I Hate Confrontations

Irv here--

I hate confrontations, but I had a humongo one today with Kwan. We were in her friends' apartment drawing up plans for her to make public appearances around SF. The first one she wants to schedule at the Asian Cultural Fair later this month. Right in the middle of drawing up her platform speech, she slams down her Macbook and demands to know if I've been sleeping with the chubby kid, Marcus and if I killed my grandparents.

"No and No," I told her. "That chubby kid will kiss anything. I saw him kiss his video Ipod yesterday. And as for my grandparents. Look, my father has always been deranged. He wasn't there last Thanksgiving. Uncle Vick had taken out his antique handgun collection during hors d'ouvres and my grandmother got scared. That's why she brought her shotgun out from the kitchen. She shot off my two fingers. You know that!"

"But who KILLED YOUR GRANDPARENTS!" Kwan yells, and her friends come in.

"Uncle Vick killed them," I told her. I didn't care that her friends were there listening. "He shot my grandmother "in self-defense" he said, and he shot my grandfather because my grandfather said Vick was a lousy cook. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?" ...and I lost it. I just lost it.

I threw her macbook across the room. Her friends freaked out and screamed. I tore a little fake gaslamp light fixture off the wall. I ripped my own t-shirt, pulled it off and threw it at her, and left.

Right now I'm shirtless, at an Internet Cafe in the Castro district. And yeah, I'm VERY popular.

That's why I hate confrontations. I don't handle them well. I do everything I can to avoid them.

I don't know where I'm going to sleep tonight. I don't even care.

Irv.