You're not baggage claim, you're a luggage thief. You aren't doing anyone a service - you're fetishizing that which does not belong to you because it's easier and safer than dealing with whatever your personal crap contains.

I'm going to guess your mom is kinda crazy. Mine is more than kinda. As a consequence, I dated a shit-ton of absolutely bat-shit women. In other words, I speak from experience. So lemme throw 20 years of collected wisdom at you and give you a brain hack: Find the "sane" in the crazy and the "crazy" in the sane. This serves two purposes: It gives you something healthy to see in the crazy people and makes the sane more attractive to you, and therefore more datable.

The crazy people know they're crazy. They aren't generally happy that they're crazy. You popping a hard-on over their craziness doesn't make them feel any better, either - it's like chubby chasers for the morbidly obese. Not only do they know they're morbidly obese, they have to deal with the fact that the only people who find them attractive are messed in the head. By focusing on the things that make them normal, you reassure them that they're normal and that normal people can love them.

The sane people know they're sane, but they equate "sane" with "boring." By finding the wild'n'crazy shit associated with perfectly sane women you help them convince themselves that they are a little different, that they are unique, that it's okay for things to not always be perfect and that rebelling a little is healthy and normal. More than that, though, it allows you to approach them as people within your dating pool and trust me - you'd much rather end up with the sane ones.

My wife is completely normal and sane. She's also incredibly hot, a doctor with a thriving private practice and an impossibly good baker, knitter, vintner and jeweler. There was a perfect window of opportunity, though, when she thought she was a ruined woman (her first marriage collapsed). And I was able to see her as "damaged" for just long enough to realize how stupid my standards were, how badly I was screwing myself out of happiness and that goddamn it, I was entirely within my "rights" to pursue women without excess "baggage."

And that's why I've been married to a hot doctor who wears size 2 pants for ten years... instead of a bisexual wiccan ex-stripper with a latex allergy.