I believe there is a fine line between what one person perceives as a fault, and another sees as a quirk. I may think that way, because I have an inordinate amount of said 'faults'.....That I deem quirks.
I'll expose a few of my QUIRKS, and let you decide.
Just a few mind you. I could fill pages in this mofo of a blog.

So I yell at things. Things that cannot yell back ( they do when I'm stoned though. See banality post below, it's tres scary).
EG. When slam a door on my finger, I hurl a torrid of abuse at the door. I may even punch or kick it for good measure. When I kicked my toe, on my bastard of a coffee table, I picked it up and hurled it on it's side, calling it every dirty, cuss word under the sun.
When I cut my finger the other day, I threw that knife in the sink and did a truck drivers impersonation of someone cutting them off in traffic. I do believe I told it to "go fuck" itself. I'd like to see a knife do that. Like really.
I reached an all time new high, for my 'quirkability' factor, whilst brushing some knots out of my hair the other day. The brush got tangled and the pain was bringing tears to my eyes and making me lose my mind in frustration. I yanked it severely ( enough to rip several thousand strands of my hair out) called it a "cunting, fucking bastard" and threw the brush at the wall...Only I missed and it flew out the open window.
If I hit anyone down below, I sincerely apologise. It was the wanky, fucked up brush's fault.

Oh yeah. I swear. A lot. That's a fault/quirk. Whatever.

I hate washing up. Now this is an odd one due to my germaphobia. You'd think I'd be all pedantic about washing the dishes. Sadly, I am not.
I can leave pots and pans "to soak" for days and days. My record so far was ten days. I had cooked risotto in this pan, and eventually had to throw it out because it was beyond cleaning.
I wish someone would invent disposable pots and pans. They could sit in the cupboard next to my disposable cups and paper plates. Ha!

I'm always late for social occasions. It's to the point where my friends tell me to arrive an hour or so before the actual time, hoping that I can then arrive when everyone else does. It doesn't work. I always manage to rock up late. It used to annoy my last boyfriend soooo much. He found it "disrespectful and rude", and would often leave without me. He couldn't understand how I could arrive on time or early for work, yet leave friends and family waiting. I guess put like that, it is rude, and I'm also a hypocrite because I despise waiting for others.
I honestly don't do it on purpose. I just lose track of time when I'm 'off duty' so to speak. You know how there's pub time or club time? Where you look at the time one minute and it's 11pm, next time you check it's 4am? That's my weekend. I operate on 'steph time'. I'm like a clock with no hands.

After sex I'm not a snuggler. Once I cum, I roll over and go to sleep. I'm like a bloke in the sack. I get my rocks off and start snoring. It's in your best interests to cum before me, because I turn into a dead root before your very eyes.

If you're my friend, lover, relative or acquaintance. There is a huge chance I'll blog about you at some point.
The supertards, cast me sly sideways glances, when they're telling a story about a retarded escapade. They know I'm always on the lookout for blog fodder, and although they do like to see the odd reference to them, or a headless picture, they'd rather I post about how gorgeous, talented or intelligent they are. Not about their drunken shenanigans or anal sex adventures.

Of course that is only a tiny snapshot of my faults/quirks. I have millions more, but I think I've exposed myself enough for one day.