standing on empty Cigarette packets
If you do it correctly it feels like a soft crunch.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 15:33, 1 reply)

Whenever I drink a bottle of beer
I fold the cap between my fingers until the two fluted edges touch and it looks a bit like a seashell. Or a clunge, to use more b3tappropriate imagery.

I also crush empty household goods tins and always feel a mild twinge of disappointment when I can fold them only in half, rather than in half and in half again. Big tins of ratatouille or ravioli tend to be the best for this as they're easier to grip and the metal is a bit thinner.

Then people give me murderous looks when I shake their hand and accidentally squelch their fingers.
( .Yeti., Wed 7 Jul 2010, 15:18, 1 reply)

After I've eaten a packet of crisps
I have to fold it up and then tie it in a bow. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Oh, and I have to do stuff in even numbers wherever possible. An odd number of anything, no matter how pointless and small, seems wrong somehow.

For example, this post has 3 paragraphs. Aaaaaargh
( Finite "Aardvark sorted out my shit!" on, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 14:11, 11 replies)

Peanuts.
Upon opening a packet, all the intact peanuts must be eaten before progressing to those which have fallen into two halves prior to opening.

No, I have no idea either.
( barryheadwound Mul-ti-pass? Multipass!, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 14:05, 6 replies)

Just making sure
There used to be a time when I couldn't leave the house without checking that the lights, shower, taps, hob and oven were switched off. Sounds like a pretty standard practice when one is going out, right? Doing it several times and then coming back to the house more than once just to make sure? Most definitely a case of OCD. I also had to thoroughly check that my door was locked before I would be happy leaving the vicinity of my flat. These two things combined often meant I was late for work. I put it down to living on my own for the first time and being paranoid about fires and thieves.

I seem to have settled down now and don't do it as much, unless I rush out the house and get an awful feeling that I've forgotten something. I tend to ignore that feeling these days and get on with it.

Unfortunately, this OCDness seems to have transferred from home to work! It has been pointed out by my boss that I have a routine for locking up, which involves:

1. Checking the front shutter is down.
2. Check the aircons in zone 1 and 2 are off.
3. Check the printers are off.
4. Check the aircon in zone 3 is off.
5. Check the shutter is down at the back of zone 3.
6. Switch off the lights in zone 3.
7. Check the kitchen appliances are off.
8. Check the store room door is locked.
9. Check that the offices are locked.
10. Repeat steps 1-9 three or four times.
11. Switch off the lights in the entire workshop.
12. Drop the main shutter and lock the outer door.
13. Walk halfway home and resist the urge to go back and check everything again!

I think I need help ...
(Happy Little Cupcake desires macaroni pictures., Wed 7 Jul 2010, 13:37, 2 replies)

ok then, who
when visiting the toilet wipes their @rse then smells the wipe?

come on - be honest.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 13:24, 25 replies)

with reference to Enzyme
I have a mac, at home and work, and cannot bear to have mess on my desktop. So I have a small number of folders (documents, pdfs, odds n sods, stats) and many subsidiary directories.

I also have a clear desk at all times, and an absolute minimum of paperwork.

If I see mess, I bin it.

But only at work.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Wed 7 Jul 2010, 13:17, 2 replies)

Merry, Pippin
Samwise, Frodo

The whole race is a bit queer if you ask me.

Oh wait, bizarre habits...
( Cloudane, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 13:12, Reply)

Actually, with reference to the original example..
I'd like to stand up for Mrs Light Vessel Automatic's right to indulge in a little coloured peg co-ordination. It's something I indulge in myself and it does nobody any harm.
Free the Washing Line One from this mental tyranny! I say. Now, where's me pitchfork? Oh yes, it's filed away alphabetically in the "Earth Arranging Implements" sub-section of the garage.
( Cave Duck, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 13:12, 4 replies)

I can't
masturbate unless there's an 'R' in the alphabet.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 12:49, 1 reply)

I can look at almost anything
When I was at school and we did dissection, no problem. Who was the one who popped open the bulls' eyes for the squeamish? Who blew down the tubing stuck in the pig's lungs to demonstrate? Who stuck the middle finger in the pig's aorta while humming the 'moshops' theme tune? Ok I got bollocked for that one, but my point is I am not at all worried about the insides of nature's creations.

