Summertime in Fayetteville

Who saw the shout-out to my fabulous hometown on SNL Saturday night?? Woo! They closed out their season with the entire cast singing "Summertime in Fayetteville." If you missed it, don't forget to check it out.

The number one comment I hear when telling people I'm from Arkansas is, "You're from Arkansas?! But you're such a city girl!"

And they're right. I'm a city girl, and Fayetteville is a far cry from a big city. It's certainly no New York; not even a Chicago or Nashville or Dallas, but it's one of the most urban, edgy, and unique small cities in the world. It has also been recently named the number one most affordable place to live in the U.S., and even the producers and writers of Saturday Night Live noticed.

So it's official: Fayetteville, Arkansas is not your typical Arkansas town. We wear our shoes, we have all our teeth, and we appreciate the art, culture, and environment in our area. And there's a lot of art, culture, and environment in our area. So if you're looking for a smaller vacation this year, perhaps an artistic or bohemian weekend getaway, check out what Fayetteville and its neighboring cities have to offer.

Fayetteville is what I like to call one of the "boroughs" of Northwest Arkansas. When one refers to "New York City," they are encompassing all of Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, Bronx, and Staten Island. Likewise, when one refers to "Northwest Arkansas," they are typically referring to Bella Vista, Bentonville, Rogers, Springdale, and Fayetteville, and the locals generally call all of Northwest Arkansas the name of their hometown. For example, even though there's a fancy art museum in Bentonville and a gorgeous outdoor music venue in Rogers, I would invite my friends home to "Fayetteville" to go to both. So let's dive into what Fayetteville (...or Northwest Arkansas) has in store for you!



Fayetteville for the Nature Enthusiast 

I decided to start with this one because it's not exactly right up my alley. Far from it, actually. I'm a city girl through and through, remember? Even still, some of my favorite summer memories have been setting out on Beaver Lake to go boating, swimming, tubing, and water skiing. Fishing is also very popular for the outdoorsy folks, and campground/cabin stays are available year round. Multiple trails are available for walkers, runners, and bikers alike while hunters have plenty of opportunities in the area, and hikers love to pack up and set out on trails and adventures up in Devil's Den State Park. If you're looking for a slightly milder outdoor activity (as I would be...), the Botanical Garden of the Ozarks is absolutely stunning, and offers multiple classes, workshops, and lectures in horticulture, conservation, and more. My personal favorite outdoor spot is the top of Mt. Sequoyah, where you have an (almost) complete view of the city. For more information, visit Explore Northwest Arkansas: Outdoors.



Fayetteville for the Sports Fan

Fayetteville is home of the Northwest Arkansas Naturals baseball team, and multiple sports teams associated with University of Arkansas. Arkansas does not have a professional football team, so the enthusiasm for the Arkansas Razorbacks is nothing short of insanity. It isn't unusual to spot a hog on the side of a building (like the movie theatre) and multiple businesses have decorated ceramic pigs out front to show their Arkansas pride. You probably think I'm kidding. I'm not. But don't worry! Just wear your red, grab your pig nose, and make sure you learn how to call the hogs before you arrive!



Fayetteville for the History Buff 

This is another category that is certainly not my cup of tea, but certainly not neglected in the area. From the Historic Downtown Square to the Clinton House Museum, there is truly something for everyone. Other museums include the Arkansas Air and Military Museum, the Razorback Museum, the Walmart Museum (yes, Bentonville is the home of Walmart!), and the Museum of Native American History. Visit Explore Northwest Arkansas: General Attractions for the complete list, and don't forget to visit the iconic shops and businesses along Dickson Street!





Fayetteville for the Artist 

Technically located in Bentonville, the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art is one of the newest yet well-renowned art museums in the world. The museum displays paintings, sculptures, architecture, and nature while its permanent collection features five centuries of American masterworks ranging from the colonial era to present day. The museum also features multiple seasonal exhibits; my favorite thus far being the Andy Warhol exhibit of pop-art. Admission is sponsored by Walmart and is completely free to the public! If that isn't enough to satisfy your art craving, Terra Studios is a more interactive option.




