Problem:OPTIONS:
- Other bloggers who call themselves a travel blogger
- not enough information
- Those who read the author's blog
- The author of the blog post

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: We all present these glossy lives to the world; coffee cups presented to dewy sunrises, champagne in airport lounges, luxurious restaurants that cost more than they should and share the blue skies days of exploration. I'm as guilty as anyone. But, what about behind those scenes? Those days where the wind is so strong you can't instastory for talking (I'm looking at you Cornwall), when travel mistakes happen (like in Vienna where I accidentally booked our trip a day short) or when everyone asks you what your next trip will be and you sheepishly have to answer 'er, not sure'. So I thought I'd get a few things off my chest, and confess a few of the reasons why I probably shouldn't be calling myself a travel blogger. And yes, these are all very much first world problems. 1. I hate photographs of myself. Ironic, no? Especially when one of the first rules of blogging is all about the cult of personality. I just don't like them. I wish I did, but there are few times that I fancy a photo and even less when I like the result. 2. We nip into a MacDonalds at least once every trip. It has now become a tradition between nicer restaurants to nip in and order a Big Mac and fries at some point of our trip but especially in Europe for some reason. Why do their MacDonalds meals taste better? 3. Pastels aren't really my shade. Again, I wish I could be super girly, twirling in gossamer skirts painted in spring shades but I'm just not. My colour palette is decidedly autumnal/jewel hued and usually sticks to a scarf draped around my neck in a hopefully fashionable manner. And I'm totally ok with that. 4. I once travelled all the way to New Zealand and back (stopping in 3 countries enroute) without a lens cap on my brand new, fairly expensive camera. This is in no way a #humblebrag about the trip, but a comment on how impractical I can be and how careful I also am. I lovingly wrapped my camera in a soft scarf every day for 3 weeks, growled under my breath at anyone who looked like they might jostle me and at one point found... Question: Who doesn't want to be called a travel blogger? Answer:
****
A: The author of the blog post

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: So, there I was. Hanging out in my swimsuit, hair drawn back, just minding my own business and relaxing in the delicious, luxurious Scandinave Spa, a stone's throw from Whistler town centre. The husband and I had split up for the afternoon he had decided to traverse the peaks of Whistler and Blackcomb on the peak2peak gondola, and I'd chosen a slightly less terrifying mountain vista to enjoy. It was just one of those days where we'd decided happily to do two different things, and meet up afterwards for a spot of dinner. Cascading down the hillside, the Scandinave Spa's rustic installations nestle on the edge of the Lost Lake Park spruce and cedar forest and promises to both relax and invigorate you, and provide an escape from daily stress. With several levels of hot and icy plunge pools, sauna and steam rooms, everyone wanders from indoor to outdoor relaxation spots from sun-soaked spot to waterfall spout back massages. Bliss. It's also a place where silence is "essential to the experience. By embracing silence one finds inner stillness, leading to complete relaxation." To be honest, most people who couldn't be quiet i.e. me just talked in hushed tones, but it made for a super chilled few hours. Until I was sitting in one of the steam rooms (does that make the title clickbait? Sorry using the title 'steam room with Lady Gaga' made it sound as though we were chickens cooking in a slowcooker) and a very, very slim blonde lady slipped in. Queen Gaga herself. I've got to be honest, sticking to the 'no eye contact with other people who are chillaxing' rule, I didn't pay very much attention to what was going on, but after 25 minutes or so of basting relaxing, I stretched languidly my bones like toffee and wandered out to the next room, and looking up from the drinks table, had to blink several times as she followed me out. Trying to play cool, I tried keep a poker face (after all, she was there to relax and recuperate in the middle of a big Canadian tour, she didn't need a random Kiwi gawking at her)... Question: How long was Lady Gaga at the Scandinavian Spa? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- 1 week
- 1 day or less
- not enough information
- 2 days
1 day or less

Problem: OPTIONS:
- Just before she found out
- After her mom died
- While her mother was dying
- not enough information
Q: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: Yes, after my mother died I found out from my supposed half-sister that my dad was not my birth father. She was 19 yrs older than me and had been living in Colorado since I was young. I was born and raised in N.J. I did not see her she did not come to see us. I was grown, married, had children and was living in FL. when she showed up at my door with her husband. I was shocked since we never heard from her and I did not know she even knew where I lived. She stayed all of about 20 minutes, just long enough to very unpleasantly state that "my father is NOT your father and I am NOT your sister!" I always wondered why my mom hated me SO much, I found out that both my mom and "dad" were having affairs while married and both had children by someone else. I have never met my birth father (to my knowledge) only know his name, but understand that he was the father of my supposed half-brother (which would make him my only whole sibling out of seven siblings.) Obviously my oldest "half-brother", who is 20 yrs older than me, is not actually related to me either. I don't have for sure "proof" about my other siblings, but they all have strong resemblances to my "dad" and each other. Growing up people would comment about how much I looked like my mom but I also was told a lot that you would never know me and my other sisters were sisters, we used to laugh about it as kids because my sisters (all light haired/light skinned) and I (dark haired/deeper skin toned) were very different in appearance but we "knew" we were sisters. I also found out that my apparently ONLY whole brother, approximately 9 yrs older than me, did not even know his real fathers name even though he knew our "dad" was not his birth father. Question: When did her supposed half sister show up at her door? Answer:
Answer:
After her mom died