I have a similar compulsion: I always pace in a circle around the couch in my living room, and always clockwise. I can’t stand sitting still (yuk yuk!) while on the phone at home.
Slightly grosser: my lips tend to chap very easily. I’m always biting little bits of dead skin off my lips.
I’ll report any more I can think of later.
Adam
I do the phone wandering thing too but not always.
I do the food separating. I do it with soup. If I’m eating chicken noodle soup, I can’t just eat one big spoonful. The noodles, the chicken, and the vegetables all have to be eaten with separate spoonfuls.
When I’m nervous I get the compulsion to make lists, but I don’t actually use the list. I write down what I need to do, and then I can relax and the list usually gets thrown away.
I get the compulsion to take numbers and try to get them to equal 10. It’s usually the numbers on houses or phone numbers.
When I’m in the car, I sometimes have to clench my butt muscles when I go over bumps or right when I pass a lightpost. I used to do this a lot when I was little, but I don’t do it so much now.
Oh god, I’m insane.
Finally, someone else! Let us rejoice with our peculair pattern of truncated and elongated strides!
Oh! I forgot! I always eat sandwiches upside down. Any kind of filling between two slices of bread (or roll, what have you), and I have to eat it upside down.
I do the pacing thing on the phone too. I walk circles around my dining room table.
I do the typing thing, too. Only I don’t type what I see, but what I’m thinking at the moment. And it’s a new thing with me, like within the last 9 months or so.
I’m a counter as well. I count stairs mostly. When I was a little girl, I would count the number of times the title of a song was featured within the song. You know how people tap their foot to the beat? Well, I sometimes do that with my ass muscles. Left. Right. Left left, right. It’s as if I’m playing the drums with my butt.
I’m near compulsive about cleaning my toilet. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I mean, if someone popped in and had to use the bathroom… I’d feel awful if the toilet were dirty. I wish my husband would sit to pee in my toilet. He can piss all over his if he likes. (but then I end up cleaning his too when it gets gross)
If I have to puke, I do it in the bathroom sink. You’d think that with such a clean toilet, I’d feel comfortable yarking into it. Oh no! My face ain’t going down there!
Don’t pit me for stating that you guys are…er…
what’s the word…nuts!
I can understand quirks developing into habits but when you decide that they aren’t rational (which it seems you’re doing here) why continue to do them? 
Get crazy and step on that crack, mush all your food together, step on imaginary architectual lines ( ) , stand like a statue while on the phone. Do not by any means wet that toothbrush and put the lists away. Break free and eat that sandwich right side up and maybe even with the PB&J on the outside, don’t type on your steering wheel or add numbers together at all unless you promise to come up with the wrong answer like my daughter always seems to do.
Naa, I’m just kidding. My socks are filed away in the top drawer according to type, style & size. And I have enough pairs of sock in my rotation that I could go without doing wash for months and my feet wouldn’t know. But the rest of my drawers are kinda messy.
I must sing along to the songs on my Walkperson, except that I have specific rules to avoid annoying others: I will only sing if I am a) moving or b) completely alone. I will sing while entering the metro; I will not sing while standing on the escalator; I will sometimes sing when on the platform far from others, but I will never sing in the train, except for those rare occasions when I am alone in a train car, in which case I will sing my head off.
I often sing these lyrics in French or Spanish, if I can translate in my head fast enough.
In addition to a bunch of the things already mentioned I have to wear my socks inside out. See, the seam presses against my toes and I hate that feeling but if I turn them inside out, I don’t feel it. I even wear my pantyhose inside out.
i compulsively pick things up and put them down in random places… its strange… but i have willfully make an effort not to do this when im not in my own house.
Man, the Internet sure is an eye-opener . . . I thought I was the biggest Billy Joel fan on the planet – until I joined the BJ mailing list. There are (or at least to be) some serious wackos and borderline stalkers over there. I just know and love most of the guy’s music. Sheesh.
And I used to think I was compulsive – I can’t concentrate on what somebody’s saying if her earring is twisted or there’s a little spill on the table between us, I like the things on my desk to be lined up at right angles, I try to keep the bills in my wallet in order of denomination, etc. But you guys are some serious kooks! 
Er, make that
I’m not allowed near certain cubicles at work because of this.
