Someday my Prince will... get rescued?

I realize its only been a week since I started this blog, but I've already had time to over-think it.  I've told myself I have to be smart enough, techy enough, geeky enough, to attract and interest an audience.  As with many things in my life, my philosophy has been, "I have to be different."  Everything in my adult life, from picking career paths and colleges, to choosing lover and boyfriends has revolved around this one, driving, nearly pathological sentence: I have to be different.

The thing is, I am different.  I'm artsy, and (if you'll pardon a little self-horn-tooting) smart, and geeky, and feminine, and a thousand other dichotomous elements that all somehow fit to make up me.  As are we all, I suppose.  All us "self-rescuing princesses" have at least two people running around in our heads, each whispering sweet (and not-so-sweet) nothings in our ear about our role in society, our needs and desires, and how they do or do not fit with typical gender roles and the modern world.

I suppose that's where I should have started.  Where, exactly, does a self-rescuing princess fit into the world?  Its not as though I'd be entirely content with a white picket fence and a dog and a neglectful husband, like the housewife of the 1950s.  However, its not as though I want to find myself in a relationship with an emasculated man who is more worried about whether his belt matches his shoes than how to provide for his family.

But there is the part of me that wonders, and worries, what kind of person will see me, my independent, fervently perfectionistic, and altogether ungainly nature and say, "hey, break me off a piece of THAT!"  Certain of my male friends have cautioned me that I have the potential to attract a certain percentage of unwieldy douchebags, to which I can attest, but I have to wonder, when does it end?  When do I find the person that's my perfect match, who sees the self-rescuing princess as well as the vulnerable human and still wants to hang?  

Perhaps he's not out there.  Or maybe, just maybe, I might have to rescue him.  Perhaps he's locked in a tower somewhere, with a dragon and a gorgon standing guard, and all he's waiting for is a kiss from a self-rescuing, prince-rescuing princess to break the evil spell and set him free.  I know, and if a frog had wings, he wouldn't bump his ass when he hopped.

Still, I will cling steadfastly to my hope, and believe that he's out there, waiting for me to come find him.  Because with out hope... well, I'm not a pretty picture, no matter how much makeup you slap on my face.