sexuality is, like, totally fluid, you know?

On Saturday, AK, Nicole, Annie, Meehan and I went to Dyke March LA 2006 (as the printer-made letters at the front of the, um, parade spelled out). It was basically 50 chicks walking down Sunset to a Silver Lake bar. A few people lamented that alleged infighting had broken Dyke March into two, making both marches smaller. But to me it seemed nice and cozy—such a welcome alternative to the expensive, uber-sponsored official Pride activities (though the eternally fun Bangles did make WeHo Pride more than worth the money we didn’t actually end up spending, thanks to AK’s ability to sweet-talk security guards).

One cheap Gauntlet beer after we arrived at Dyke March’s destination, we were all suddenly talking about boys we thought were cute—a Brad Pitt vs. Vince Vaughn discussion that has taken place in sorority houses everywhere (as has plenty of girl-on-girl action, I’m sure). Although Christine did specify, “I like boys and girls who look like Brad Pitt.”

Sunday was all about heterosexuality, as I attended my friends Lizzy and Mars’ wedding in Santa Barbara. Except it wasn’t, because even though the ceremony was, in many ways, your basic white-dress-and-tux affair, there was no bouquet toss; there was no one-man-one-woman talk in the vows; the matron of honor said something in her toast about wanting the best for all her friends’ “spouses or partners”; and the one other gay girl from my high school tore up the dance floor with her wife. A good wedding is in the details.

And maybe the straights and the gays can get along after all.