Fayetteville for the Musician

The Walmart Arkansas Music Pavilion is a state of the art outdoor music pavilion featuring all sorts of big name bands and musicians of all genres. Where else can you get MercyMe, Meghan Trainor, Styx, Kenny Chesney, Rachel Platten, and Journey all in one summer? No where, and that's only half the line-up for 2016. Still, that stuff is too mainstream for a lot of Fayetteville musicians, so if you're more of a hipster like us, try George's Majestic Lounge instead.




Fayetteville for the Thespian

Now, this is a category I am fully knowledgable in. This Broadway enthusiast is always looking for the next show in the area. The Walton Arts Center (WAC) is a fantastic facility to see all your favorite Broadway shows on tour! Recently remodeled, the WAC hosts everything from Les Miserables to festival orchestras. This upcoming season includes tons of my favorites, including Book of Mormon, A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, and Dirty Dancing! And once again, that's not all! Theatre Squared, a community theatre featuring multiple local and touring actors, is certainly not short of talent. My favorite show produced there so far has been Peter and the Starcatcher, which premiered while I was home for Christmas break last year, but I haven't seen a single thing I didn't enjoy.




Fayetteville for the Fashionista 

Ah, fashion. Talk about something right up my alley. The Northwest Arkansas Mall is open at 9 a.m. for all shoppers seeking an indoor, climate controlled, shopping experience, however the Pinnacle Hills Promenade offers far more options. Complete with full restaurants, food trucks, and many more shops to choose from, it is one of my favorite shopping venues in Northwest Arkansas. But whatever you do, don't miss the local boutiques located on the Square. Riffraff is my fav (and worth every penny), but the most popular boutique store is quite possibly Southern Trend, located on Sycamore Street. I am an avid wearer of their "Polka Dot Pig" collection!


Did I miss something you can't live without? Northwest Arkansas has a little bit of everything, so shoot me an email with any questions you may have. Can't wait to see you around!

The Bikini Challenge: For Men

Now, I know what you're probably thinking. A bikini challenge? For men? Is this girl for real?

Yes, dear reader, bear with me. Ladies, I know there are already a thousand and one fitness and beauty challenges for you this time a year. That's why I'm aiming this one at the men, though it probably isn't what you might think. Even still, there's something for my girls in here, too, so throw on your sunglasses, strap on your sandals, and we'll tackle summer together with this post.

The Goal for Women: Know that you are not alone; that whether you feel comfortable in a swimsuit or not, all of us have experienced body shaming and objectification.

The Challenge for Men:Don't close the article when you start to feel convicted.

Simple enough, right? Good. Let's get started.

It's that time of year again... The cat-calling, body-scanning, overly-objectifying three months that make all hormone-driven men fall in love with summer. Bikini season, the most treasured season for boys and most feared season for girls, has arrived once more.

Let's face it ladies: we didn't meet our goal. We ate those extra twinkies and we never gave up that soda. We went to the gym three times in the five months we were supposed to go every day. We miserably failed at hot yoga. And we aren't going to talk about how much money we wasted on CrossFit. But if you're like me, none of this seems to matter because bikini season is the most dreaded time of year, not because we're unhappy with our body, but because other men seem to be too happy with it. And we wish they weren't.

Don't get me wrong. I have just as many physical insecurities as the next gal. Sometimes I wish my hips were smaller. Sometimes I wish my waist was thinner. And then there's what I like to call my "french fry thighs," where all the salt, sodium, and fat I've ever consumed decides to settle and call home. But I get it. The figure I wish was smaller is very appealing to others. The waist I wish was thinner is still very attractive. And those thighs that carry my potato obsession really aren't as big as I think they are. I'm a woman with a pin-up 50's figure, and therefore, I am desired.

Whoop-de-do.

Brace yourself friends... I'm about to say two things no woman is allowed to say in this society.

1) I'm pretty.

And 2) Sometimes, I wish I wasn't.

Because I was walking down the street the other day, heading to class, minding my own business when a guy hung out the window of his truck to wave at me and wink, as if he was doing me a favor for noticing me. Because the next day I was walking down the same street when a guy rolled down the window on his fancy sports car and shouted, "Nice a**, babydoll!" as if that would be taken as a compliment. What was I supposed to say? "Thanks?" "I know?"

How about, "Awww, aren't you sweet! You act like you're the only man who's ever told me that."

