Comment by SondraK, Queen of my domain — January 29, 2013 @ 8:56 pm
mech, then everyone would have to do it.
Comment by SondraK, Queen of my domain — January 29, 2013 @ 8:57 pm
LOL@Jerry! I for some reason have to announce it to everyone.
Comment by SondraK, Queen of my domain — January 29, 2013 @ 8:57 pm
I for some reason have to announce it to everyone.
Because deep in your genes, you hope there will be another woman to go with you.
I recap drinks too. I have finally learned it’s easier to do that than clean up the mess when I knock it over.
Wife and I both talk to our cats like they actually understand us. Scary thing is I think they actually do, when their selective hearing is turned to ON.
Comment by dick, not quite dead white guy — January 29, 2013 @ 9:20 pm
Drinking worchestershire sauce isn’t the oddest thing I do, but it’s the oddest I’ll confess to.
One day a little plastic lizard turned up on the nightstand. We don’t know where it came from, but assume it must have belonged to one of the boys. We alternated turns placing it where the other one would stumble across it: in the toothbrush holder, sock drawer, etc.
It was fun while it lasted, but then it disappeared as mysteriously as it showed up. I suspect the boy who owned it took it back.
Numbered socks. I’ve bought so many pairs of my most favorite (comfortable) sock, that since they all looked alike I began to wonder if some might go through the “rotation” faster than others. A 3/4 inch number on the outer sole with a black Sharpie does the trick.
Comment by accipiter NW — January 29, 2013 @ 10:15 pm
After crackin’ open eggs, I nest the shells like matryoshka dolls.
(What? Hey, back off. I can quit anytime I want.)
I see your sock rotation (I put my freshly laundered socks at the back of the line in the drawer) and raise you silverware. I put washed silverware in the drawer oriented opposite to the pieces awaiting use. When I’ve used the last one, I rotate ‘em all to the normal orientation. I also put washed plates at the bottom of the stack in the cupboard. That is, however, the extent of my domestic organization.
Comment by DougM (Progophobe) — January 29, 2013 @ 10:33 pm
Mine is just being weird. Most of you should know this by now.
Speaking of small plastic animals… I used to partly-own a schmancy office building. It was in an old mansion that we fixed up. For some reason, almost all the offices were rented to mental health people, possibly because they were the only ones who could afford the rent.
Anyhoo, this one office was rented to this Child Psychologist that we shall call “Vicky”. Vicky was a good renter in the sense that she always paid her rent on time, but she was a pain-in-the-ass about everything else. Never satisfied about anything. It was either too hot, or too cold. Whatever.
Every now and then a couple of Officer Friendy’s would show up in the lobby demanding to know where her office was. About a minute later they’d be dragging some schmuck across the verrry expensive carpet in my lobby and out the fron’t door in cuffs. I don’t blame them for that — they have a job to do, but at least they could have waited till he was in the parking lot! Sheesh!
She did her research by using the old “show me on the doll where he touched you with his hand” trick. She had lots of windows with nice wide sills and they were all filled with every little toy/doll that you could imagine. Dozens and dozens of them.
So, late one weekend night, I was shampooing all the carpets in the whole place. I had a couple of guys helping me move furniture and stuff, and when we got to her office, I suddenly had this idear. so I tell the guys, “everybody grab a doll or something and make it look dirty”. Which we did. My helpers seemed to enjoy this duty even more than moving furniture Mickey was poking Minnie (doggy style, as I recall), Donald and Lucy were going at. Hell, even Gumby and Pokey got in on the fun!
Then we shampooed the carpet and left. Never heard a word.
I sit patiently in front of my computer every day, reloading this website once every 13minutes 7 seconds waiting for audience participation threads.
Comment by Caged Insanity — January 29, 2013 @ 11:41 pm
@ 20, DougM. Okay, that reminds me- bath towels, I always pull from the bottom of the stack/ load top.
The socks are crew and running Thorlos with the extra cushioned sole. And, being honest here, I got tired of basic lettering or numbers, so, being a warbird fan, I now have a matching F4-U pair. P-47s, 51s, 40s and you get the picture. Nothing like slipping your shoes off at a friends and having to describe what an SR-71 is.
Comment by accipiter NW — January 30, 2013 @ 12:50 am
Aw, thanks, Patrick! I thought we were just a little bit strange. :)
Learning all about the suicide of Western Christian civilization and not really doing anything about it because I spend so much time reading about it instead of DOING something about it. (Bad habit. That’s got to change. Any ideas?)
Comment by Hopefulone — January 30, 2013 @ 2:12 am
I didn’t know all those you all speak of were habits. I thought they were just part of daily life. Speaking of P ing someone did didn’t they? I have to b/4 I leave the house even if I just did. It’s not my fault it’s my mothers because when ever we went anywhere she made us P first because your father isn’t going to stop the car just for you to P. I don’t know if it’s a habit or not but when someone gives me a gift I have to find a place to display it or use it and never throw it away. I can’t understand a person who says they hate a gift. I love them all!! I go nuts when I have to give a gift because I just know they won’t like it.
Comment by geezerette — January 30, 2013 @ 7:54 am
My darling Wife has the “odd habits” corner all sewed up in our house, being a little on the OCD side of the spectrum.
I, on the other hand am ADD and come to think of it I do ……Svirrel!!
Speaking of speaking of small plastic animals …
Back in my VA foxhunting days, there was a group of ladies who visited hunts all around the country (famously called “The Bitch Pack”). They brought with them a bag of assorted small plastic toy dinosaurs which they handed out in exchange for a promise that one would always carry one’s toy dinosaur in one’s hunting jacket with the admonishment, “Don’t take yourself too seriously. After all, you’re ridin’ around with a dinosaur in your pocket.”
Whenever one deserved to be chastised for taking oneself too seriously, the chastiser would pat their own jacket pocket.
Alternatively, if a rider called out, “I’ve got a dinosaur in my pocket!” the other riders would pat their pockets holding their dinosaurs.
Yes, alcohol was often involved.
(see also: dead bug, the fighter-pilot drinking game)
Comment by DougM (Progophobe) — January 30, 2013 @ 9:40 am
I touch my nose when I’m talking.
Comment by Alan outback bacon czar — January 30, 2013 @ 11:51 am
Touching your nose is just fine it’s picking it that’s s’ not.
Comment by geezerette — January 30, 2013 @ 11:54 am
Accipter, I’ll raise your combinations with Greek letters.
Doug, I can’t win around here. My wife forces the kids to pull from the dishwasher first, throwing my rotations out of whack.
I guess wrangling shopping carts and bringing them in is weird, since it appears most others are too damned lazy to even go as far as the corral.
^ Buzz – I do the shopping cart roundup too, mostly because I know the high school kids who collect the carts, and I don’t want to make their job any harder than it needs to be. One time I was at the store on a very windy day. Someone had left a cart sitting loose in the parking lot, and I saw the wind catch it. It picked up some real momentum before it smacked into somebody’s very new-looking car. I was not close enough to have prevented it, but that gave me another reason to continue in that habit. I’m glad I’m not the only one … and I’ve noticed the practice has rubbed off on my kids.
I fold my underwear. It’s my Army habit. The Ragin’ Mrs. thinks I’m nuts.
I also try to make sure that the very last words my wife hears out of my mouth every time I leave the house is “I love you”. Same when I go to bed. Just in case those are the last words she hears from me, ever.