Trisha dreamed of being a Playboy Bunny since the days she still had buck-teeth and fried egg boobs. She blu-tacked page threes above her bed-head and had me snap topless Polaroids till they littered the floor. She told me to imagine she had 36DDs and peroxide blonde hair. I used to wish like hell that she wasn't my cousin. When she was fifteen Trisha started putting out for the boys in the Kwik-Save car park for a tenner a time. She said she was an entrepreneur, not a prostitute. She started going steady with a kid called Keith. He was a fryer in the fish and chip shop. He had a future and a Ford Cortina. She got a job waitressing and she worked all the hours she could. Keith couldn't handle me and Trisha being as close as we were. Especially the time he caught Trisha bending over me in nothing but a frilly market stall thong while I worked the angles best I could to get a dangle-shot. Next night he took her in the car park woods and doped her up to the eyeballs. He took out a bottle of India ink and told her he would etch the love-heart she'd always wanted. Instead, he safety-pinned the word 'inbred' into her arse. Trisha's step-dad tracked the spits of blood and found her sobbing in the bathroom of their long-stay static. It didn't take him long to slap out the truth. He went straight round to Keith's place with a crow-bar and did enough damage to make sure he'd need more than laser treatment to put things right. Keith wasn't rolling in spare change so Trisha's step-dad took the Cortina as payment in lieu of her getting herself fixed up. Trisha got me to stash the Cortina up the lane at the back of Boyes' farm. Weekend nights, I drove her out to the dual carriageway truck-stop where she found a faster way to make her fortune in the fogged-up cabs. According to the above context, answer the following question. Trisha probably did not:
OPTIONS:
- Prostitute herself
- not enough information
- Have a violent step-dad
- Become a playboy bunny
Become a playboy bunny

Greg Tenorly drove the familiar route from the church to his music studio, studying the homes along the way. He wondered about the families who lived in each one. Like that two-story brick on the corner. What secrets were they hiding? Was the husband abusive? Did a teenager use drugs? Was the family nearly bankrupt? How could anyone know? It was better not to know. The mind can only handle so many problems at one time. He wondered where Troy and Cynthia Blockerman lived. Greg had appeared at the courthouse that morning as part of a jury pool, only to be released. He and the rest of his group would have to return the next morning. He hoped they would not need him. The church would pay his regular part-time salary while he was serving on a jury, but any private lessons he missed would be money lost. Greg's red 1965 Pontiac Bonneville convertible always turned heads as he drove through the small town. He had purchased it two months earlier from a career Navy man down in Longview who had babied the thing for years. It spent most of its life in the man's garage, coming out only when he was on leave. Most trips were to the car wash or the Pontiac dealer for scheduled maintenance. Greg gladly paid $4,000 for it. The sailor called him the very next day and tried to buy it back. He said it was like losing a member of the family. Greg felt bad, but not bad enough to give up the car. How could a 40-year-old car have only 93,000 miles on it? It was dazzling. His little studio was near the town square, nestled between Coreyville Hardware and Susie's Sewing Box. Occasionally he and a student could hear a pipe wrench or hammer hitting the floor on the hardware side. But things were always quiet from Susie's side. At least the soundproofing he had installed kept his neighbors from hearing his students. You can't teach music without hearing both beautiful sounds and sour notes. According to the above context, answer the following question. Who is Cynthia?
OPTIONS:
- Greg's girlfriend.
- Greg's student.
- Greg's coworker.
- not enough information

Answer: not enough information

I've often been asked, "What is a blog?" This is my attempt to answer that question in a simple way. The word blog is short for web log and although the quick answer for me would be "a web journal" or "online diary," I think blogs encompass more than that. Blogs are platforms for people to write about pretty much anything and everything. I was first introduced to the concept when a few friends starting writing family blogs as a way to keep in touch with distant friends and relatives or keep up with documenting their lives for themselves or their children. Sort of like a modern day scrapbook or baby book. Then, I followed a couple friends as they blogged about traveling around America. One's purpose was to find a small town to settle in and the other's purpose was to kill time while unemployed and waiting for a call to serve as a minister. Now I follow all sorts of blogs. There are blogs about dogs, traveling, kids, cooking, religion, fitness, politics, crafts, parenting, writing, educating, interior design, you name it! There are even blogs about blogging! Individuals run blogs. Groups of friends run blogs. Businesses run blogs. Religious institutions run blogs. Blogs are a way for people to connect over certain topics and interests, socializing in the ever-growing blogosphere. Chances are, you've read blog posts without even realizing it. Most look like an article you'd find on any website. But blog posts typically have a personal touch. They're a wonderful way for people to share tips, tricks, tutorials, inspiration, and more with others. If you want a more thorough definition of the term blog, this one is from Wikipedia. Blogs are also a way for businesses to advertise through honest reviews and giveaways. They partner up with bloggers to spread the word about their products or services. So, some bloggers are also advertisers. According to the above context, answer the following question. Who was first introduced to blogs when friends started writing them?
OPTIONS:
- the author
- not enough information
- the author's daughter
- the author's wife
the author