Some of you may have noted that I can be a little weird. And yes, I'm talking about myself, despite all of the know-it-alls out there who say you shouldn't. I write this stuff to leave a record of myself for my kids, family, and friends, and if you don't like it, fuck off and go read somewhere else. Don't you wish you had a nearly day by day record of things you did when you were two?
The wife just called from Costco, and after we hung up, I had to press the button on the Caller ID box that was blinking, because it drives me nuts, and it's right by the fish, so I just know it must drive them nuts, too, and I will even go downstairs after taking a call upstairs to stop the flashing, because I don't want the fish or the snail or the shrimp (the frog died) going all psycho.
I always put my socks and shoes on one foot at a time, so if a fire starts or something, I can hop out of the house carrying the other shoe and sock. And I always start with the right foot, because I don't want to get started on the wrong foot. Pants included. And I insist the kids do it, and have nagged the wife enough that she just gave up, and now she starts her day on the right foot, too.
Speaking of shoes, I always double knot my shoes. If the shoestrings are too short to do this, I will buy new strings and replace them.
I can't handle tongue depressors, popsicle sticks, or wooden spoons. In fact, we don't even have any in the house. Touching them makes me gag, and just the idea of having them in my mouth has been known to make me vomit. The wife cuts any ice cream product off of the stick and puts it in a bowl for me. Or, in a pinch, I will wrap the handle part of the stick in the wrapper, and nibble carefully down to the vicinity of the stick, and either throw the rest away, or give it to somebody else to finish, as I hurriedly leave the area, because if I hear the stick scrape on their teeth, I may vomit.
I think this is a residual of being abused by mean doctors when I was very little, doctors who smoked while they examined you, and would try to see your stomach through your mouth with the damned tongue depressor. Just writing about this has made my mouth fill with pre-barf saliva. Yeesh.
I have a very difficult time making left turns, especially when there's traffic. I will go out of my way to make sure my trip is a series of straightaways and right turns only, wherever possible. If I absolutely have to make a left turn, I will go down a side street to the middle of the block, zip across to the opposite side street, turn around in a drive-way or parking lot, go back out to the main street, and, you guessed it, make a right turn onto it.
Whenever I buy any form of lottery item, I warn the clerk in advance to not tell me 'good luck!' like he or she does to everybody else. I only patronize places where I have trained the clerks in this matter. To the extent that they will turn and whisper to a new co-worker 'psssst...don't tell him good luck on his way out!'
I will eat damn near anything, I just don't want them to touch each other on the plate. And I insist on separate plates for non-like items, i.e., do not EVER get syrup on my sausage or eggs. I tip well, do what the fuck I say. I take care of this matter at time of ordering, and the more nervous glances I get from the kitchen and wait staff, the bigger the tip. I'm there for service, so fucking serve me.
I have been known to go into a place, and hand the wait-person a $5 or a $10, or whatever, and say "Here's half your tip, you get the other half when it becomes time for me to leave, if I leave happy. Otherwise, please put it towards my tab when I pay the rest of the bill."
I wouldn't be a bit surprised to have other quirks, but I can't think of any more off hand. I'm sure you all are normal and well-adjusted folks, and not at all weird.