what seemingly normal skills did you never develop?
i can't roll a joint to save my life and can usually only parallel park if the spot is the size of a luxury liner.
i've tried, believe me, but a drunken monkey is more skilled than i am in both situations.
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cooking is my hobby and i can't make rice for shit. i can't even make it properly in a rice cooker.
it's my secret shame 
edit: i should say i can't make white rice. i'm perfectly capable of making brown rice.
But I can twist a joint! 
my whistling isn't that hot.
Or at least I did when I used to hit the back country roads when I was a college student (a Southwestern Univ. tradition we called it rolling whether it involved alcohol or weed). 
Since I don't drive anymore, I have to break for bong hits instead.
It is terrible that I can't whistle though since I'm musically oriented.
Nice guy; marginal typing teacher. 
Awkward in mine as well. 
Which would not be flattering to my round head and face. As I said, having it short would mean going regularly to have it cut, which would mean going to a salon. I have reasons for hating hair salons.
First, as a child my Mom insisted on my hair being short and would drag me to a beautician's college for a cheap haircut. She always promised I could say how I wanted my hair cut, but what I didn't know was that she'd call ahead and tell them no matter what I said, they should cut my hair very short. As I got older I developed allergies to fragrances and everything in the salons was scented. By the time we left, I was crying from the desecration of my hair and sneezing from the stench of the place.
Finally when I got into high school Mom finally relented and left my hair alone. In fact, she was relieved to not have to spend the money to have it cut when I was so ungrateful. But for my high school graduation picture she insisted that I go to a salon so my hair would "look good." They trimmed it, curled it sprayed about three cans of lacquer on it to try to get the fine stuff to stay in place. Then they applied makeup - at my mother's insistence. I went directly from the salon to the photographer.
The pictures are somewhat impressive - the photographer managed to catch the fire in my eyes, LOL. Not only was I upset at having to go through the process and insults at the salon, for the first time in the history of our town, the photographer had decided that all the senior girls had to wear a frilly drape, rather than the plain velvet ones he'd previously used. I HATE frilly, always have. I was completely pissed and not one of the photos has me smiling. Some friends say the pictures have a certain energy in them they don't normally see in my - I suggest they should be happy they've never seen me so angry. 
The finale to the day was when I went home and immediately took a shower to remove the artificial layers. Mom hit the roof - for the money she spent she wanted me to at least leave the hair and makeup for one day. No way in hell! I told her she'd have the photos forever, I wanted to get that crap off my face and out of my hair. 
I've never been a make-up wearer, so I'm completely clueless how to do it (and equally clueless as to why anyone would want to do it).
I look like how I look...never any weird false expectation to live up to.
I have gorgeous nails, though. 
i'm probably the one who's going to be eaten by the bear my smile for photos....omg, no. just no.
i can, however, play cards. cribbage and gin are my favorites.
As long as you can run faster than somebody, you have a pretty good chance escaping the bear.
Still earning my "traditional male" card there 
(yes I know fixing stuff is a non-gendered thing, a joke there)
mostly to the toilet, but nothing major. that's what the husband and property management company are for
snap my fingers (or whistle) (or sing worth a darn)
but, I have an uncanny ability to do most everything else
doesn't stop me, though
from school the day they taught it. 
I am getting better, I always know my left when I am driving but in other situations lefts and rights make no sense to me.
Tough break on the joint rolling, lol. That's a must for me!
Not the artistic type (which I can't do either) but the painting-the-walls type. My husband has forbidden me anywhere near a paintbrush and paint can for good reason. The paint ends up everywhere but the wall.
And using chopsticks. I end up "flicking" what little food I've managed to maneuver onto the things. I'd like to blame it on the fact that I have small hands except I see little Asian kids manipulating them just fine. And yes, I am the jerk in the Japanese or Chinese restaurant that has to ask for a fork else I'd starve. 
but my dad's family are new york jews, so it's a must.
i painted part of a wall once at work and was terrified i was going to make a horrible mess. didn't get any on the carpet, just my jeans 
but just barely
I can say "NO" a dozen times in a row, and people hear "Yes." Until I'm screaming "NOOOOOO!!!!!!!" at which point I'm immediately labeled bad because I yelled at them. 
I have literally found myself asking people how many times I am required to say "no" politely before I'm allowed to get upset. So far, I've hit 18 times and had it ignored. That one was a record.
Most people love talking about themselves.
Got so tired of trying to figure it out tonight I gave and told every to google the picture.
...Never COULD stay inside the lines, even to this day, fifty years later. Guess I'm strictly a left-brain person.
At parent-teacher conference, my first-grade teacher (it's a compliment to call her that...) just went ballistic that I couldn't color; never mind that at age six I knew the names of all the planets, and had memorized the Greek alphabet, was reading on an eighth-grade level and doing arithmetic at a sixth-grade level (she couldn't get past "He's working at his grade level with his peers".... ) I was an abject failure in her eyes becuse I couldn't color worth a crap.
Life at good ol' Lickskillet Elementary...........
And me a lapsed Trekkie!
And it's damn hard for me to repeat myself without stuttering.
Hula hoop? Jump rope? Strange, exotic activities that are beyond my ability.
That paddle with the rubber ball attached to it with a rubber band? Yeah, I'm Gov. Le Petomane, not Hedley Lamarr.
