Amanda Greever

“Golden Girls” has always been one of my favorite shows, more so now than it when it first aired in the 1980s. Just in case you’ve been living under a rock or a bridge, the show showcased the adventures of three women, Dorothy, Blanche and Rose, celebrating their golden years while living together in a house in Miami. To round out the group, you had Sophia, Dorothy’s 80-something mother, who had a razor-sharp wit. Sure, the show was filled with laughs and hijinks, but the writers still managed to tackle some tough issues in the show.

Take an episode I watched this past week. Blanche, a true Southern belle, received a visit from her baby brother Clayton. She’d been worried about him because he hadn’t dated or been involved with anyone seriously since his marriage had broken up. So, Blanche set him up with a lovely woman, but the date didn’t go so well.

I’ll skip all the details and hit the big finish: Clayton was gay but was scared to death to tell Blanche. He wasn’t sure how she’d react and if she could accept him. It took her some time, but by the end of the episode, which was called “Scared Straight,” she wanted to see her brother happy, whether with a woman or a man.

That episode aired in 1988, and over 20 years later, homosexuality is as big an issue as ever. Maine is the latest state to say no to gay marriage. I liked the phrasing a Time article used: “30 straight state elections.” That’s the winning streak of gay marriage opponents. The article also called gay marriage “an issue that simply will not go away.” Really? Do we expect it to? Sure, election after election is knocking gay activists back a bit, but do we really expect them to simply quit fighting for what they want? It’s not just about the right to marry whomever they please. It’s about rights, period.

A friend of mine recently got a new job. She’s a lesbian and in a committed relationship with another woman, but her boss didn’t know when she hired her. However, on her first day, the boss keeps asking questions about my friend’s personal life and significant other. My friend, getting more uncomfortable by the minute, kept dodging the questions, simply saying, “It’s complicated.” However, the boss wasn’t to be deterred and kept asking question after question, refusing to take a hint. And finally she got the info she craved when my friend came out, saying she was a lesbian and dating a girl.

The boss was shocked but not really upset. However, my friend began to panic about the security of her job because hard as it might be to believe, there are no rights protecting gay people from losing their jobs. Sure, you would think it would be blatant discrimination, but no, there aren’t laws saying so yet.

While the fight for gay rights may be a hot topic right now, the issue dates back a long time. The first actual gay-rights march was held in 1969. Of course, the support for gay rights was as vehemently opposed back then as it is now.

It’s been 40 years since that march, and where are we now? Looking back at those 40 years, we have the AIDS scare of the ’80s, the brutal murder of Matthew Shepard in the ’90s, Prop 8 and other atrocities that make me hang my head in shame as one of those straight people of this nation. But in those same 40 years, you have the first marriages to take place in this country. And yes, it may look like a losing battle, but gay rights is gaining more and more support.

I realize that there are plenty of arguments that could be cited on both sides. One can state religious reasons, the other constitutional ones. But I like to look to Blanche of the “Golden Girls.” She wasn’t a fan of homosexuality. She didn’t believe in it, but at her core and in her heart, there was something more important: she wanted to see her brother happy.

Do we really want to live in a society where we choose to see others unhappy? Should my friend really have to be worried about losing her job because her sexuality might not be the “norm?” Should she really have to be worried to let people know the love of her life is another woman, and that one day, she wants to marry her?

I don’t know, maybe I’m just beating a dead horse again. I guess for me, it goes beyond religion and the Constitution. Maybe human rights are the most important reason of all.

I had a conversation with my friend Jon that left me both disgusted and dismayed.

I lamented to him that it seems that a good chunk of my friends are getting married, having babies (or getting pregnant), moving and/or getting new jobs. We started discussing the stages of marriage and how having a baby can impact the relationship.

Jon is happily married with two beautiful daughters but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a little jaded. The conversation started going downhill when he noted that women “turn off” as soon as they are with child. He even went so far as to say that women will use sex to get a ring.

But those weren’t the most offensive comments. No, Jon implied something much worse. He started making the argument that women latch on to a mate who can provide security, safety and oh, yeah, a baby. He noted that throughout the course of mankind, women have sought out men because only they can provide the necessities: survival, shelter, protection, food and children.

It was at this point in the conversation that I really started to get irritated. He wasn’t willing to give into the notion that women don’t really need men for any of those things anymore. In his opinion, we still look for a mate that can provide what we want. He spoke of symmetrical figures, health, the ability to provide, et cetera. He said both men and women look for these things. In other (my) words, men look for women who would be a good “breeder,” and women look for men who look “spermy.”

