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, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: When was the author first introduced to blogs? Options: - after a few friends started writing family blogs to keep in touch with family and friends - not enough information - after having a baby - before having a baby
after a few friends started writing family blogs to keep in touch with family and friends

(Question)
November always dragged around the station, but today was one dead Sunday. Not one car pulled off the interstate all morning. Nothing hit the drive but a thin steady rain, puddling slow rainbows in the oil. Me and Harnie just tilted back our chairs against the cigarette rack, watched the monster movie, and waited for the game to start. The big flying turtle was about set to barbeque downtown Tokyo when the drive bell rang, and up sluiced a car so damn gorgeous it hurt to look at it. A '37 Buick Roadmaster it was, painted a red so rich it was nearly black, that straight eight engine whispering like a lover while teardrops of rain rolled down the chrome grill. Out climbed this tall fellow, dressed like God's grandpa done up for a wedding or a funeral. His skin was brown as a buckwheat cake, with creases deep as drainage ditches. Took a mighty long stretch of sweat and toil, love and birth and dying, to carve a face like that. He flexed his shoulders, then rolled his neck till it cracked. He pulled a pack of Camel straights from inside his vest and flipped one out. "Got a light?" His voice was deep and warm, half gravel, half honey. I tossed him a pack of matches through the open door; he caught it left-handed, then flipped it open, folded over a match, and struck it with his thumb. "This the town with the dead fiddler?" he said after a long drag on the smoke. "You might say so," I said, ignoring the look Harnie gave me. Nobody talked about her; I wondered how this fellow had even heard about her. "Ain't a fiddle, though. It's a cello, like in the symphony." The stranger shrugged. "Close enough." "She ain't d-dead, neither," Harnie said. "M-more sleeping, like." He puffed out a wreath of smoke. Then another. "Let's go wake her up," he said. "You best not try, mister," I said. "She been sleeping for thirty some year." According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: what day did the events take place? Options: - Christmas day - Sunday - not enough information - Thursday
(Answer)
Sunday

Oh, yes, I accidentally insulted a bully. It was awesome. This was about a month ago. It was the last day I worked. Memorial Day at the city rec center is SLOW, especially when it's beautiful outside, but for some reason, we had two front desk attendants: me, and "bully #1". Bully #1 clearly had a major distaste for me. She hated my tattoos, the way I would get into a heated debate one day with a police officer patron, then have a fantastic conversation with him days later about legalizing marijuana. She hated that I was liked, but still could give fuck-all about what others thought of me. Bully #2 was our financial director, who got stuck as the manager on duty that day. I honestly never had a clue she didn't like me. She was intense and sarcastic with everyone. I liked her style. On this day, I really got the feeling they were trash talking me pretty hard, the way they kept disappearing, talking over me, laughing like mean girls. I blew it off, because I was down an internet rabbit hole, trying to wrap my brain around some concepts. I was looking at a word, and while I like to think I know exact definitions, sometimes I ask people their take on it. Many psychological terms have some subjective meaning. I spun around in my chair, locked eyes with #2, and asked her: "What do you know about Machiavellianism?" I swear to God, all I wanted was her take on it (she's a smart cookie), and all hell broke loose. I now realize that she thought I was passive-aggressively accusing her of said word. They got really nasty (behind my back, of course). They retreated to the back for awhile, and left me by myself. Cue loud, mean girl laughter. When #1 resumed her post next to me at the front desk, I calmly told her, "I'm cashing out, and leaving. I'm uncomfortable." And I did. It was noon. We were closing at 1. I figured those bitches could handle it on their own. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: Why didn't Bully #2 like the author? Options: - not enough information - They had differing stances on marijuana legalization - They had too many tattoos - They were too political
not enough information