I'm Not A Hot Girl Quotes & Sayings

When I was on unemployment I was not ashamed of being a social outcast. Just furious. It's the same thing for being a woman: I am not remotely ashamed of not being a hot sexy number but I am livid that - as a girl who doesn't attract men - I am constantly made to feel as if I shouldn't even be around. — Virginie Despentes

I have this great test to see if a girl's a real friend. When we're shopping I'll pick out an outfit that I know looks hot and one that is awful. If my friend says the bad one looks good, I know she's not a good friend. — Paris Hilton

I love Sweden. In Sweden, the women are just so hot. Their vibe is so amazing. You feel like every girl out there was genetically altered to just be hot. I did not see one ugly woman out there, it was just a line of continuously hot girls. — Kid Cudi

I'm not interested in just being the hot girl. I'm really goofy, and I love laughing, and that's such a big part of who I am. — Charlotte McKinney

On this particular afternoon, they all started teasing me. "You should go out to the lobby, Jo. There's a hot guy out there. Go talk to him!" they said.
"No," I said. "Stop it! I'm not doing that."
I was all of twenty-three, and I wasn't exactly outgoing.

She was a bit awkward--no doubt about that.

I hadn't dated all that much, and I'd never had a serious relationship--nothing that lasted longer than a month or two. I'd always been an introvert and still am (believe it or not). I was also very picky, and I just wasn't the type of girl who struck up conversations with guys I didn't know. I was honestly comfortable being single; I didn't think that much of it.
"Who is this guy, anyway?" I asked, since they all seemed to know him for some reason.
"Oh, they call him Hot John," someone said, laughing.
Hot John? There was no way I was going out in that lobby to strike up a conversation with some guy called Hot John. — Joanna Gaines

Sorry," I said, realizing I was taking my frustrations out on her. "I'm still getting over Soph," I said, referring to my old prep school friend.
Sophie Price was the most beautiful girl you'd ever met. Seriously. Take it from someone who's met Bar Refaeli in person. Soph was even more stunning. Especially since she'd had a personality makeover. I'd never regret anything as much as I would not making her fall in love with me.
"You can't make anyone fall, Spence. Either they do or they don't."
"I said that out loud?"
"Duh and it's been two years, Spencer. You seriously need to get over her. She's with that Ian guy anyway, right?"
"Right."
"That hot South African guy named Ian," she concluded.
"Thanks."
"That hot saffy named Ian who gives his life to mutilated Ugandan orphans and worships the ground Sophie walks on."
I stopped and glared at her. "That'll do, Bridge. — Fisher Amelie

Later, the talk turned to all the other guys/girls who were currently hot for the two of them. 'There's this total dweeb named Robert who's always calling me, and I feel bad because he's really nice, but I'm totally not interested,' Phoebe told Pablo.

'Believe me, I know what that's like,' Pablo told Phoebe. 'There's this girl at Hunter who's, like, obsessed with me. She's, like, this big fat girl. Ass like a truck. She's always writing me these love letters. Maybe I should fuck her. You know, just to be nice.' (Smile, smile.)

'You're so bad.' (Phoebe shaking her head; Pablo loving it; Phoebe loving it, too. What was more ego-enhancing than making dumb jokes at the expense of ugly women? Phoebe could never decide whom she hated more--other people or herself.) — Lucinda Rosenfeld

That's what you asked him?"
"Yeah, why?" Gina scrunched her face with confusion.
"I thought you were going to say something juicy."
"Like what?"
"I don't know, like if he would be your sex slave or something like that."
"Kelly! Why would I ask him that?"
"He's a hot guy, you're a hot girl. We're in a super romantic castle on the coast." Kelly waved her hand around the room for emphasis. "Why the hell not generate some heat in between these cold stone walls? — Lisa Carlisle

Mia might be the hottest girl I have ever seen ... okay, she is the hottest girl I have ever seen in life, and the sweetest. And I'm so horny for her that my dick actually hurts. It motherfucking hurts. But the girl's got enough to deal with. And me spending an invariable amount of time around a hot girl that I cannot put my dick inside ... it's just not possible. I might as well be in prison. Or hell. That's it, I'm in hell.
Towle, Samantha (2013-11-18). Trouble (p. 99). Kindle Edition. — Samantha Towle

Aren't you going to tell me I'm not so bad? she asked.
Mmm-no. I was thinking how every man loves a hot girl with a history of making mistakes. Because it's always possible she'll make one with you. — Joe Hill