Yes, that’s blunt, but this man had managed to make romantic relationships everywhere nothing more than a means to an end: the continuation of the human race. No, it’s not that I think procreation is the furthest thing from our minds. In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future lately, and I’d love to have a house full of children. However, I don’t look at a potential mate and wonder what his sperm count is nor do I want him to look at me and decide that I have good birthing hips.

I already have commitment issues. I already have trust issues. I’ve never actually had a relationship that wasn’t dysfunctional in some way and now I’m supposed to wonder if he will be the provider and sperm donor every girl secretly wants.

Yes, relationships further the human race. Babies are made and popped out every day somewhere on this planet. However, a man’s ability to give me children isn’t at the top of my list, and I don’t think it was at the top of Jon’s either. In his opinion, we have progressed far enough that we don’t have to specifically worry about whether a mate will be a good provider … that’s just a built-in function in our brains.

Here’s the thing. My ideal man is intelligent, funny, quirky and absolutely crazy about me. Yes, if things go swimmingly, then we will look at the next steps: marriage, kids, a dog and a cat.

To me, babies and continuing the human race are things that simply happen. Every day someone makes the choice not to have children, but on the flip side, every day someone finds out that a baby is on the way. That isn’t met with a “Sweet! The human race isn’t going to end yet!”

Perhaps buried beneath all my cynicism lies a romantic that still thinks boy meets girl and fireworks shoot off in the sky.

No matter how many times I’ve seen “Steel Magnolias” I can’t help but watch it again anytime I chance upon it.

That was the case this past week as I was relaxing on my couch trying to wind down after a Monday at work. You know the kind. As I flipped through the channels I came across the smiling faces of Sally Field, Dolly Parton and company in Truvy’s salon getting ready for Shelby’s big day.

“Magnolias” is one of those movies that never gets old. Maybe it’s because Field reminds me of my mom. Our relationship has its ups and downs, as most mother-daughter relationships do. Or maybe it’s the fact that this movie can always produce tears. Not just a drop or two, but the kind that make you grab a pillow and squeeze it tight. And sometimes a good cry is needed.

Or it could be my kinship with one of the  residents of the fictional town Chinquapin, La., the one who I envision myself becoming one day. Ouiser Boudreaux, played by Shirley MacLaine. As she puts it, she’s not crazy, she’s just “been in a very bad mood for 40 years.”

Ouiser is lovable, despite her bad attitude. And she would bend over backwards for those she cares about, especially her best friend Clairee Belcher, played by Olympia Dukakis.

Clairee is the socialite of the town. She’s posh, classy and has more money than she knows what to do with. Whereas I see myself becoming Ouiser, my BFF will definitely be Clairee. It’s fitting, if you think about it.

In some ways, I think I’m already a Ouiser. The older I get, the grumpier I get. I’ve noticed the same thing about my brother, so maybe it’s simply a Greever trait. And the grumpier I get, the less I like people. I also find that I’m much more likely to tell you what I think than I used to be.

I was raised to sugarcoat things. Problems were kept within the family as it was no one’s business but ours. And I grew up hating conflict. I would rather wash and wax your car than get in a fight with you. I was sweet and nice and all those sickly sappy things.

Well now, I’m a grown-up, and things are certainly different. My problems and heart-felt thoughts are aired each week in this column with more than 20,000 people. OK, we have more than 20,000 subscribers but I know that not everyone reads it.

And it’s not that I necessarily enjoy conflict these days, but I don’t avoid it like the plague. I don’t bite my tongue, even when I should. And if I’m grumpy, which is more often than not, you’re going to know it.

As one friend put it, my grumpiness is part of my “charm.” Maybe he’s right and it’s one of my endearing qualities, although not at the top of the list. Maybe it’s as cute as some suggest, but I doubt it.

So instead I’ll just go ahead and prepare to become a “Ouiser” of wherever I finally end up. I’ll be the crazy cat lady that children will taunt and dogs will bark at. But as long as I have my support system of those who love me despite my grumpiness, I can face anything. I think.

I grew up in a family of football fans. I’ve cheered on the Vols for years, just like other Tennesseans. I was a Cowboys fan when my brother and mom both cheered on Joe Montana and the 49ers. OK, I cheered Montana and Jerry Rice on, too. Who didn’t?

So it never occurred to me that I could ever become a “football widow.” No, I haven’t gotten married and not told you all, but the phrase is the best to describe what I’m getting at. For those of you who don’t know what the term means — although I think you can figure it out — I’ll make it simple.

