In my mind, I had conjured up what would have been known as the wittiest post to grace the pages of roxthefox.com. But that was before the events of this afternoon transpired.
In my last post, I gave you a glimpse into my morbid Tom Cruise fangirl side, which puts even the most avid of Twilight fangirls to shame. Yesterday, I called my sister, who is currently residing in London, to ask her to go and check out the London Premiere of Tom Cruise's next film, Jack Reacher, meet the man in question, and do my bidding for me. This afternoon, I received a call from my sister. I was met with a fury of screams on the other end of the line, and all I heard was "here you go", before a voice, only familiar to me previously through celluloid, greeted me on the other line.
"Hello, this is Tom Cruise."
Between the rupture of volcanic screams the ensued on both sides of the line, I don't remember much of my conversation with the biggest superstar in the world, and the object of my 16 year long obsession. I freaking talked to Tom Cruise on the phone and I can only put it in words as eloquently as Bruce Willis did in Die Hard:
This is pathetic. I'm a 23 year old grown ass woman, and I'm acting like a manic pre-teen. This is a further sign that the decrepit collapse of civilization is all around us. But I have no shame. How can I possibly write to you about fashion and my outfit, when my brain is clogged with an overwhelming adrenaline rush and exhilaration, only previously felt through the act of skydiving? Therefore, I cannot say anything but gush manically and express my sheer jealousy of my sister, who managed to grab an autograph, a picture, and striked a 2 minute conversation about Canada with the biggest superstar in the world (see exhibit A below stolen from my sister's Instagram). My sister, a former Tom Cruise hater, gushed about how good looking and incredibly down to Earth he was.
So yes, about the outfit. Uh.. these are Burgundy pants... or are they ox-blood? What is the difference? Why must you be so pretentious and refer to Burgundy as Ox-blood. I mean, who---ah fuck it, I can't come down from Cloud 9.
P.S. Sorry for looking like shit in these pictures, but I'd be a pretty boring blogger if I looked awesome all the time. I also have mascara on my finger in one of the pictures. Don't judge.