Every morning as I’m leaving for work I check to make sure my cat is in the house. He’s strictly an indoor cat but he’s always trying to slip by and get out so it’s reasonable to make sure he hasn’t. It’s not reasonable to make sure he’s in, go out to the car, begin having doubts, go back, check again, go back to car, worry more, check again and then worry 20 minutes while I drive to work. I do this pretty often now that it’s dark when I leave.
The wife says I should mention another of mine that bugs the snot out of her: We have a couple of soda can racks in the refrigerator. Each holds 12 cans. As soon as someone takes a can out of the rack, I must refill it. Partially-filled racks are not an option. And we must have at least one full 12-pack in the utility room as a backup for the partial 12-pack I am using to refill the racks. I’m as bad as the supply sergeant on that episode of MASH (“But you have 3 incubators.” “Yes, but if I give you 1, I’ll only have 2.” “But you don’t use them! We do!” “3 is better than 2.”)
I have to be seated in a public restaurant with my back to the wall, preferably farthest away from the door, in a corner. I can handle if I am not, but I really, really, really don’t like it.
Other than that, you guys are all weird.
I’m ultra-paranoid about this at work. At home, not so much, but I’ve actually woken in the middle of the night and gone to work because I was afraid I’d left a door unlocked.
I’ve recently taken to making a scratch on my arm with the key after I lock it. That way, I can reassure myself at any point in the evening by looking at the little welt. (Except when I start wondering if maybe one of the dogs scratched me when we were playing . . .)
Other Lissa Oddities:
–All of the towels in my linen closet must be placed so that the folded end faces outward. (Yet I don’t even bother to fold sheets-- just stuff them in a drawer.)
– I tap the back cover of my books, or rub the end of my fingernail against the page while I’m reading. I don’t know why I do this, but almost every book I own has a little dent in the corner of each page where my nail has rubbed.
– I’ll sometimes get a snippet of text from a book running through my mind and I have to find the book and re-read it. It drives me insane unless I can find it. A voracious reader, I sometimes have trouble remembering which book it was, but I’ll search doggedly until I find it.
Hubby is like that. He always wants to face the door and doesn’t like anyone to be behind him. In his case, it probably stems from working in a prison.
You sure your not a spy ? If you’ve read any John le Carré books you will see that this is the best spot in a restaurant if you want to carry out surveillance on anyone.
I can only think of one … every night I place my briefcase in the trunk of my car. The next morning before I drive off to work, I often (but not always) pop the trunk to check that the briefcase is there, even though I know that it is.
Man, some of you really have Monkish behavior!
I wrote a blog about this not too long ago and I’m far too lazy to repeat myself but here’s the link if you’re interested.
Don’t come visit me, then…
I hate that, too. Turns out that my kitchen comes with a digital display, which acts both as a timer for the oven and as a clock when the oven is not in use. But our power goes down every morning at 6am (I assume it’s when they change turbines in the power station nearby), so if I want the stupid display to have the right time, I must reset it. Every. Day.
Too lazy to do that.
U-uhn. Very common behavior, more common in men; dafisheroo simply happens to be conscious of something many million people do without realizing it. It’s an alpha spot as well. One reason why some human resources people leave you alone in a meeting room to find a seat is that which seat you choose says a lot about how “alpha” you feel (I tend to choose #2 spots, apparently, which actually makes perfect sense).
I’ve been in restaurants where our party was being seated beside a large window and the guys had serious problems trying to decide where to sit - usually, they’d sit with their backs to the wall (watching the door), but those windows need watching too, right? right?
If there are two doors and they can’t both be watched from a single spot, alpha watches the door leading “out” and beta watches the one leading to the kitchen.
The loungeroom rug Has. To. Be. Straight.
The house is an atrocious mess. We’re no housekeepers, only cleaning once every 3 months when the inspection is due. But god help you if you make the loungeroom rug ever so slightly skewed. I’ll fidget and fret until it’s straight again.
I’m sure there’s more that hubby will remind me of later, but that’s the biggest one that’s been getting on my nerves of late.
My daughter and I were talking about this yesterday. She noticed that I have to have even numbers of things, like cans of catfood. She likes to freak me out by throwing an extra can in the cart and make it odd. I hate that!
She said that her OCD quirk is that whenever she gets the tip of one finger wet, such as dipping it in a drink or something, she has to get the rest of her fingers wet as well. I guess she doesn’t want any of them to feel left out.
I eat my food one item at a time. For example, if you give me a plate with meat, potatoes, and green beans, I’ll eat all the beans, then all the potatoes, and then the meat (or in some other order…I usually save my favorite part for last unless it’s getting cold).
Now, I can mix it up, but that’s not my preference. I’ve learned to remind myself to deviate from my usual plan when eating with friends to avoid comments or offending my hosts somehow. Doing this bugs me, but it’s not a big deal. Left to my own devices, I work through the meal in the above orderly fashion. I’m well aware of how strange other people find this, and I have no rational explanation myself for my preference. It really makes no sense. No one taught me to eat this way. My parents actively discouraged it while I was growing up, but I could never get out of the habit. If anything, I’ve gotten worse about it in my increasing age.
What the hell’s wrong with eating this way? I do. Not all the time, but most of the time I’ll do exactly like you do.
I like to savor each entree seperately. Usually the cook has prepared each serving with different spices, salts, oils, etc., so mixing them together or eating part of one, then part of another (then going back and finishing) almost seems like an insult to the chef.
YMMV, but I don’t see a problem with this.
In upscale restaurants they purposely give you seperate plates for entrees and bring them out at different times just to prevent such barbaric behavior as mixing the foods together. :eek:
You tell me! When my Dad would yell at me (“Eat something else on your plate, will you?”) for doing it, I’d always protest that I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. I mean, it’s not like I was refusing to eat (like my sister). Isn’t that enough? It just seems to bug people. It irritates my wife as well. “Your lasagna’s getting cold! Eat some!” “I’ll get to it!” “When?” “I’m saving it!” “For what, dessert??? It’s getting cold! Eat! Now!”
I eat like that too, when dining alone. I think I got in the habit from camping a lot as a kid, when I could only fit one course at a time in my Sierra cup. But it will be “fries, then burger, then whatever.” The idea of eating fries at the same time as the burger is alien to me.
So I am the Big Dog in an Interpol prison? Cool.
Loopy, there is absolutely nothing wrong with not mixing stuff.
Same here for food : first meat, or fish, well the protein thing, then the vegetables. And I like to keep the best part for the end too (usually).
I used to have some real OCD but now it has calmed down… I’m still a bit superstitious about some things…
For example, I don’t like the number 33 because that’s (in France) the number the doctor asks you to say when he examines you. And as I don’t like/want to be ill, I don’t like this number. So when someone puts the volume on the television on 33, I have to make it be 32 or 34. And usually I prefer even numbers.
When I was younger - from about 8-15 yrs old - every time I turned around, I had to turn myself back the other way until I was “untangled”.
It was like I had a dog leash around my legs, and each time I turned I had to get back into a position where the leash wasn’t wrapped around me.
It was most acute when I was playing tennis - if I spun to hit a ball, I’d have to spin the exact opposite way after the point until I was returned to “normal”.
You know, I’m of 3/4 French heritage (via Québèc). Makes me wonder about the nature vs. nurture involved here…
I may have an obsession with superfluous diacriticals as well.