**Stainz, ** I also hate to have my food touching unless it’s something complementary, like mashed potatoes and gravy.
**Tabby cat, ** I also run my hand along walls, office cube partitions, coworkers (no, just wishful thinking there), etc. Otherwise, I have to keep my hands in my pocket.
But I forgot my biggest thing. When sitting, one or both of my legs is ALWAYS bouncing. This drove my fellow grads insane and has been noted by friends and coworkers.
Sorry, I’m a Flori-doper, and I can put a whole handful of unsorted M&M’s in my mouth without even looking!
Uh, that was meant as a reply to Hypno-Toad. :smack:
Anytime I’m in the bathroom I MUST close and lock the door. Even if I’m just brushing my teeth or putting stuff away. Even when I’m all alone in the house.
Interesting enough, I didn’t start doing this until I watched the movie Psycho as a youngster. 
When I get a meal with meat, a starch and a vegetable, I have to eat the vegetable first, then the meat, and finally the starch. I’m not sure if I’m saving the best for last or just eating from most healthy to least.
I count in my head too. If someone is hammering a nail in my presence, I mentally count the number of hits it takes. I also do this with other people’s footsteps, the blinker in my car, and pretty much any semi-rhythmic sound.
I practice accents when I’m alone.
You guys are fucking psychos.
I type stuff out like Winnie too, but usually it’s my thoughts that get typed.
I count compulsively, and everything has to add up to eight. I count steps (have to take shorter or longer steps so I end up at 8 before I enter a new room), characters on signs (I get extremely happy when they add up to a number evenly divisible by eight and want to tell everyone about it (“there are exactly 32 characters in ‘Warning! Attack Dog Training Grounds’!”; the answer is usually along the lines of “meh”)) and slight movements (if I push a cup a fraction of an inch I have to push it seven more fractions of an inch, and if I accidentally push it too far one of those times I have to push it that distance seven more times and the original distance once more, and so forth), among other things.
Mine are mostly food-related.
I cannot stand to have one food touch another. As a child, I convinced my mother to peel my baked potatoes for me; she refused to after she noticed that I ate both the potato and the skin, just not together. After many years, I can tolerate things like beef stew, but I still separate out each little food chunk, and eat the potatoes first, then the carrots, then the beef.
I eat one item at a time, starting with whatever I like the best. That way, in case I die before the end of the meal, I’ve not filled up on something I like less and missed out on my favorite food.
If at all possible, I use a clean utensil for each different food item. Clean fork for the mashed potatoes, another one for the peas, and so on. At other people’s houses and restaurants, I just deal with it, but at home, I go through a LOT of silverware.
Sandwiches must have the exact same proportions in each bite. Heaven forbid there be more peanut butter than jelly on one corner! The cheese better exactly cover the burger, because if I find a bite with burger and no cheese, or cheese and no burger, it bothers me.
I eat my M&Ms in rotating color order, so no color feels neglected. Ditto with SweetTarts and other colored candies.
Yeah, I have some food issues.
And some others:
My alarm clock must be set to a round number. I can’t sleep if the alarm is set to 6:02 rather than 6:00. Even 6:15 bugs me, and I’ll go for either 6:00 or 6:30 to avoid it.
I am extremely methodical in the way I get dressed. Make-up goes on first, so I don’t get any on my clothes. Then underpants, deodorant, bra (just to make sure I don’t get any deodorant on the bra), left sock, right sock, pants, take towel off hair, shirt. Shoes don’t go on until after hair is all done, so I don’t get any hair spray film on my shoes. If I change this routine in any way, I don’t feel quite dressed, and it annoys me all day.
I once demanded a new phone at work because my phone cord was all kinked up, and after three months of constant fiddling with it, I couldn’t get it to stay unkinked. Drove me batty.
My upstairs hall light has two switches, one at each end of the hallway. I can’t stand it that one switch is always in the wrong position (up when the light is off, for example), so I’ve compromised by making sure that whichever switch is closest to me is in the correct position. That way, if I walk out of the bedroom in the middle of the night, that switch will be right. This takes more effort than one might imagine.
I am soooo glad I’m not the only one with my this paranoia about my car and my house…
But do I feel any more normal?
Hmmmm
My Blog
Don’t laugh so hard, it may be funny but it’s also my life
Lucky