I Love Me Some Crazy

I have a problem.

It seems that in order to be really attracted to a woman she has to be a bit crazy and have serious hurt potential. San Francisco provides a vast bounty to choose from. It offers up everything from Serious Daddy Issues to Attention Deficit Disorder to the Classic Manic Depressive with serious committment issues. They're interesting and complicated creatures that hold my attention far better than sane, well-adjusted women. I'm not happy about this but it's a reality that I've had to accept about myself. It's probably a biproduct of growing up with a mentally imbalanced mother for so long. At any rate I'm trying to ignore my instincts and stay the hell away from them long enough to get to know somebody who is well-adjusted and genuine. Unfortunately my brain tends to register this as dull even when it isn't. I tend to rely on close and trusted friends to meet them and give me an unbiased opinon as to whether they might be good or bad for me. In the last few months I've made a bit of a breakthrough that has enabled me to recognize if I'm making a bad choice or being drawn to an unstable lady that might blow up in my face. Now, armed with crazy detecting radar my new mission is to find one of these saneies rather than one of the crazies and stick with them long enough to feel connected. The problem is that in order to overcome the attraction boost that a crazy woman has the "sanie" has to be physically more attractive than her looney counterpart. I may have to become an accomplished musician or invent something brilliant that will make me a boat-load of money.

Perhaps there is some mildly crazy and compatible lady out there for me. You'd have to be at least a bit touched in the head to get involved with Krankiboy. I realize that I just spoke about myself in the third person. Normally I feel that is a right that should be reserved for mobsters and professional basketball players but it amuses me and it's my blog.

Somebody should create an Alcoholics Anonymous type group for people who continue to date crazy people who are bad for them. It could be a very lucrative venture to make a 12 Step program to help people wean themselves off of dating people who end up hurting them. That way I could call my sponsor if felt myself slipping and the urge to call that nutjob narcisist chick back and my sponsor could talk me down.

"Kranki, don't do it, my sponsor, Harold, would say. It will feel good for a while but you've come so far to throw all your progress away."

My imaginary sponsor would then try and set me up with fantastic women who had been pre screened by a staff of experts to ascertain that they are free of madness, mania, or compulsive hurtful behavior.

Maybe Tough Love would be a good name for the program. Although that might be too generic.