into it. It totally wrecks them, that’s the awful truth—especially the one with Ms. Ditz, my mistress, who drives me nuts anyway. Between her and the enormous pressure, I’m flat out on the floor.

But I love you all and—kiss, kiss—no one, and nothing, comes between me and my audience.

Hugs and Smooches for now—

The Divine Miss Wrinkles

Cute Miss Wrinkles