Except when I am eating.

When I am eating, if there is any talk of guts, blood, piss, shit or whatever my meal instantly transmogrifies, a la 'The Lost Boys' in to a plate of writhing offal/maggots/bile. Right now I have stopped scoffing my ham sandwhich lest I imagine I am chawing down on a cock in a bap. It'll be ok in a few minutes after I click 'post this message'.
(mersault, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 12:10, 6 replies)

I'm not sure this counts, Winged beasts
I don't like things flying about me. Big houseflies, craneflies, anything with a sting and black and yellow stripes. Wasps are fucking evil bastards. Anything that buzzes truth be told. The buzzing noise gets in my head and even when the insect has pissed off again, I can still hear it.

If a bee is nearby, I don't go into a quivering screaming wreck like Mrs SLVA, flailing her arms and running away. But all the same, I'm not comfortable. I was stung once when I was 16. I was cycling along on a hot day and one flew into my mouth and stung the inside of my bottom lip before I spat it out. That fucking smarted I can tell you.

However, when I've been sitting in the garden over the last few days, a smallish bumble-bee keeps lands on the arm of the garden chair. At first I recoiled and stood up, but I've become used to it. It will land there and do what I assume is some sort of grooming process. Of course, it might not be the same bee each time, but I'm fairly certain it is. I've called it Wether (as in Wether-Bee).

Now, whenever I go sit in the garden, I'll get a bit of honey on my finger and dab it on the chair arm for it and it laps it up with its tiny bee-tongue. It is the most absurd thing. I want to get it to eat from the end of my finger but I still don't have the bollocks for that yet because if it flies up and about my head I'll get the heeby-jeebies all the same.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 12:06, 8 replies)

Underneath the Habit.
At university I spent every Sunday afternoon hanging out in the University Parks with my mates. I suppose we went there because it was a suitably open space in which to batter each other with swords, spears and Dane axes.

Yes. I'm a Viking at weekends. (Hi Wychwood!)

But this is not a tale of bizarre Dark Age habits. Oh no no no.

This is a story about another Sunday afternoon regular in the Park. The 'OH MY GOD, HE'S TAKING IT OFF' monk.


Now, Oxford has several Permanent Private Halls. These are religious foundations which admit undergraduates. Some of these undergraduates are monks. And they wear habits, sandals and beards. Really.


I believe the protagonist of this story to be a Franciscan.


So we're all strapped into our armour and fighting a pitched battle in the shade of the large tree by the gate, when this chap wanders towards us along the path. And he does look just a little like he just got off the set of Monty Python's Holy Grail.

No one bats an eyelid, men in habits are a familiar sight in Oxford, and anyway a bunch of Vikings are in no position to go "Ha-ha, a man in a dress".

Then he bends over and grasps his ankle length, brown woollen habit by the hem and starts to pull it up...




...revealing pale, nobbly knees...







(now we're staring)






...and a pair of enormous...









...bright red...











...running shorts. He was going for a jog.



Healthful exercise in the fresh air. He's a friendly chap, we wave at each other from time to time.

But it's always a joy to watch the faces of passers-by who have a different preconception of what's under those robes, or have mistaken this Godly fellow for some kind of habit-wearing-flasher-pervert.


Jogging monk, we salute you.
(HaHa!Snakes! was last seen on, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 12:02, 1 reply)

Right Click
Right click and Refresh (like a thousand plus one times) on the OS desktop when idle; it made me think I'm pushing it out of bed.

Apparently IBM ps/2 mice (Made in Ireland circa 1996) are the sturdiest and they don't 'click' they 'tap'.

See here: www.blogiseverything.com/images/old_ibm_mouse.jpg

Length? 4 Million Clicks before changing jobs (wish I had nicked it) :)
(Ymob is a kaburu, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 11:59, Reply)

Taskbar
This is fairly minor, in the scheme of things... but the taskbar of my office PC has to show what's running in the right order. Running from left to right, it has to show Outlook, then any browsers that're running, then any other programs - preferably ordered Word, Excel, Adobe (though it's not so important).

