When I was 7, I played this computer game where you were "babysitting" and you had to make sure everything was safe for the kids. One of the tasks was that you were supposed to make sure the windows were closed. Well, one game I forgot to close the windows, and these super creepy, red eyes popped in the window like they were looking in at the kids. That literally has made me paranoid about people looking through my windows ever since. When I was 10, I watched an episode of CSI where some guy had a foot fetish and painted his victims toenails before murdering them. Now, something about red toenails just creep me out. I've never been able to shake that episode. When I was 11, a girl in my class told me that she had played the game "Bloody Mary" in her bathroom and explained to me what it was. Ever since then, I literally cannot be in a dark bathroom, and if something happens like the power goes out or something, I instantly close my eyes and get the hell outta there as fast as I can. When I was 15, my boyfriend wanted to take me to "see his grandpa's farm". I legit thought he was taking me to meet his grandpa. Well, turns out, he was just wanted to get me in the middle of nowhere so he could take advantage of me. After he had raped me, I felt like I was smaller than an ant. I felt absolutely trashed. I had always planned on being a virgin until I got married. But he took that from me. On the way back home, we drove over this bridge. I remember driving over this bridge thinking that I was totally worthless. Now, almost 10 years later, every time I drive over that bridge, I get horrible flashbacks and avoid it at all cost. Her boyfriend thought she was - gullible. - weak. - not enough information - an easy target.
an easy target.

(Question)
With regular money now coming in from the Guardian column, my regular contributions to other publications and the modest subscription revenue from The Friday Thing, I had been living something of the high life since arriving in London. I had started hanging out with the great and the good of the dot com world: attending launch parties for new sites, going to parties to celebrate them staying in business for a whole year, eating their lunches, drinking their booze and learning their secrets while they tried to convince me to write about them in my column. Many of these online entrepreneurs had become my friends and I'd managed to find myself a new girlfriend - Maggie, a Welsh journalist who was a restaurant reviewer for a food and drink website. This was a brilliant blag: it meant we could eat at some of London's best restaurants and never pay a penny. Life was wonderful: The Friday Thing and the Guardian column meant that my plan to use the Internet to become hugely famous and successful was firmly on track, I'd made lots of new friends, and, on top of all that, I was getting laid and eating gourmet food for free. Even Sam Lewis was jealous, and he was rich. Meanwhile, the people I was writing about were not having such an easy time of it. 2003 was a really strange time to be covering the 'new media' industry - mainly because no one was really sure for how long there would be an industry left to cover. The dot com boom of 1999 seemed like a millennium ago: a period in history as crazy as the tulip craze or the South Sea Bubble look to us now. The first signs of trouble for the industry had come in 2000. As the century turned, so had the market and - to use the parlance of analysts - the boom had turned out to be a bubble. And then the bubble had burst. What was the main character's job title? - not enough information - tv personality - food critic - journalist
(Answer)
journalist

Ques: PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots. He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking. He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration. "Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul. "Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting." "Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents. When was Paul doodling on the napkin? - While he was drinking. - Before he went to Key West. - not enough information - After he met Pete.
Ans: While he was drinking.

Ques:As a mother, I'm right now navigating the hardest moment with my two daughters and my son I was raped at 15 and molested by a teacher from 1516 it took 13 years of fighting before I saw any justice for those crimes and it paled in comparison to having to live with that trauma for the last 25 years. I thought I had moved past it for the most part, thanks to supportive family and lots of counseling and medication to treat my treatment resistant depression I've struggled over the last 25 years. I will be 40 this year. My son, the oldest, turned 15 this year the same age I was when it began. I see how young he is and recognized for the first time just how young I had been when I was abused. That was really hard for me, emotionally. Now, I look at my two girls, ages 9 and 3, and worry for their safety - probably more than I should, but understandable given what I went through. We have had lots of "body safety" talks and my older daughter understands the very basics of what I went through, mainly because I have spent a great part of this past year writing a memoir about my experiences and have begun speaking publicly about what I went through and what it means to be a survivor. This is challenging because it's hard to talk about and explain to a child in a way that they understand without making them fear the world. I struggle with this often. I've chosen to use it as an opportunity to teach them about activism and the power of speaking the truth, what it means to be a survivor instead of a victim. I hope they grow up and see just how strong their mother is and how she has worked in the community to raise awareness and help others. After the end of this story, the author is probably: - not enough information - feeling stronger than ever - wanting to become a teacher. - getting more counseling.

Ans:
feeling stronger than ever