Football is an obsession for some. It can apply to basketball or baseball, too, but we’ll just focus on football today. So football season starts, and your man becomes glued to his TV with a remote now a permanent fixture in his body. That is unless he can afford season tickets to his favorite team. Mr. Football Junkie becomes so fixated on watching the ol’ pigskin get tossed around that he suddenly doesn’t have as much time for his significant other and friends anymore.

I’ve seen it happen. My grandfather loves football. It’s one of the things that makes him happiest, I believe. He definitely has to watch the Vols, the Colts and the Titans. But it doesn’t just have to be a team he cares about … he might just watch a random game. Granny got pretty good at tolerating it although I know she had to be bored silly some days. They just celebrated their 64th wedding anniversary this past week so obviously football didn’t create an impasse they couldn’t get by.

And now I’m having to realize that I can’t quite compete with football, either. A good friend of mine, who we’ll call HB here on out, has proven that he will watch pretty much anything. Sunday Night Football … he’s in front of his TV. Monday Night Football … same place. Even a Friday night, and don’t even get me started on Saturdays. But here’s the amusing part. It doesn’t have to a team he gives a flying flip about. With the college teams, it could be no-name schools in Alaska and he would probably still watch it. Seriously.

And then there’s the big game between the Vols and the Georgia Bulldogs, HB’s team. If his beloved Dawgs lose, he will not speak to me for three or so days. And I’ve learned not to make the mistake of telling him that it’s just a game. Any diehard fan knows better than to say that.

So what lure does football hold over a guy that watching a football game is more enticing than yours truly? Especially if it’s some no-name team! Then again, women have been asking this question for a long time, and I’m not sure that anyone has ever found an answer aside from pulling out a whipped cream bikini or something.

Oh come on, I’m sure it’s happened somewhere.

And I do realize that it’s not just women that are left neglected when it comes to the big game. If the Vols are playing, I plan to either be at Neyland Stadium (still trying for that one) or planted in front of a TV somewhere. And I’m sure I’m not the only fanatical female out there when it comes to her team. So don’t get me wrong. I’m not questioning football fandom. I’m questioning football random. There’s a big difference … or is there? I’d love to hear your thoughts so shoot me a line.

A while back I wrote a column about a friend of a friend who went to a strip club with her new husband on their honeymoon. I was baffled at both behaviors: that of the husband having so little respect for his new bride and that of the new bride having so little gumption and being unable to say no.

Strip clubs have always been a curiosity factor for me. They hold a mysterious appeal to men and sometimes women. But the question is, why?

As one friend put it, do these people have so little imagination that they need this type of stimulation in their face? I’m not so concerned with lack of imagination so much as how much it actually costs to look but not touch.

If you’re the type that can’t fathom the very notion of a strip club, look at it this way. It’s like taking a shopping trip, paying to try on the most expensive dress and then leaving it at the store. Has your time been well-spent in that endeavor or does it just leave you unsatisfied?

Or as I heard one GUY put it the other night, it’s like paying to go to a restaurant and having a fabulous meal (let’s say steak) placed before you. You can look at the steak and you can drool over the steak but you’re not going to get to see if it’s as good as it looks. On top of all that, you probably have to buy a couple of drinks just to look at your forbidden feast. It gets even more expensive when every few minutes you have to drop another 10-spot.

I love what one of my other friends told me, though. She has a cousin that lives in Las Vegas, and he’s single. His married friends have been strip-club attendees while on a business trip. The cousin, being the single one, is still the one that hasn’t gone. He finds it disrespectful to women (go, friend’s cuz!) while the married guys see no problem with it. I’d love to know what their wives think although I would bet my own 10 that the ladies are clueless.

So what draws men to strip clubs? Is it that fact that every single lady is putting herself through school, no matter what her age? Really, I don’t quite understand why that’s the common excuse for taking off your clothes for money. My school certainly wasn’t that expensive.

What circumstances could possibly drive a woman to that profession? No, I’m not trying to judge. Desperate times do call for desperate measures. And I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have the body to do it. Various strip clubs advertise X number of pretty women and one ugly one. What man in his right mind is going to get excited at the thought of seeing an ugly woman on stage? And how do you feel if you’re the ugly one?

I know that strip clubs hold a certain allure to guys. Hey, you just turned 18 … you can go watch women strip. Hey, you’re getting married tomorrow … you should totally go watch a bunch of women take their clothes off. Hope it doesn’t hurt the honeymoon. Or maybe you can go together WHILE you’re on the honeymoon. Nothing says “I love you” quite like a lap dance from another woman.