If Outlook or IE crashes - and both do with alarming frequency - the other programs have to be shut down to, and then reopened so that they're displayed in the right order on the taskbar. For them not to be in the right order is just... wrong.

The taskbar itself has to be at the top of the screen, and the display has to be in "windows Classic", with the colours of the titlebars altered a bit. If I get a new PC, my first task is always to update the layout of Windows.

*insert joke here*

EDIT: This only refers to the office PC. I have a mac at home, and the taskbar's on the bottom of the screen there.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 11:59, 11 replies)

Guinness
After taking each sip, swig or draught, I find myself rotating the glass clockwise (as viewed from the top) about 72 degrees or so, once the level's below about three-quarters full.

That way, you end up with a nice clean glass at the end of your pint, in contrast with those common amateur quaffers whose messy pint glasses have foam wastefully plastered all over the place.

Is it too early for a drink?
(BrianHequator was stretching owls, on, or around, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 11:47, 7 replies)

One I've picked up recently
and I found it in a letter in Viz so I'm not claiming credit. One excellent letter read:

Whenever I hear the Autoglass advert on the radio, I have to sing "Autoglass repair, Autoglass replace. Jism in your hair, jism on your face."

I told it to Mrs SLVA who tutted and groaned. But then next time we were in the car, it came on the radio so I sung it. And then the next time, and the time after that.

Now I sing it when it plays on the radio whether she's in the car with me or not.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 11:40, 1 reply)

when Im on my own
and say, its dark and I think there may be ghosties about. (even though I actually dont beleive in ghosts)

I sing a improvised song saying how I mean no harm, and that you dont need to try and scare me.

Its difficult to describe, but i also do it when Im fishing. If I stay until the last bit of light is in the sky and its more or less dark, Ill have to walk back from the pond across the field to my car, in the middle of no where, with a load of bags and fishing gear in the pitch black.

Ill pull out a full on dance/song stamping my feet, "If there are any ghosts about, I mean no harm, Im just trying to get home lalala"

Typical though, you hear branches snapping and trees rustling, you think its ghosts chasing after you, but its probably a fox, or Squirral.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 11:08, 5 replies)

Car Years
Our car gets one "car year" older every 1000 miles. She gets wished Happy Birthday every time the clock ticks over.

She is now 15 car years old.

My last car was traded in at the ripe old age of 66.

Also when driving past a field with animals in you have to make the noise of the animals. Sheeps easy, cows and pigs easy, we just looked blankly at each other when we passed a field of Llama.
(Yellow Car is now red, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 10:23, 16 replies)

I have a rabbit called Arthur
I've had him since April 17th 2004, and he's been in my house during my married life, during my sofa surfing, I kept him through drug rehab (with the help of friends) and I now have him living in my garden, providing hours of entertainment for my son, in my refreshed-marital home. To be honest, whilst I was living as a drug addicted crook, he got more care than I did - although I had to twist arms, cajole and threaten to be able to keep him with me, safe and well.

Sadly, he is very old and ill and will probably be put down at 5.10 tonight, if he makes it that long.

He has a bizarre habit of shagging a plastic bucket. We never had him castrated. We also put a plastic bucket with a pattern and handle on it into his cage. There is no handle left. Nor is there a pattern. He shags it almost constantly and cuddles it at bedtime.

I'm half surprised it has never got pregnant.

EDIT - Turns out he wasn't just old, but had a massive growth he'd managed to ignore for months. So now I have a sad day, an upset wife and a bewildered three year old to deal with.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Wed 7 Jul 2010, 10:00, 4 replies)

I recently developed a 'new one'...
...while watching teh World Cup foopball:

Every time a commentator mentioned the South African player Tshabalala, I felt compelled to respond, “Twiddly dee-dee”.

