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You know, there's a lot about me that's pretty great. Not to toot my own horn, but (ahem) beep-beep. I'm female-which, some would argue, already slots me in "Choosers" over "Beggars"-I'm really very physically attractive, I have a great sense of humor, my hair behaves well most of the time, and I really make a concerted effort to bathe daily and not talk to myself. And yet, after years on the dating scene, I've learned that my exact configuration of traits is specifically designed to attract psychotic sociopaths.

This is not an instance of artistic enhancement. I'm being quite literal. What I'm referring to is not one of those conversations you over-hear at the grocery store ("So then i was like, 'okay, this dude is crazy,' and he was like, 'i mean your friends are nice and everything,' and i was like, 'look, guy,' i said to him, 'look, whatever, okay?' God! Crazy!") No. I'm referring to people you genuinely want to like, and probably would like, if they were receiving the treatment they needed from the appropriate professionals.
You want a horror story? I'm almost afraid I'd be violating someone's patient privileges. But how about an anonymous sprinkling of crazies, to give an idea?
The very first date I ever went on was practically a blind date. I was in high school, and a good friend of mine at the time was a gay boy a few years older than me.
Yes, as a matter of fact, I AM aware that a gay club-kid is not who you want to delegate husband-shopping to. I learned this from his friend, Nick.
Nick met me one time. He was in the car when my friend dropped me off at a party. He was in the back seat for ten minutes worth of car-ride and decided he really liked me. My friend (queen of tact that he was) relayed this information to me on the phone the next day: "Sooooo....Niiiiiiiiick.....I think you two should go out!"
Wow, just like that?
I agreed to go out on one date with him. Nothing adventurous. Dinner and a movie.
He was late to pick me up. I got in the car and he immediately starts with, "So I know we were gonna go to a movie, but I don't get money from my mom that often, and i kinda wanna keep it. So let's just go to dinner."
Dinner was at Burger King. Where we paid separately.
After our meal-which took all of ten minutes-he segues into relaxing conversation with this verbal ninja-strike:
"Soooo, what next? I mean, what next that's free? Ooh, I know...we could just go in the back seat and make out."
No. We couldn't.

Then there was Crazy

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