I don't mean to sound like Yacuub or anything, but I noticed that several of the descriptions of these women include the term "light-skinned." My psycho had a white mother and black father, about 5'9, legs for days, and would fuck anywhere, anytime (picture a lighter version of Mary Jane from "Half-Baked."). She would lie about shit so trivial that I can't tell you much about the chick because unless I could verify it personally, it's subject to being complete bullshit. I sorta realized it at the time, but man, at first the chick was unreal! We met and fucked immediately and often. Lost touch for about a year. She came back to town and again we fucked immediately and often. Then one day came to my job (back when I was struggling; didn't have a car), picked me up in a white Bronco II suv, took me to the crib and handed me the keys. "It's for you."
Just like that. Needless to say, she had my undivided attention.
A year later we were still together, and it was a 750 Katana. Just like that. Everybody thought I had it going on with this bitch. She looked good but it was torture, like testing all of your psychological limits at once. I started writing shit down because she had that Jedi Mind Trick shit down pat.
MY Dumb Ass: "Didn't you pay the light bill?"
Loca: "No, I paid the gas bill."
MY Dumb Ass: "Oh, I thought you said you'd paid it...ok, well, here's some more money because I'm stupid."
Loca: "Ok, baby. I love you." (immediately goes off to probably get a room to fuck a co-worker)
Oh yeah, she had scammed that Bronco. So imagine my surprise to get off work one day months later and my parking spot was empty. Repo'd. Oh well, wasn't really mine anyway.
The 750 was a scam, too. I hear muhfuckas in my garage one Saturday morning, I run out to the kitchen in a towel and I'm looking at three white people in my garage looking at my bike.
CAC #1: "Oh, we're sorry. We're here to pick up the motorcycle."
CAC #2: "'She' said nobody would be here. We're with blah-blah-blah Financial, etc."
My cell phone rings. Its her, telling me some shit about how its temporary or some shit. Truth is they hadn't been paid in months and were threatening legal action. Repo'd.
More and more lies. Fights over lies. My missing tools and her broke-ass mother's sudden appearance--coincidence? Pawn shop slip says not. This kind of shit happened all the time. Good times mixed with horrible, life-changing moments of baffling lapses in logic.
I escaped this wretched succubus during Hurricane Rita. When Houston evacuated, every hotel room in a 600 mile radius was booked and we wound up in Birmingham, Alabama. I picked a fight with her, grabbed my shit and left her ass at the hotel. My cursor to god, I felt as free as Andy Dufresne at the end of "Shawshank."
Oh, and I think she may have been married the whole time we were together.
Sorry I'm rambling, but whatever mistakes I've made in the past are now lessons learned. And whatever knowledge I can pass on to another that can draw something from it and avoid this bullshit is all worth it to me. Shit, if you're in Houston I'll help you move.