Froot Loops Quotes

We gather the things we learned, and they don't nearly add up to fill the space of a life. You will miss the taste of Froot Loops. You will miss the sound of traffic. You will miss your back against his. You will miss him stealing the sheets. Do not ignore these things.

Maybe I've moved to the dark side, but it's clean and nice and we never run out of toilet paper.

Life is unfair and there are winners and losers, regardless of how much overprotective parents attempt to shield their offspring from reality.

You will miss the taste of Froot Loops. You will miss the sound of traffic. You will miss your back against his. You will even miss him stealing the sheets. Do not ignore these things.

If you're in the midst of a midlife crisis, you could buy a convertible, have an affair, or upgrade your cup size. But you'll probably be happiest if you save a dog's life.

Ice cream is probably healthier than most breakfast cereals. I'm looking at you, Froot Loops.

flooding the world with a bounty of Froot Loops, Lucky Charms, and Count Chocula.

Forgive the cliche, but friends are truly the family you choose.

Death was temporary, lasting only long enough to provoke a laugh from kids in pajamas sitting cross-legged in front of the TV set, gorging themselves on handfuls of Froot Loops.

I don't care how happily married you are or how deeply enmeshed you are with your children and family and career -- every woman needs a couple of chicks who'll break out the sangria just because you need to vent.

Everyday I feel more and more like a full-fledged adult. Even though it was (metaphorically) only yesterday I was sloshing in the door at four a.m. after Dollar Beer Night, I find myself with a mortgage, four types of insurance, and a non-laundry-quarter-based retirement fund.

Today, we’re a beeper generation in a smartphone world.

In Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand stated that there's no such thing as real altruism. She espoused the principle of ethical egotism, meaning that a person's moral obligation is to promote their own welfare. Translation? I still have the musical sensibilities of a teenage girl and I kind of want to see a shitty pop concert in the guise of doing something nice for my pal's kid, so I need to find a way to make it happen.

eBay is a fine place to unload your Prada bag when you're in a desperate situation and it's exactly what the doctor ordered when searching for a specific item, say an authentic 1965 edition of the game Mystery Date. eBay is a very, very bad place to go if you're a hypercompetitive asshole with a penchant for spite bidding.

you know that peanut butter’s now considered a hate crime? Because it totally is.]

He hands me a book- paperback cover with a picture of the bay. I flip through, find picture after picture from my month in Felicity Bay, all those *beep* *click* *beep* times that Daniel captured, put in a book - a baby crab, mermaid hair, Froot Loops, sandy toes, tree house, and even stained glass windows, and a chalice - moments of significance, ordinary things that turned out to be extraordinary." -Bailey

It was the summer of 2009, and I was walking with a bit of a limp because I had broken glass in my foot from . . . well, I wasn’t sure what from, exactly. I think I broke a bottle of Kiehl’s Musk on my bathroom floor and then I stepped on it, I guess, and I never wound up getting the shards taken out. “You need to go see a doctor,” my boss—legendary beauty director Jean Godfrey-June—said every day when I hobbled into her office in ballerina flats. “Today.” “I will,” I’d promise. But then I’d just go home, pound Froot Loops in a dark trance, or get high with my friend Marco.

Can I tell you something about Seattle? Everyone there is a filthy liar. They're all, 'Don't move to Seattle—it's so rainy!' And yet every time I've been there, a tiny amount of rain falls before the whole sky explodes into rainbows and sunlight. Seattleites mean to hog up all the stunning vistas and good coffee and flowering bushes for themselves. Bet on it.

When Rachel was 5, her parents got a divorce; the kind that involved bitter mudslinging, hidden bank accounts, and cans of paint splashed on the driveway at midnight. A week later, Rachel told her mother that her daddy used to stick his finger inside her vagina. She has told me that one time, she was wearing a Little Mermaid nightgown and eating Froot Loops at the kitchen table. The second time, she was wearing a pink Cinderella nightgown and watching a Franklin video in her parents' bedroom. Rachel's mother, Miriam, has verified that her daughter had a Little Mermaid nightgown and a Cinderella nightgown, the summer she was 3 years old. She remembers borrowing the Franklin video from her sister-in-law. Back then, she and her husband were still living together. Back then, there were times she left her husband alone with their little girl.

