Hey Mickey You WERE so Fine, You WERE so Fine it Blows My Mind.

Ah, Mickey and Loki, a love affair for the ages, like Bogi and Bacall, Tracy and Hepburn before them. One single tear slides down my face....

As has been well-documented, I'm obsessed with everything Mickey Rourke. I want to be friends with his crazy ass and busted face and I'm not even being facetious. I know Mickey and I will have some pretty legendary adventures together that would likely involve an arrest, burying a body or doctering fake passports, or possibly all three, and that that's just in one night. But now that the hoopla of the Oscars has died down, I am worried I'm not going to get my regular Mickey fix (until of course we eventually settle in Miami with our respective exquisitely-attired animals, glorious shoe collections and memories of wilder days) I know that Mickey isn't nice to look at, in fact a few years ago my friend Alex and I were in New York covering the Tribeca film festival and we saw some bloated, dishelved, crazy-looking mess of a man and I started screaming "Mickey! Mickey!"

It was not in fact, Mickey Rourke.



You can see how I might have been mistaken.

But as my friend Kyla reminded me yesterday, Mickey hasn't always been busted. In fact, there was a time when, before the years of boxing took its toll on his mug, before the ghetto plastic surgery to fix said toll, when the Mickster was, if you can believe it, considered a hearthrob. I know bile just rose up into your throat, swallow it down and check out some Mickey Rourke of yesteryear. Hard to believe it's even the same person.







I have to admit I'd probably want to get with old school Mikey, he was quite a piece. But in all honesty, I prefer the busted, crazy, swigging-champs-from-the-bottle, sexually-harrassing, dog-loving, wacko Mickey. He seems like fun.




New York magazine appears equally fascinated with My Mickey as the fine folks there have compiled a photo slideshow called "Mickey Rourke's Face; A History" Cut and paste this shit below;

http://nymag.com/daily/entertainment/2008/12/mickey_rourkes_face_a_history.html#photo=2

My New BFF?

Yes, Mickey Rourke frightens the fuck out of me. Sure, just looking at his busted face makes these salty drops apparently called 'tears' fall out of my eyes but every day I am faced with mounting evidence that Mick and I would probably be pretty damn good friends. For reals, yo.

First there was this photo of him sucking back the champs right from of the bottle at the BAFTA awards.


Mickey doesn't fuck around, he wants that champers in his mouth and he wants it in his mouth now. He doesn't have the time nor the inclination to find a glass. We should all be so direct. I've been known to suck back a drink or two straight from the bottle myself. I'm classy like that.

Now comes more proof Mick and I would get along famously. Reports say Mickey caused a bit of a commotion at Heathrow Airport recently. Why? Because his luggage was overweight - with shoes! I hope those beautiful gold bitches below were included...



Apparently MickRo had 36kg of shoes. I'm dumb in the brains when it comes to math so I looked that up on the internets and found that's nearly 80 pounds! Traveling with 80 pounds of shoes? As someone who once caught flack for hauling a 'shoe bag' (suitcase filled entirely with footwear) to Mexico, I respect this shit! Apparently Mickey had to redistribute his shit before his ass could check the luggage.

I am a chronic overpacker. I realize how ridiculous and draining it is but I cannot help it. And I know Mickey and I are not alone. My girlfriend Alex and I once traveled from Nice, France to Rome and people were actually gawking in disgust at our luggage at the Nice airport. Most people were checking a single backpack. Not us. We had two suitcases each plus carry-on. Our overweight luggage charges were actually more than the flight itself. In our defense we had just spent ten days working at the Cannes Film Festival but in all honesty, I probably would have overpacked that shit regardless. I often pack upwards of three outfits for each day that I'll be away. It's not that I wear three outfits a day (although I have done that, too) it's that what I wear is often determined with what kind of mood I'm in. By packing only one outfit a day, I'm severely limiting my choices, what if I'm not in the mood for that particular outfit? Then I have no choice. In issues of wardrobe and dressing, I hold the same beliefs I do for reproduction, I'm pro-choice. Also, I don't always know what it is I'll be up to when I'm away. I might stay in and have a games night with friends or I could hit a club or I could go out for a nice dinner. Each of these options requires a different style of dress as well as the corresponding accessories, handbags and footwear. I know Mickey not only understands this, he practices it as well. I think Mickey and I would be great friends although traveling together would be a nightmare for everyone around us.

On a sidenote, can I just say that if I die tomorrow, I want to come back to life as Mickey's dog...






This little bitch not only got a shout out in his Golden Globe acceptance speech, she has several outfits, gets to travel AND walk red carpets? In that last picture it looks like she has her own bodyguard. This bitch is living the life!