Quotes About Awkwardness

I realized my hands were in my pockets. He couldn't hold one even if he wanted to. Not unless he actively dug it out, which would be weird. He probably thought I was sending him a specific message not to hold my hand. I took my hands out of my pockets. The problem is I like having my hands in my pockets. It's my natural position. They felt unwieldy hanging by my sides, as if I was walking like a Neanderthal. Why was I so bad at this?

Still perfect sixteen, and she glares when Ellie and I burst out laughing.

Patty's mouth twisted; her expression said creepy kid, but Genie was too lonely to get up and leave, even if she knew Patty didn't want her there.

some of their less well-to-do connections were glad to put up with the slight awkwardness of having her in the house for a short space, in consideration of the handsome boarding fee which was paid them for it.

Cuando mi piel recuperó un tono uniforme, dormí con otro hombre y descubrí, al ver mis manos torpemente tiradas en la sábana a ambos lados de mi cuerpo, que había olvidado qué hacer con ellas.

The corners of his lips picked up. "You really didn't know I've been following you for the last five weeks?" Yeah, please feel free to make me feel stupid for that, Ken doll. I shook my head. "Well, of course not, because if you knew someone was watching you, you probably wouldn't have given yourself a spanking on the roof." And just like that, the man turned the humour back on. Weird. - Chapter 3: Heather and Brendan

My father looked like he was having a stroke— not that Mel seemed to notice because he just kept talking. "Patrick needs a ride. No car, you know, and so I figured, hey, I can pick up some gas money." He laughed. No one else did, and now Patrick looked like he was trying to push himself inside the door and hide.

Did I catch you at a bad time?" she asked as a few moments passed without either of them speaking. He mentally shook himself out of his reverie. "Sorry, you looked so..." "Cold?" she suggested with a smile.

Search for celebrations that feel authentic to you. If you feel awkward or phony when celebrating, your attempts will backfire. Your brain doesn't want to feel awkward—it wants to feel good. Celebrations are personal. What makes me feel good (and not lame) is probably different than what makes you feel good (and not lame).

Here is a secret that no one has told you: Real life is junior high.

When I was about 13 I realised girls weren't going to kiss me because I was a gigantic, weird looking creature from the depths. I was like 6 ft. aged 11.

I've gotten to the point where I've gotten comfortable with my awkwardness.

I am not graceful.

I felt like a dork growing up so this is shocking.

My dad gave me a haircut... and it wasn't a very good one. When I went out of the house, my friends got on my case and said it looked like someone put a chili bowl over my head and cut around it.

When a conversation has taken a wrong turn for us, we only get farther and farther into the swamp of awkwardness.

When I try to be funny, it always makes me more nervous that I'm trying too hard, and then my brain that already thinks too much jumps into hyper drive, and I light-speed start talking 'Star Trek' to someone who's talking 'Star Wars.' Anyway, it doesn't work out usually when I 'try' to be funny.

Whose red nose makes me ashamed to be seen with him.

I was mightily troubled with a looseness, and feeling for a chamber-pott, there was none, I having called the maid up out of her bed, she had forgot I suppose to put one there; so I was forced in this strange house to rise and shit in the chimney twice.

I was once on a Tube train late at night when a young man sitting opposite pointed to his crotch and demanded, 'What do you think of that?' Thinking he might be showing me some interesting point in a book, I replied, 'I'm sorry, I can't see anything small without my specs.' He fled at the next station and it was only when he got up that I realised he hadn't been carrying a book at all.

Here you go, dear."" The corners of Mrs. Colbert's mouth curled up. "You like meat, don't you?" Emily blinked. Was it her, or did that statement seem...loaded? She checked Issac for his reaction, but he was innocently selecting a roll from a wicker basket. "Uh, thanks." Emily said, pulling the platter toward her. She did like meat. The kind you, um, eat.

You're treating me like I have barf in my hair.

We can't have a conversation." "I'm being quiet." "Yeah, but I'm sitting alone. This looks weird." "Then don't talk. I'll do a monologue. 'But soft, what light through yonder window breaks--

Every time I start feeling sexy I trip.