Your result for The Lover Style Profile Test ...
The Romantic Lover
64% partner focus, 71% aggressiveness, 35% adventurousness
Based on the results of this test, it is highly likely that:
You prefer your romance and love to be traditional rather than daring or out-of-the-ordinary, you would rather pursue than be pursued and, when it comes to physical love, your satisfaction comes more from providing a wonderful time to your partner than simply seeking your own.
This places you in the Lover Style of: The Romantic Lover
The Romantic Lover is a wonderful Lover Style, and is the hallmark of young love--the Romantic Lover often loves the idea of being in love, and being a wonderful lover, and so they try to bring their prospective partners every bit of joy or happiness that they can. They are the serenaders, and the ones to rent carriages in the park or take a gondola ride down a canal. The Romantic Lover is a treasure to find, though they sometimes are prone to being hurt if their advances are ignored or harshly rebuffed.
In terms of physical love, the Romantic Lover can seem shy, but usually it is simply a by-product of wanting to be perfect for their lover, and often needs some extra encouragement and re-assurance to truly feel at ease. Given a special, intimate evening, and the right lover, the Romantic Lover can be a delight in bed.
Best Compatibility can probably be found with: The Classic Lover (most of all) or the Suave Lover, or the Exotic Lover.
You Are 5: The Investigator
You're independent - and a logical analytical thinker.
You love learning and ideas... and know things no one else does.
Bored by small talk, you refuse to participate in boring conversations.
You are open minded. A visionary. You understand the world and may change it.
At Your Best: You are sharp, inventive, and creative. You have the skills to lead the world.
At Your Worst: You are reclusive, weird, and a bit paranoid.
Your Fixation: Greed
Your Primary Fear: Being useless or incompetent
Your Primary Desire: Being competent and needed
Other Number 5's: Bill Gates, John Lennon, Kurt Cobain, Bjork, and Stephen Hawking.
It’s been a lotta years, and we done this dance before, but lately it’s been on my mind again for whatever reason. You, me, how I grew up…
I know there’s days you still don’t believe that I forgive you.
Way I see it, my life could’ve gone two ways. First way was the path I never took. Grow up nursing the bottle to make the visions and the voices stop, living in bars and bordellos hoping to make the pain end one night at a time. Might’ve joined the military, might’ve just been a damn outlaw. Hell, maybe I might’ve lived on the reservation if I found a tribe of them redskins wouldn’t run at the sight of me for being cursed with the Sight. Could’ve been a shaman if I could’ve gotten past my own bullshit. One way or another, I’d have probably died by forty, and that’s if I was lucky…but I would’ve had my daddy, least for a little while.
Then there’s the other way. My daddy, he got killed when he poked at a coffin he had no business disturbing. A good man paid a horrible price ‘cause he got angry at being betrayed by a woman he loved. I got the training I needed with a family that loved me, and you got to untangle the mess you were when you first woke up. You made a hard choice, sending me away, and all while that madness was still swirling around in your head. You saved a child’s life, and all while you were still trying to figure out your own.
Took me some time when I came back here, but I learned that lesson within a few years. I got why you did what you did, and I got the fact that I was lucky. Since then, I’ve learned what you went through, I’ve been stung a time or two by dark magic of my own.
You are every bit a father to me. Respect, loyalty, love…you earned ‘em all and then some. Whatever sins you committed, you already paid for, and you never did less than right by me. Maybe my daddy had to die so you could come along and make something halfway decent of me.
I don’t just forgive you, Dad. I’m grateful…and I love you, always.
I dunno when, if ever, you’ll see this. I have to be honest with myself, there’s a chance I may never see you again. Same line, though, there’s a chance you may never see me again, either. There’s every possibility I could die or lose myself in the task of bringing you home.
And if I never see you again, it’s gotta be marked somewhere that you were one of mine.
I got no blood, Regan. Merle ain’t my real dad, and as much as I love him we both know it’s true. I’m an orphan, have been since I was two. No brothers or sisters, I’ve been alone my whole life. I think you’re different, though, and I always have. Fought it hard, at first, but the more time went by, the more I felt it down in my soul that you and me have always been connected.
It gets dark sometimes, kiddo. Too many years alone, too many years suffering for it…I’m in pain, each and every day, in ways I’m taking to my grave. I ain’t known a moment’s peace in decades, maybe not even in my whole life save for the times we sit down for tea or have dinner, or just visit each other ‘round the neighborhood.
I ain’t as faithful as you, but when it gets dark enough a man gets on his knees and prays. I kneel before my altar, I burn an incense offering, and I pray to Lord and Lady for something, anything to make it just a little more bearable. I don’t even ask for it to stop no more, just for something good. One thing, one tiny thing that will make everything else better, one single light to show me the way.
Regan, I know that I was heard, ‘cause you came walking into my life. The Goddess delivered you to me to answer my prayers, and for that you’ll always be the sister of my soul, if not the sister of my blood. I love you, I can’t help but love you.
And even if I’m dead or too crazy to live as you read this, know without question that I always will.
In other news, think I finally figured out m'dog.( Rory took this in the back room earlier...Collapse )Still
ain't gotten his papers, but I'm pretty sure Uther's a silky terrier. Could be a Yorkie, but his face is all wrong. Plus he's way too easygoin', heard Yorkies are neurotic as shit.
Anyway, he's too little to be left at home, so he comes to work with me. Lisa says I'm a sap, Tink says I'm whupped...Rory eats lunch with him in back. Could be worse, me havin' a toy breed. Silkies are ratters, or so I read, so maybe boy can earn his keep when he's grown.
...and right about now, Regan oughta be around, mockin' the shit outta me for the tiny little dog I stuck m'self with.