I don’t know why I fall for the Crazy Beautiful Black Woman type time and time again—I just do.
Impressively, I can recognize a Crazy Beautiful Black Woman from a distance and, even though it might be hard, I can leave them “as is” from where I stand.
To my detriment, my weaknesses include big hair, big booties and smooth skin. If I encounter a Crazy Beautiful Black Woman with these 3 attributes (my 3-point system) the instinctive side of my common sense will usually override any visible warning signs, or whistles to be heard. Consequently, I often push the priority of intelligence, mental stimulation and respect behind...
In this instance, my common sense was eroded over time. Yeah, she looked good and she was rocking a 2.75 on my 3-point list, but I knew she was crazy. So I let 13 years go by while I remained content with glancing her at clubs, parties and local hangout spots. No, I didn’t stalk her. I didn’t have to. We always seemed to be in the same circles separated by a few degrees of acquaintances. Still, I knew she was crazy.
Nonetheless, I wanted to know her privately. If anything--because I knew she was crazy--I was good about the whole thing. I mean, I never even asked her to dance, for her number, nathan. Instead, I watched her dance with other guys and from a distance and I’d vicariously enjoy it. I even watched her talk to other dudes while she melted in their stares and it was all good for me.
About11-years-deep onto my admiration, she began to smile and say “Hi” to me in passing. Although we never talked, I was sure she was aware of me and that was good enough. You see, I knew she was crazy, so I let her be, and I never let it bother me despite my intense magnetism toward her.
Instead, I pursued other avenues like posting ads on Craigslist’s to find more CBBW's... I actually thought the CraigsList thingy was a promising one. I saw it as an opportunity to ask for what I really wanted in a woman. So one day I posted with the header: "Erikah Badu, where are you?"
I got 3 responses and 1 of them was from her, the Crazy Beautiful Black Woman.
I didn’t respond to her even though I really wanted to. I just couldn’t get over the embarrassment nor the claustrophobic feeling that the secrete world of my admiration was shrinking.
Interesting enough--within 2 weeks of my post and her reply--she trapped me with some casual conversation at one of my weekend hangouts. She began to small talk me, and captivate me with her smile and erotic aroma. To say the least, the CBBW crushed whatever defense I had left.
To make a long blog short, Crazy Beautiful Black Woman called me 3 hours later and for some dumb reason I thought it to be a perfect moment to build up my courage and admit to her that I had a “confession” to make. Before I could spit out the words of my 13 year crush and Craigslist post, CBBW asked for my home address and said she was on her way to my crib.
15 minutes later, she arrived at my door.
1 hour later, we were both naked.
4 days later, we were nurturing a sexual relationship, and I assigned her a unique ring tone on my cell phone (Andre 3000 “Spread”)
About the 5th day, I visited her house for the first time and she told me not to come over again unless I had “something” for her and her daughter. “I’m a single mother,” she told me. “And you can’t come to my house unless you’re bringing something in,” she snapped.
I felt her, I really tried to feel her. I made myself feel her and when I thought about it, I don’t think that it was what she said, it was how she said it. She literally turned her clinched her teeth, and got in my face to say, “Don’t ever arrive empty handed.”
*Please also note: It hadn’t been a week and although we were in this accelerating relationship, I wasn’t comfortable with the role of “Step Daddy.” At least not yet.
Day 7, I returned to her door empty handed and she immediately held her hand out beckoning for whatever it was that I was supposed to bring.
Luckily for me I had an unopened, 1/2 gallon jug of the Earth’s most precious substance: water in my car. So I hurried down and back up the flights of stairs to give it to her and she just stood there, unimpressed, unmoved and unhappy with a half gallon of the most purest sunstance on the planet.
Day 8 (around10am-ish): Beautiful Crazy Woman called me up to cuss me out because I didn’t bring her and her daughter any “Milk.”
I’m not sure if it woulda’ made a difference, but I hate milk and most dairy products like Islam hates alcohol. I didn’t even bother telling her about my disdain. Instead, I just let her go off over "milk." Not bacon. Not bread. Not an electricity bill. But "milk." All the while I was being reminded of Allen Iverson's reponse at a press conference when they confronted him about his constant tardiness and ensuing punishment for being late to practice…”Wer’e talking about practice,” Iverson said “Practice. Not the game. Not the game that I go all out for and sacrifice my body. No, not the game... But practice.”