Me too.
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My grandmother DID believe that about capturing your soul (or something);
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I’m kinda slow today so, unless you’re pulling my leg, could you explain that a little better, please?;
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a wedge shaped piece of cake must have the frosting on the LEFT side; I eat one row across (a la corn-on-the-cob), then the rest, leaving the left-frosting 'til last. If the cake is served with the frosting on the right, GOD HELP THE UNIVERSE!
I give them a tiny salute. (truth). I feel like I should acknowledge that that was once a living thing.
When I turn on lights I say ‘Lights, please’ /Linus: A Charlie Brown Christimas/
When I take eggs out of the carton I try to arrange the remaining eggs so that the center of mass remains nearest the center of the carton and the mass is uniformly distributed.
When you walk around with your head down, like when reading something, you occasionally look up to see where you’re going (even if you don’t realize you’re doing it). With a solid door, you’re bound to see the door. Because of the nature of mirrors, its like there’s another room on the other side/the door is open. You’re not as likely to see that there’s a closed door there.
I take them from the center, but with the same motive.
I can’t stand seeing a cup unfinished. So, I end up gulping down my wife’s drinks if she leaves them out half drunk. A little OCD, but I’m very hydrated.
Dude. Everyone does that.
I could see that happening, have a big horse laugh at my expense. Although, I really hope I would notice ME coming to meet MYSELF from the other room (how existential). OTOH, if someone is coming from the non-mirrored side of the door and puts too much elbow grease into opening it, you might get shattered mirror to step on as you enter. No more mirrors on the door for me. Thanks.
I’ve done it before. That’s why it was the first thing I thought of.
Nay, sir. All the eggs have to be at one end of the carton. The empty side goes in fridge first, so when you take them out next time, the weight is in your hand and not pulling the carton to the floor. When your thumb pokes through the cheezy styrofoam.
I’ve never heard of anyone doing it before.
Ooo! I also prefer to do housework alone! Any sort of medium labor like that, mowing the lawn, washing windows, etc.
Oh my gosh, I thought I was the only person who ever did this. But apparently not. 
Lessee…
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If there’s a turtle in the road, I have to stop and move it to the other side it was headed to. I can’t bear the thought of it getting hit.
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I love sweater socks, but there’s only a couple of chain pharmacies (like CVS and Walgreens) that still sell them around the holidays. Since they’re not cheap, I loath ever getting rid of them when they inevitably start to come apart. So, I mend them until they’re absolutely unwearable anymore. Which means I end up with lots of singles. Then, I mix and match them because I never have them on anywhere but inside the house. I’m very colorful.
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Food must be “even” if I can help it. For example, say I’m eating meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I always have to have some of each for every bite. Therefore, I can’t end up with more left of the potatoes while running out of the meatloaf first. It’s a law. Also, no matter the size of the chip, I must break it in half before I can eat it. I have no idea where that comes from, but my aunt now does the same thing.
3a. Correlation: Some things have to be “opposite.” IE: I have a bottle tree for decoration. If one branch has a pastel, the other mustn’t be. If another has decorations on it, the next must be plain. Repeat as nauseum through everything in my life. Hee.
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When pumping gas, I always cut off on my favorite number. Somewhere, I got it in my head that if my credit card was ever stolen, I could prove the charges weren’t mine by showing they were different from what I always did.
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When writing something, I utterly detest using the same words over. I will on little stuff (articles and the like), but descriptors are verboten to be shared. So much so, that I occasionally end up making less sense than I would if I wasn’t crazy. Then I have to explain more. But cést la vie, that’s just how things are in my world.
I might have lots of these but don’t often notice them. Occasionally someone will refer to them, in a polite way, and I’ll be totally confused and wonder what they’re talking about. They’ll say “You do this quite a lot, why?” or “Why do you do that?” I usually have no idea what they’re talking about and so I pay little attention. A few girlfriends have intimated I talk in my sleep but, rather than discussing it with me, they get angry/upset. I’m unsure if they’re trying to start a fight or I really do talk about them or other women? When I was studying for my finals I was, gently, told I would walk around singing a theme tune to a breakfast cereal advert. That was true - “Only … Original … Alpen!” was the theme tune. Once I was aware of the fact I stopped pretty quickly.
Another habit I have is deferring gratification. I didn’t know what that meant until I was told I do it. Oh, I recognized that once I looked it up. I do it, with everything. I eat the best stuff on the plate last, I save the next episode of the tv series until I’m salivating, the last few nights of a holiday are for splurging, I’ve had a Cuban cigar in my luggage since April '13 (still not smoked it, but I’ve had numerous occasions to do so). I’m worried I’ll defer everything too long and die before I get to enjoy them. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. But not this time.
First thing in the morning I like to piss on my plum tree, rain or shine or cold. If I stay at my girlfriends apt I sometimes try to hold it till I get to my plum tree. I like to eat puddings and ice cream with a tiny spoon or ice cream stick.
Well, that wouldn’t be proof, but at least you could honestly say which gas charges (gas is the #1 thing that stolen cards are used for, actually) were yours and which ones weren’t.
Not really a quirk, but something weird I enjoy: Campari on chocolate icecream.
That’s weird? 
I glare at the sensor above an automatic door when it hasn’t opened for me, before doing the handwave dance.
I have been known to threaten my brothers with fire, brimstone and putting chunks of ice down their pants if they don’t pile up the dishes properly when emptying the dishwasher at Mom’s. The chipped ones go on top, damnit, and the smaller ones go over the bigger ones! Why is that so hard to understand?