(If anyone’s wondering, it’s from an old song - “Mockin’ Bird Hill”)
(minimalist ..., Wed 7 Jul 2010, 9:57, Reply)

He's not even all that short.
My buddy Dan is a normal, well adjusted young fellow. However, he once admitted to me "If I happen to be walking in the direction of a pretty woman who is standing with an un-ladylike wide legged stance, I'll adjust my breathing rhythm to get an inhale as I walk past them, just to see if I can get a whiff of fish."
(I grew it myself, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 9:42, 2 replies)

I always do a poo at 06:30 every day...
Trouble is, I don't get up until 07:30!

I-sank-ooo!
(SatchmoR No, mummy, don't put knitting needles in my ears!, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 9:30, Reply)

Highlighting
When I read text on my computer, be it emails, documents, web pages etc - any text. I click and drag my mouse and highlight it, turning the text blue Blue.

I have been doing this for so long, that i no longer notice I do it, although I have been shouted at by colleagues for the constant clickity click noises when I read emails.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 9:19, 8 replies)

Sometimes
I wear sandals with socks. And the rest of you think you're weird.
(Smale is stuffed, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 7:07, Reply)

Not sure if this counts, because I reckon loads of people do it secretly
Every so often, the various vulgarities of my diet can lead up to a certain amount of... lets just call it a build-up downstairs, which can be quite difficult to shift. So far so normal, happens to us all at some point or another. Bear with me while I describe the evacuation process.

It starts off normally enough, sitting on the crapper emptying my bowels. However, then I come across a problem - there's still some left, and it doesn't seem to be budging. Time for a good old-fashioned strain. I grit my teeth, settle in for the long all, and push with all my might.

Here's where it gets weird.

I somehow get it into my head that I'll be able to push harder if I take my shoes off, since they prevent me from clenching my toes. I don't know why I think clenching my toes is going to somehow magically make me push harder, I just do, and I'm not in the most rational from of mind at the moment, what with the blood-vessel-popping strain-age and so on.

So off come the shoes. What comes next is even weirder.

I somehow convince myself that all this straining is putting my shirt at risk, and that if I don't take it off, it'll split apart like in the old Incredible Hulk TV show. Can't have that. Off it comes.

Then I'm left with my trousers, underpants and socks all in the vicinity of my ankles. Trust me when I say you feel a bit of a prat looking like that, so it takes the work of mere moments to kick away my pants.

So that leaves my with just my socks. Nobody likes being naked EXCEPT for your socks, so off they come.

And so, now that I have disposed of all these deterrents, I can go back to the eye-watering, ear-popping strain of trying to finish my crap in peace. Or as close to peace as I can get in that situation.

Thing is, I reckon I'm not the only one who does this, I reckon there must be loads of people out there who do the same thing, but it's not exactly something you can ask in casual conversation. Anyone else with the same affliction out there? Speak up. We could have out own club. We could grab a beer or something. best if we skip the curry afterwards though, eh.
( Spunk Murphy Tchaikovsky is a synonym for fanny, apparently, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 6:06, 9 replies)

umm... dont have any **really** bizarre habits (I think...)
although there are a few things I've picked up from my mum - I can't put a pair of shoes (new or otherwise) on a table - it's very bad luck to do with new shoes, but I can't do it now at all. Also, when I buy soap, I have to take it out of the packet and leave it on the side for a few weeks first. Why? when my mum was taught domestic science in the fifties, she got told if you did this with new soap first before you used it it would last a lot longer as it dries out first. as a kid, we always had a big glass jar in the bathroom full of unwrapped bars of soap. and I do it to this day.

cold pizza - when I was at sixth form, I had a number of jobs washing up in various restaurants around town - one of them, a pizzeria/trattoria type place, everyone would take a pizza home for supper after work every night. I lived about a half hours walk away, so my pizza would be cold by the time I got in. now if you put it in the microwave, it went all soggy, so I just got used to eating it cold in front of the tv when I got in. even up until just a few years ago, I had to let my pizza go cold before I could eat it.
(tjn whizzing on the electric fence of life, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 6:06, 2 replies)

"mileometer" = odometer
i like turtles and nod my head in the direction of the clock when i notice it is 1:11 or 11:11, giving the universe a silent howdy-do-glad-to-be-here kinda thing as I am sure something terrible in the future will happen at 1:11 or 11:11.
(goorf, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 5:13, 1 reply)