I'm the one who's dating the craft-service guy instead of the producer. Plus, if a producer is going to date a hot young thing, I'm probably not the first person on their list - the weird, quirky, funny girl. — Whitney Cummings

What I tell a girl is, your six-pack hot boyfriend right now, in six years, will be balding and maybe have a paunch. But I make you laugh every five minutes today, and I'll make you laugh 20 years from now; that's not going to go away. — Vir Das

I'm thinking we ought to rethink the whole self-esteem thing. It should almost be a dirty word. I mean, look at Kayla. She has the intelligence of a tree stump, and its sense of humour. She's less about real attractiveness than she is about advertising ... She's the kind of girl who shows how hot she is because she has nothing else to offer, who doesn't realise that hotness has an expiration date. Yet, I'm still a little nervous talking to her like she's holding a lottery ticket she just might or might not decide to hand over to me. It is nuts, if you stop to think about it. I give give her this power, and it's kind of like voting some idiot into office. But hey, we're good at that, too. — Deb Caletti

Cooper gave me a very serious expression. "I'm going to do something. Do not freak out. Be casual. Can you do that?"
"No," I said in a panic.
Cooper reached behind me and I felt his fingers on my ass. Forcing myself to stay very still, I felt him fiddling around then he pulled his hand away.
"That suit is old and it's riding up," he explained, taking a beer from his brother who walked by. "I didn't want anyone seeing my girl's ass cheeks."
"I didn't notice," I said, reaching behind me awkwardly.
"It's too hot out to notice. You're fine now."
"You could have just told me," I said then rolled my eyes. "But why would you when you could touch my ass instead?"
"My girl is pretty fucking smart," he said, giving me a big bright smile. — Bijou Hunter

People assume that because I'm a girl and my blog is hot pink that my readership is 90% women, but it's not. It's probably only about 65%. When I do tours, it's pretty much the same thing: it's about one-third guys. — Jenny Lawson

It's not that I prefer black girls, but that's who I find myself relating to as a human being. I am also attracted to really ghetto girls, straight out the hood ... a thickey, a real 'pass the hot sauce' type girl. — Jon B.

I love you because you always have a T-shirt under your pillow for me, even if you don't know I'm coming to stay. I love you because you know I want sugar in my tea in the morning but not at night and because you always pretend you forgot I wanted a skinny hot chocolate in Starbucks because you know I really prefer full fat but don't like to order it in case the girl behind the counter thinks I'm fat.'
Alex started to smile. So I carried on. — Lindsey Kelk

They were never my pack, not even Hot Pie and Gendry. I was stupid to think so, just a stupid little girl, and no wolf at all. — George R R Martin

I lay my fantasy in the backseat of Isa's car and slide in next to her. She snuggles up, using me as her personal pillow, her blond curls sprawled over my crotch. I close my eyes for a second, trying to get the image out of my head. And I don't know what to do with my hands. My right one is on the door armrest. My left one hovers over Brittany.
I hesitate. Who am I kidding? I'm not a virgin. I'm an eighteen-year-old guy who can deal with having a hot, passed-out girl next to me. Why am I afraid of putting my arm where it's comfortable, right over her midsection?
I hold my breath as I settle my arm on her. She cuddles closer and I'm feeling weird and light-headed. Either it's the aftereffects from the joint or . . . I don't want to think about the "or." Her long hair is wrapped around my thigh. Without thinking, I weave my hands in her hair and watch as the silky strands slowly fall through the V's between my fingers. — Simone Elkeles

salivating wolf was in hot pursuit of Lizzie Hearts, who kept shouting, "Off with its head! Off with its head!" "I'll help you!" Hunter rushed toward Lizzie Hearts, pausing first to rip off his shirt, place his fists on his hips, and strike a bold pose. Out of nowhere, trumpets played a heroic fanfare. "Oh!" Cupid said in surprise. The winged, pink-haired girl had transferred to the school just that year. "I didn't realize there would be so much trumpeting and tearing of shirts at Ever After High." "Hunter does that," Raven whispered to Cupid. "The shirt thing. We're not really sure why. — Shannon Hale

I glean a few times a week, and it's all about the subject line. I look for the lyrical, "Billowy Red Scarf Girl" or the funny, "Hipster Chick Who Passed Gas," the unintentionally funny, "Looking for the Hot Girl in Pink Dress," ones that immediately suggest images, "Furry Arms Under a Yellow Umbrella," or the plain odd, "Seeking Girl Who Bit Me Twice ... " I don't think I've ever abandoned one ... the images usually arrive fully formed in my head as soon as I read the message, and I decide whether to draw it or not. — Sophie Blackall