I’ll never understand it. There are plenty of other ways to find entertainment that are cheaper and a lot more sanitary. And the ladies at these clubs deserve more respect than this can ever afford them.

Amanda Greever is assistant managing editor for print at The Daily Times. She writes a weekly column in Women’s Times. She can be reached at 981-1163 or amanda.greever@thedailytimes.com.

Long-time readers might recall a column from last August in which I talked about my first tennis tournament. My BFF (formerly known as Best Gal Pal — she didn’t like that name) and I went to Cincinnati for the Western & Southern Financial Group Masters & Women’s Open.

Her draw was her favorite tennis player Rafael Nadal, of Spain. For me, I didn’t really give much of a flying flip about tennis, but I was excited to go and hang out with her. And then once I got there, I discovered the tourney held a very different kind of appeal for me. I didn’t care so much whether the ball was in bounds or returned … I just enjoyed watching it be hit. Nadal and his opponent Novak Djokovic both managed to look pretty and muscly with each swing of the racquet. And there was something to be said for the “power of the grunt” as I put it last year.

This year’s tournament was this past weekend, but we didn’t go. No, our place wasn’t in Cincinnati. It was at St. Mary’s hospital since her father had been admitted only a couple of days before. He’s been battling cancer for quite a while now, but last week seemed to be a turning point for him.

Don’t get me wrong … we had tickets for the tourney. BFF purchased them months ago. The hotel and rental car were both booked. And honestly, there was a period of time where we thought it would be safe to go for a day. The hope that she would see Nadal play were dashed Friday afternoon, along with the hopes that her father would improve.

I’d gone over to the hospital Thursday night when she called saying he was having heart problems. She was panicked and frazzled so I finished up at work and headed straight over. I hadn’t met most of the extended family before that night but for the next few days, we were destined to spend a lot of time together.

I couldn’t stop thinking about something her mom said. She noted that even in those dark times, it was still good for the family to be together and that she would be thankful for it later on. It would prove to be sweet and healing, even in the face of such grief and sadness.

And you know what? She was right. As I said, it was Friday evening when we discovered he was only going to get worse and the end was near. At that point, it became a matter of waiting. Folks came out of the woodwork to pay their respects and stop by to say hello to this man they obviously thought a lot of.

And in the midst of it all, family members who didn’t normally talk a lot began finding an emotional connection. Conversations began to flow freely and the hugs became more sincere, rather than an obligatory courtesy. Heck, even I became an honorary member of the family as I struggled to find a way to help. I tried to find a way to be a comfort, but I began to realize that sometimes the most comforting thing a person can do is simply be there when needed. They welcomed me with open arms as if I were actually related to them.

Her father passed last Saturday night. It was a moment of great sadness but at the same time, his suffering had finally ended. It’s one of life’s bittersweet moments when your heart is torn between breaking and being lifted up out of relief. Honestly, I think the hospital vigil might have been more painful than the funeral and grave side service yet to come. As her mom put it, there had already been so much emotion during the weekend, it was hard to believe more could be found. But it seems that our hearts can be never-ending wells of hurt, love, pain, joy, etc.

The whole situation made me do a lot of thinking. I began thinking about my own family and realizing I hadn’t been home nearly enough to see them all. And at the same time, I also realized that even in the darkest of times, a light can be found when you surround yourself by those who love you. So when you finish reading this, go call someone you love, or better yet, give someone a hug. Moments like that were meant to be cherished.

I was flipping through the TV channels this week on my quest to find something to kill a few brain cells with and I stumbled across a new reality show “Hitched or Ditched.”

With a name like that, the main premise behind the show isn’t hard to figure out, but I’ll elaborate further. The producers of this crap show find a longtime couple and give them a week to plan the wedding of their dreams. Here’s the catch, though: the couple is already on rocky ground and the wedding might not actually happen. That decision isn’t made until they’re up in front of their friends and family and it’s time to say “I do.”

I just caught the tail end of the episode, thankfully. It centered around a couple that had been together for a while but hadn’t taken the plunge. She wanted to be able to go out and have a good time at the bars with her friends, and he’d rather she stay at home, even going so far as to try to take her home from her bachelorette party. (She said no, by the way.) Seems another drink or three was her downfall as our groom told her how beautiful she was and how he loved her with all his heart but he just couldn’t marry her. Really, guys, don’t butter us up with flattery when you’re going to rip out our hearts and grind them up. Thanks in advance.

