I wave to dog, just to be friendly. Of course I talk to them too, but only if we meet face-to-muzzle, and who wouldn’t?
I used to call a lot of my students Mr. or Ms. [student last name]. Started doing it because I had twins who were so identical no one could tell them apart, and then it just sort of generalized. The kids loved it, though.
I hate shoes. Kick them off whenever I can, even at work.
I rarely wear a coat. Even in winter, it is seldom cold enough for me to wear one here in south central PA.
Quirky things:
Talk to myself? Yup.
Sing aloud, alone, in company, and also in the car? Yup.
Dance in kitchen to songs? Yup.
No shoes? Yup.
Excuse myself for sneeze, burp, etc. when alone? Yup.
I also pray for roadkill. I don’t know why, but every time I see a squished animal, I immediately pray for its soul, for God to be with it, etc.
I address animals aloud in various languages. Squirrels, always French. Cats, German. Dogs, English. Birds, Spanish. Again, no clue why exactly. I also translate songs into French as I sing them. It’s a good way to keep up with the language.
I also type to myself. If someone says something to me, I’ll type my response with my fingers on my palms, besides saying it aloud. This is apparently why I now type about 90 wpm; lots of practice.
Weird, weird.
Mrs. Furthur
You mean, you still have doubts about the whole Balbo thing? Let’s make this crystal clear: You’re wacked. 
I found a baby doll arm on a walk. It was pretty beat up. I hid it in the tool box of a friend’s motorcycle. When he discovered it, he knew right away who had put it there, and he said rude things about my mother. When we redid our 2nd bathroom, there was a cavity for a medicine cabinet in the wall. Before the wallpaper guy hung the wallpaper, I put Batman and Robin figures from some cereal box in the cavity. Someday, a future owner will tear open that cavity. He’ll have a flash of the classic Warner Brothers cartoon about the dancing frog, singing, “Hello, mah honey, hello, mah baby, hello, mah ragtime gal. Send me a kiss by wire. Honey, my heart’s on fire…”
I’m twisted.
Read William Goldman’s “Magic”. Then, bury the puppet.
I talk to myself, and when I notice myself doing it I say “Bippy stop talking to yourself” outloud. I will also stretch my arm out behind my back in a fashion that is comfortable to me, but seems like self induced torture to those who watch, as I am very flexible.
cheese!
Whose taking photos?
Whenever I’m outside and a leaf falls on me I always say “hi” to the tree it dropped from 'cause I figure it’s the tree’s way of saying “hi” to me.
Well, I guess I may as well go ahead and destroy whatever reputation I may have left on the SDMB.
I’m largely indifferent to contemporary popular culture. I seldom listen to current pop music; the cut-off point seems to be the late '70’s. I seldom go to current movies. The last one I went to was Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. I don’t usually read what’s on the best seller lists. I seem to have a thing for the pop culture of the '30’s and '40’s. I read reprints of old pulp magazine fiction, I watch a lot of videos of movies from that era. I have a collection of several thousand old radio shows in MP3 format and listen to them several hours a week. I don’t seem to watch nearly as much television as most people.
I hate ties, and will go to incredible lengths to avoid wearing one. I only wore one to my niece’s wedding because my older brother bribed me $50.
For that matter, I hate dressing up. My uniform is jeans, work boots or shoes, and T-shirt and/or sweatshirts. You won’t often catch me dressed in anything else. Michael Moore is a slave to fashion compared to me.
I have a shocking streak of cynicism and misanthropy. Unlike most misanthropes, I understand that this is a character flaw or a moral failing, and not something to be proud of. I have a rough, sometimes cruel, sense of humor.
Despite the above, I am still capable of girlish, glurgy, ooey-gooey sentimentality. My favorite tearjerker is Sunshine, which I haven’t seen in entirely too long.
I read comics but hate superheros.
I talk to myself all the time when I think no one can hear.
I make up silly songs about whatever I’m doing around the house as sort of a running commentary. For instance, if I’m looking for, say a pair of scissors, I’ll sing
Oh where are the scissors
I know I had them here just yesterday
But now they’re gone
Are they in the basement or in the drawer …
My son like me to do it as commentary when we play video games together.
BTW, I thought this thread was going to be about the QuirkyAlone movement.
Ohhh. Thanks for the link. Apparently according to the test dealie I am very quirkyalone. Weird. My friends think I’m obsessed with love. shrug
I like test dealies. Alot.
I’m obsessed with LJ.
I talk to my cat constantly, and ask her where I’ve put things.
I believe there are brownies under the sink. Not the edible kind, either, but the kind that make off with things if I’ve been neglecting their cream and cookies.
I sit in my computer chair and listen to the neighbors moving around above me, and wonder what they are up to. Make up stories to go with the noises sometimes.
When I go searching for my hairbrush I sing the “oh where is my hairbrush” song from Veggie Tales.
I’m shy, but hide it well- unless I’m interested in the person. Then I just can’t talk without babbling. Gad.
I am determined to be a crazy old cat lady when I grow up. That way, when I die, there will be no need for burial. 'Cause the cats would have eaten me, you see, and played soccer with my head after.
Yes, really. 
There are certain words I don’t like. I just find them so unattractive to the ear, so I refuse to say them.
I will use ANY other equivalent rather than the word I don’t like. When I’m talking, this sometimes causes somewhat of a delay while I cast about it my mind for an acceptably attractive alternative
I know, I know. VERY weird.
I do the running commentary thing when I’m doing stuff around the house. For instance, as I’m organizing;
“Okay stapler, you get to live HERE for now, YOU get thrown out, eeuwww, how’d YOU get there?” As if the things I’m moving or cleaning have distinct selves or something.
I have this “thing” about cheese. When I go to a restaurant or something, if they have an item with cheese on, or in it, it has to be “REAL” cheese. No American, canned or velveeta like crap. In the midwest and some parts of the south, they don’t seem to know that those fake “processed cheese foods” aren’t the same as cheddar. They’ll even tell you “yes” when you ask if they have cheddar.
If it’s not real, (and YES midwesterners, I CAN tell, even if it IS melted in an omelet), I WILL send it back. I’m pretty accepting of most food types and am not like that with anything else. It’s just cheese. And it HAS to be real.
Oh, that’s a definite part of being quirkyalone. A quirkyalone is a romantic at heart. She’s someone who chooses to be single and available for the perfect romance rather than being in a relationship just to not be alone. He’s someone for whom Love has to be True Love to be worthwhile, a summer fling won’t cut it.
That’s what I do too. I did it when I was young, but my parents thought that was just childhood imagination. But, now I do to my textbooks and pens and pencils. I find myself saying stuff like, “Alright, you blue pens are stay here with the red pens. And math book, you can stay beside the history book for a while…”