Nowadays you have to be a scientist if you want to be a killer. No, no, I was neither. Ladies and gentleman of the jury, the majority of sex offenders that hanker for some throbbing, sweet-moaning, physical but not necessarily coital, relation with a girl-child, are innocuous, inadequate, passive, timid strangers who merely ask the community to allow them to pursue their practically harmless, so-called aberrant behavior, their little hot wet private acts of sexual deviation without the police and society cracking down upon them. We are not sex fiends! We do not rape as good soldiers do. We are unhappy, mild, dog-eyed gentlemen, sufficiently well integrated to control our urge in the presence of adults, but ready to give years and years of life for one chance to touch a nymphet. Emphatically, no killers are we. Poets never kill. — Vladimir Nabokov

There is, then, a world immune from change. But I am not composed enough, standing on tiptoe on the verge of fire, still scorched by the hot breath, afraid of the door opening and the leap of the tiger, to make even one sentence. What I say is perpetually contradicted. Each time the door opens I am interrupted. I am not yet twenty-one. I am to be broken. I am to be derided all my life. I am to be cast up and down among these men and women, with their twitching faces, with their lying tongues, like a cork on a rough sea. Like a ribbon of weed I am flung far every time the door opens. I am the foam that sweeps and fills the uttermost rims of the rocks with whiteness; I am also a girl, here in this room. — Virginia Woolf

I've played a few times, Anna. Remember the parties?"
"Not exactly." I must have been in the bathroom during that part of the nonexistent parties, hiding out from the vomiting hot girl while Frankie completed her beer pong apprenticeship. — Sarah Ockler

Some girl named Eva has him convinced that you put out after one beer."
"What?" My voice was as shrill as the ringing tardy bell
"I personally don't believe it" he went on blithely, "and I have a Porsche. Not as much leg room as a Beamer, but so much hotter, I'm told. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

Yes," I said "You were saved by a girl. Horrible, isn't it?"
He slid out and looked down at my bare legs. "Not just a girl, but a half-naked one. Now that's hot. If I'm still unconscious, don't wake me, okay? — Kelley Armstrong

It's all a lie. I said to myself. Romance. This notion that some guy is going to swoop and fall madly in love with me and change my life and make everything perfect. It's one big, horrible lie and I bought it. Hook, line, and a ten thousand-pound sinker. Or I guess I should say it's a lie for a girl like me. For Skye, that's another story. The first time Dakota kissed me, down at the hot tub, I remember thinking, this is too good to be true. But if something feels too good to be true, maybe it's not true. Maybe the truth is that Skye deserves him. She'll always be the winner. And I, pathetically, will always be me. — Carolyn Mackler

Harwin's eyes went from her face to the flayed man on her doublet. "How do you know me?" he said, frowning suspiciously. "The flayed man ... who are you, some serving boy to Lord Leech?"
For a moment she did not know how to answer. She'd had so many names. Had she only dreamed Arya Stark? "I'm a girl," she sniffed. "I was Lord Bolton's cupbearer but he was going to leave me for the goat, so I ran off with Gendry and Hot Pie. You have to know me! You used to lead my pony, when I was little."
His eyes went wide. "Gods be good," he said in a choked voice. "Arya Underfoot? Lem, let go of her."
"She broke my nose." Lem dumped her unceremoniously to the floor. "Who in seven hells is she supposed to be?"
"The Hand's daughter." Harwin went to one knee before her. "Arya Stark, of Winterfell. — George R R Martin

I'm over being a pop star. I don't wanna be a hot girl. I wanna be iconic. And I feel like I've accomplished a lot. I feel like I'm highly respected, which is more important than any award or any amount of records. And I feel like there comes a point when being a pop star is not enough. — Beyonce Knowles

It's hot as a barbecue the smog is pressed up against the foothills so that you can't even see them. everyone is irritated, but noone argues because noone can breathe. i laid on the couch in my bikini and watched His Girl Friday. I have decided that i will be a journalist like Josland Russel (in the movie) and not take any flak for anyone unless they look and act like Cary Grant. — Kelly Easton

Im not a lesbian, I just appreciate the fact that girls can be just as hot as guys. — Lauren Jauregui