Any chance you might be pregnant?” I knew that wasn’t it. “Well, it wouldn’t be impossible,” I humored him. “But I know that’s not what it is. I got this same thing on our honeymoon, just as soon as we got to Australia. It’s definitely some kind of vertigo/inner ear thing.” I swallowed hard, wishing I’d brought along some Froot Loops. “When was your wedding?” he asked, looking at the calendar on the wall of the exam room. “September twenty-first,” I answered. “But again…I know it’s my ears.” “Well, let’s just rule it out,” the doctor said. “I’ll send the nurse in here in a minute, okay?” Waste of time, I thought. “Okay, but…do you think there’s anything we can do about my ears?” I really didn’t want to feel this way anymore. “Marcy will be in here in just a second,” he repeated. He wasn’t acknowledging my self-diagnosis at all. What kind of doctor is this?

He’s gonna chill for a minute. Now offer him some motherfucking Froot Loops.” The man shrunk his head into his shoulders. “You want some Froot Loops?” M did not.

I didn't care much what time of day it was, I just wanted Froot Loops.

fact, it’s just crazy enough to be the kind of thing that actually happens in your family. A regular hiding place isn’t good enough for you Froot Loops; you have to use Mount Everest!

Poo-Poo’s eyes flashed open. “Froot Loops!” cried Poo-Poo. “That’s what that blue puddle tastes

Lame. Fine, work on your mural. I'll go suck on a Froot Loop or something. Or maybe I'll just eat straight sugar. Yeah, I'll do that." "Good-bye, Mo." "A raisin. We probably have raisins. I'm sure nature's candy will hit the spot.

I hoped before our kiss ended I could figure out how we could go back to before, to my bedroom when we had just met, and talking was as simple as opening or mouth and saying whatever thought popped into our minds, the words flowing out like Froot Loops from a never-ending box—colorful and sweet and so light that you could hold a whole handful without feeling like you were way down by anything.

Favorite ice cream flavor on the count of three,” Kennedy said as we sat in the woods one Sunday morning, eating granola bars and watching the birds fly by. “One, two, three!” “Blue moon!” I shouted. “Cherry chip!” she exclaimed. She pointed my way and gasped. “Oh my gosh! Who likes blue moon? What flavor is that anyway? Honestly, blue moon? What does that even mean?” “It means it’s a delicious ice cream that tastes like heaven. It’s as if Froot Loops had a love child with cotton candy.

Hey, you’re up,” Daniel said behind me. I turned to see him in the kitchen doorway, a box of cereal in his hand. “No milk, but they do have Froot Loops. I know you love Froot Loops.” “Thanks.” I took a step toward him. “But first I need to--” Corey came bounding down the stairs. “Did I hear the breakfast bell?” “Food’s all gone,” Sam called from the kitchen. Daniel backed up, disappearing from view. I hesitated. “What’s up?” Corey said. “Nothing. Just…the Froot Loops are mine.” “Not if I get them first.

The food we managed to gather was considerably more limited than we'd been led to believe. An excess of individually wrapped panettone and reindeer-shaped chocolate- the dregs of Christmas. Baskets of savory biscuits and variations of chutney. Kitsch American stuff like packets of Froot Loops and jars of marshmallow spread. Large decanters of flavored oils but nothing to dip into them. There weren't even any cheeses or cured meats. But the alcohol was good: bottles of champagne and prosecco, Żubrówka in sculpted glass jars. We sat on the hard floor. Stevie had brought blankets and paper plates, plastic cups and cutlery. It felt like a picnic at the end of the world. I made a plate of Gruyère cheese twists and port-and-fig chutney. I slathered salted caramel dip over savory oatcakes. I had a slice of hazelnut panettone. I finished with some shortbread and sea-salt truffles.