This was 20 years ago, maybe. My girlfriend (at the time) and I were planning to go on a day trip on a Saturday, and so the Friday night before, we decided to celebrate our mini vacation by having a few drinks at a local bar. It was a known hangout for bikers, and had a reputation of being a rowdy place, but I was on good terms with a few of the regulars, and felt safe enough. As the night wore on, I started getting out of control, and didn't even realize it. I loved my girlfriend deeply, and had no desire to be with anyone else, but that night I was most definitely not myself. I was told that I openly flirted with the barmaid in front of my girlfriend, bet and lost on the pool table several times, and tried to start fights with some of the patrons, as I strongly suspected that someone had slipped something into my drink. At the time, I was a seasoned drinker, and the amount of alcohol I had consumed that night was pretty minimal in comparison, so naturally I was convinced that someone was messing with me. To this day I'm still not sure if my drinks were spiked, or it was just one of those nights. I do know that I hadn't eaten prior to that, so I would tend to choose the latter culprit, even though it pained me to admit it. I woke up the next afternoon in my own bed, with no memory of the trip home, a screaming hangover headache, and no girlfriend. She eventually forgave me, and we were together off and on for a few more years before we grew apart. I haven't set foot in that bar since, so I have no idea if I'm barred, or how the people there felt about me. I hope they've moved on, but I'm still too scared to find out. It's an experience I never want to repeat, even though I didn't actually experience anything. :/ According to the above context, answer the following question. Why was his girlfriend mad?

OPTIONS:
- He drank too much
- not enough information
- It was Friday
- They went on vacation

Answer: He drank too much

Problem: OPTIONS:
- Relieved
- Sad
- not enough information
- Annoyed
Q: For a month, anything I consumed would result in me rushing to the wash room and throwing up. When this started, I thought it's something to do with what I had previously eaten which was stale and was having a reaction to bad food. When the problem persisted for a week where I was barely able to keep my food from coming out, I went to visit my doctor. He asked me questions and gave me some vitamins and pills before and after food to stop the vomiting. They didn't work. Even though I was not sexually active, I got my self a pregnancy test which showed negitive. I tried to eat healthy, but to no avail. 15 mins was the max my food was inside my stomach. I was becoming weak from all the throwing up and rapidly loosing weight. I went to my doctor again and he said I was stressed. Wrote me some more pills. Nothing worked. My Mom got paranoid and took me to another doctor for a second opinion. The doctor asked me to write down everything I ate with the number of times I threw up for the next 2 days and return to his clinic. Only then, were they able to diagnose that I was lactose intolerant!! Milk, milk products, cheese, butter, cream, nothing seems to agree with my stomach anymore. Surprisingly this is what I used to eat - cereals with milk, eggs with butter, pizza, pasta, lasagne, cheese with bread, tall long glasses of iced coffee, frappes and bam, my body would reject them within 15 minutes. It was terrible switching from coffee with milk to black coffee, until I started developing a taste for it. Pizza's are something I still can't eat. I need to remove the cheese from the slice and unfortunately my body is able to only take one slice of Pizza. Pasta, white sauce is a strict no no unless I want to feel bloated and throw up. So yep. My doctor was unable to diagnose me. Thankfully I did take a second opinion. According to the above context, answer the following question. How does the mom probably feel now?
Answer: Relieved

input with options: It was their first official date. Greg Tenorly and Cynthia Blockerman had been through quite an ordeal together--being hunted by police for the murder of her abusive husband while they ran from the real killer. But all that was behind them now. All charges against them had been dropped, and Cynthia's husband had been buried. And the rumors would have died down eventually if they had gone their separate ways. They could feel the stares as they walked to their table. Greg had requested the most private booth, way in the back. Coreyville Pasta House was the oldest Italian restaurant in town. And still the best. Mama Castilla had run the place for over thirty years. She had taken over for her grandfather in 1973. A sign on the wall said so. Cynthia ordered the Fettuccini Alfredo. Greg went with his favorite, the Chicken Parmesan. Both ordered iced tea and salad. The bread and olive oil with roasted garlic and pepper came with every meal. Greg could not resist great bread. And this was the best. He tore off a chunk as soon as the waitress delivered it. Cynthia would wait for the salad. "So we're finally on a real date," said Greg. "Yeah. So how does it feel?" "Kinda weird and scary and...wonderful." Cynthia smiled and Greg momentarily forgot all about the amazing aroma in the restaurant. All he wanted to do was kiss her. But that would have to wait. So, his hunger came rushing back. Cynthia's mood turned serious. "I don't want to spoil our date, but I've got to tell you something." Greg wondered if he had done something wrong. He could fix it--whatever it was. "I've asked Mom to move in with me." "Why? I thought she was happy living in Marshall." "She was." "What do you mean? What happened?" "The other night a friend of hers was murdered. And the woman lived on her street. They killed her nurse too." According to the above context, answer the following question. When Cynthia Blockerman's husband die?
OPTIONS:
- After he was murdered
- not enough information
- He was killed by Cynthia Blockerman
- He was killed by Greg Tenorly
output:
After he was murdered