If all I can say is I'm not in this swamp, I'm not in this swamp then there is not a rope in front of me and there is not an alligator behind me and there is not a girl sitting at the edge eating a hot dog and if I believe that, then dying would be the only answer because then Death couldn't come and say Peachy to me anymore and after all she has a brother who believes in hope. — Tori Amos

Detective Virgil and Barlow [bomb-technician] arranged to meet at the Starbucks. Virgil got a grande hot chocolate, no-fat milk, no foam, no whipped cream, and Barlow got a venti latte with an extra shot. As they took a corner table, Virgil said, "Remind me not to stand next to you if you're handling a bomb. That much caffeine, you gotta be shakin' like a hundred-dollar belly dancer."
"At least I'm not drinking like a little girl," Barlow said. — John Sandford

Technically this is assault and Henry would tell me to verbally request that you not file a sexual harassment claim against me," she said, turning back to Priya. "Honestly, I don't give a shit. I just want you to wake up. Although you know, you're pretty hot and all." This, too, was part of the story. Sleeping Beauties liked declarations of love, or attraction, or just "damn, girl, look at that body" before they were kissed awake. — Seanan McGuire

You really have the nerve to stand there and ask me that?" When he didn't respond, I practically growled as I took a step towards him. "You blow so hot and cold with me that I'm not sure which way is up. It's a wonder I don't need a chiropractor from your emotional whiplash. One minute you're telling me you want a girl like me to be interested in you and the next you're coyly asking how I feel about Garrett." Finally toe to toe, I glared up at him. "You're really good at charming the panties off girls at ten paces, but you can't even tell a girl how you really feel when she's up close and personal! — Katie Ashley

If I do decide to have a Girl's Gone Wild moment, I want it to be with some hot young thing, not a senior citizen-Jaycie Lerner — Natasha Larry

My problem is that I want to smoke the cigar and for someone else to light it. I want to blow out smoke. Like a volcano. Like a monster. I want to fume. I do not want to be the girl whose job it is to wail in a high-pitched voice at funerals. — Deborah Levy

Maggie sipped her drink with the cat draped across her lap and the dog curled at her feet. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and Dan Sean's shallow snores. There were no CD's to play, no radio, no television. There was nothing. She was just sitting there in silence, getting drunk. It occurred to her that a person's first drunken experience shoud be in the basement of a friend's house, in a forest preserve, behind the bleachers of a football field. Certainly not in the company of a sleeping ninety-nine-year-old man. She giggled a little and wondered what Uncle Kevin would make of it. "Hot port?" he would say. "Very impressive, Mags. I would have thought you'd be more of a wine cooler type of girl. — Jessie Ann Foley

Can you please stop talking so I can go back to enjoying Daniel Craig's outrageously good body?" "That's so gay," JP said. "I'm a girl," said the Duke. "It's not gay for me to be attracted to men. Now, if I said you had a hot body, that would be gay, because you're built like a lady." "Oh, burn," I said. The Duke raised her eyes at me and said, "Although JP's a freaking paragon of masculinity compared to you." I had no response to that. "Keun is at work," I said. "He gets paid double on Christmas Eve." "Oh, right," said JP. "I forgot that Waffle Houses are like Lindsay Lohan's legs: always open. — John Green

His hands go to my waist - my waist! And they feel so right. I like this closeness. Maybe I like it too much. A guy has never been this close to me. Never. And I can't believe it's happening, even if it is to keep from being arrested.
My heart beats frantically. Isaiah is hot and scary and hot. Why on earth would a guy like him want to be anywhere near a girl like me?
It's the adrenaline rush. That's what it is. I like how he feels because I'm still experiencing the adrenaline rush from Isaiah's NASCAR driving skills. His arm shifts, and I love how that movement causes his muscles to flex.
Stop it, Rachel. It's not real. Focus. — Katie McGarry

Used to be he
was my heart's desire.
His forthright gaze,
his expert hands:

I'd lie on the couch with my eyes
closed just thinking about it.
Never about the fact
that everything changes,

that even this,
my best passion,
would not be immune.
No, I would bask on in an

eternal daydream of the hands
finding me, the gaze like a winding
stair coaxing me down. . . .
Until I caught a glimpse

of something in the mirror:
silly girl in her lingerie,
dancing with the furniture--
a hot little bundle, flush with

cliches. Into that pair
of too-bright eyes I looked
and saw myself. And something else:
he would never look that way. — Deborah Garrison