n 2003, I accidentally dated an alcoholic. He came as an accessory on my Prius. I got to know handsome Johnny O. (not his whole name) while I awaited the delivery he promised in four days. And during the four weeks I was dropping in on the dealership to check on my anticipated Prius, he began courting me in a car man kind of way, demonstrating how his smart key could open my vehicle without even touching it, showing me how to change the oil, change a tire, hot wire a car, skills I’d never use, but I liked the way he was teaching me. He would worry, he said, if I were abandoned along a roadside somewhere: fearful, cheerless, Johnny O.-less. This man rolled the odometer back on my feminism thirty years. Single and celibate, I suddenly got hormonal, helpless and girly.

Mr. Fepper: Okay class, today we’re going to analyze the novella A Rue, a Sunset, and Loss by David (pronounced Daveed) Hopkins. You all read the first chapter?

Class: mmmhmmm.

Mr. Fepper: What did we think of the first paragraph? Let’s start with “And Edwardo Cranberry opened the door with his right hand.”

Applicant information.

1. Name:

2. Suggested nickname for future use by alarmed local reporters and inept local law enforcement:

3. What, in your opinion, were the three most fucked up things that happened to you in early childhood?

Hello Calypso customer. Thank you for your recent order. This e-mail confirms the receipt of your order for “The Game of Thrones” box set. You will be contacted when your order is ready for shipping.

Washingtonians, this Wednesday afternoon, come to the Starbucks on 1600 K Street to become acquainted with some young, interesting, average income level Asian American guys and gals. Instead of meeting Asian American doctors, lawyers, and consultants, you’ll meet Dr. Dre copycats, alcoholic paralegals, and T-Mobile wireless salespeople.