Another episode apparently features an interracial couple that is fighting to get the approval of their families because they’re from the South and that sort of thing is “really not acceptable.” The review I found said, his mother even called the bride-to-be “the white devil.” I wonder if she has separate water fountains and bathrooms for them to use, too.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure that heartbreak and tears on national TV is something that can pull viewers in. After all, we watch men get involved with 15+ women and dwindle the number down to one, after he’s tested all of them out. But relationships are hard enough without complicating them even further.

I’m horrible in relationships. I’ll be the first to admit it. I’m terrified of commitment and really have to stop myself from destroying relationships on purpose. Shows that capitalize on heartbreak and ruin don’t exactly make me feel warm and fuzzy.

There are couples in California fighting for the right to be married, an opportunity that got pushed further away as the California Supreme Court voted to uphold Proposition 8, an initiative first passed in November that would ban same-sex marriages. Of course, the divorce rate between heterosexual couples is 50 percent and probably going to rise. Marriage is becoming something to fear and avoid.

Weddings are supposed to be joyous, happy occasions. They’re supposed to be something that couples look forward to as they ponder their vows, who to invite, etc. They’re something little girls dream about. But the older the little girl gets and the more society progresses, the more marriage doesn’t seem all it’s cracked up to be.

Aren’t there enough problems in the world without TV producers trying to capitalize on the pain and suffering caused as a couple gives up its fight to find happiness? What’s next — we’ll have cameras in the divorce proceedings of Jon and Kate? Think we’ll have their eight kids in the room so that we can see their tears as Mommy and Daddy split up?

I like my reality TV as much as the next person, but I think that this show dishes it up a bit too cold for me.

Sometimes life imitates art. Or is that the other way around? Either way worked for me last weekend when I went with some friends to see UT’s production of the opera “Don Giovanni” at The Bijou Theatre.

For those who don’t know the story, think Don Juan. You’ve got a handsome smooth talker that makes the ladies swoon and fall at his feet. They buy all his lines. He’s a very vocal advocate of sex and booze. Honestly, he’d probably be a popular figure in today’s society. As long as you ignore the woman he raped and the fact that he killed her father. Those are just details that detract from my point.

Giovanni couldn’t be satisfied with just one woman. It didn’t matter if she was fat or thin, beautiful or ugly — he wanted them all. He would have his sidekick add each woman to a rather lengthy black book. Women — and life itself — was nothing more than a game to our anti-hero.

The show was highly entertaining, but I couldn’t help but draw some parallels in the story and my life. I’ve known womanizers. OK, I still know one or two. Men like this are never satisfied. No dessert is sweet enough, no woman hot enough, no purchase grand enough. They might find their instant gratification but are still looking to the next conquest, no matter what it might be.

But at the same time, unfortunately, we could see some appeal in Giovanni’s lifestyle. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a dog but can he really be blamed for wanting to enjoy all that life had to offer? I have to admit that living life without any reservations is a tempting notion. Think of it. You can go where you want, be with who you want, eat what you want, etc. Giovanni had the money to do whatever he wanted.

Then again, this is what separates us from lower creatures. We have the ability to think our decisions through and decide what’s best. Yes, Giovanni might live a fun lifestyle but he still managed to steal and crush the hearts of women. Not to mention the fact that he managed to make a lot of male enemies.

Take one woman in particular: Elvira. (makes you want to sing The Oak Ridge Boys when I say that, doesn’t it? … “Giddy up.”) Anyway, Elvira was convinced that Giovanni loved her and wanted to be with her. Of course, she came to this conclusion after a three-day relationship. Throughout the performance she goes from loathing the man to wanting to bear his children. She was as fickle as he was. She was also highly delusional, but that’s beside the point. I won’t admit how closely I could relate to the woman.

Giovanni was a one-man wrecking crew. But he still had that thing. Think J.R. Ewing, the man you loved to hate on “Dallas.” You knew J.R. was a dog that would sell his own mother if he thought he’d get a good price. He cheated, swindled, manipulated, etc. but was still enjoyable. He just had that same thing.

That thing is indescribable. It doesn’t necessarily apply to looks or smarts or even personality. It’s just something that makes a man appealing, even when you know he’s worthy of having a visit from Lorena Bobbitt. We excuse them their wrongs and turn the other cheek till we’re past the point of turning the other cheek.

They’re rogues, scoundrels, cads, rakes, you name it. Yet they keep us coming back for more. Wish I knew why. If you figure it out, let me know.