Here's the deal, guys. If you feel so influenced by our body that you feel compelled to hang out your window and holler like an idiot, you probably aren't the only guy who's ever told us we're attractive. And here's the thing about girls like me. We are completely confident in ourselves. We own a mirror. We know what we look like. And we don't need you taking the precious time out of your day to save us from our insecurity. That's what God is for. It would be different if you knew us; if you were complimenting us on a talent we possessed, on a skill we finally mastered, or even an outfit you'd never seen before. But you don't know us. You can't tell us our name, or our favorite color, or anything about us aside from what we look like. This, in its rawest form, is objectification; literally defined as presented as an object.

When we were little girls, we noticed guys picking on us. We were told it was just because "that's the way boys are;" that they just thought we were pretty. Which is cool I guess, but we still didn't like them picking on us.

When we began to develop into feminine adolescents, we noticed guys approaching us, scanning us from our feet to our face because that's the order of priority on a woman, after all. Body first; humanity second. And we were told it was just because "that's the way boys are;" that they just thought we were pretty. Which is cool I guess, but we still didn't like being degraded from woman to object.

And now we're young women, who have been taught to cross the street when a man approaches us so that we don't have to deal with the winks, the looks, the comments, or worse, because momma always said that if you were ever uncomfortable, avoid the situation. Because "that's the way boys are." They just think you're pretty. Which is cool I guess, until you don't even feel safe or comfortable going about your daily routine because you've always been called pretty before you were called anything else.

I'm all for teaching girls self-defense. Despite how much awareness we bring to sexual harassment, there will always be psychos doing it and it is naive of us to assume that speaking out will end it and keep our daughters (and sons) safe. But we've made excuses for these psychos for too long. Because the rapists who are now behind bars started out as boys who picked on little girls, that grew into adolescents who scanned us from our feet to our face, that grew into men who decided it wasn't enough just to look anymore. But it's okay. Because "that's the way boys are."

How long until we realize that's not the way boys are? At least, that's not the way they have to be.

I know this is an extreme scenario, and that not all arrogant, hormone-driven college guys will grow up to be abusers, kidnappers, and rapists. Thank goodness. But they shouldn't be given the benefit of the doubt either. They shouldn't believe it's okay to degrade a woman to the basis of her appearance just because they'd never hit her, and they shouldn't believe that their comments don't affect her just because there are other men out there who are "so much worse." And we make excuses for them every day. Their intentions may be golden, but the effects on women certainly are not.

The day the guy in the truck winked at me, I was wearing shorts. The day the guy yelled at me from his sports car, I was in a tank top. Those fashion choices were not open invitations to comment on my body. They were not a display of physical insecurity to be saved by prince charming. It was summer. It was hot. Sue me.

Why are we so focused on teaching our daughters to dress modestly, but less dedicated to teaching our sons to respect her even if she doesn't? Why are we so focused on teaching girls the difference between men who flatter her and men who compliment her, but less dedicated to teaching our sons how to be the latter? It's no wonder we live in the "rape culture" that exists today. We have created it.

We have all been told to "never judge a book by its cover." And we remember this piece of advice when we know we should sit with that girl who never appears to have any friends or that guy who seems too weird to have anything in common with us, but somehow we forget when it comes to judging a woman's body. Don't judge a book by its cover. Or in this case, don't define a pearl by its oyster shell.

Men, I'll stop ruthlessly accusing you (for the moment). I know there's a huge population of women who are insecure about their body and feed off of your compliments and cat-calls. I know that with that piece of information in mind, you feel like you're helping. You feel like you're doing us a favor. But I will tell you with blatant honesty, you're not.

When you define a woman by what she looks like, you are neglecting to see the human heart behind the body. When you tell her she's pretty before you compliment her on anything else, you are telling her that what she looks like and the body she has (an element that she was born with that she cannot control) is more important and valued and desired than the person she fought to become. And though it makes her feel worthless, it doesn't diminish her worth at all. It diminishes yours.

So when you see that girl in a bikini this summer, take a moment to think. She's probably not wearing it to gain your attention. She's probably wearing it because it's summer, it's a swimsuit, and she wanted to go swimming. Believe it or not, not everything we do is a ploy for your attention. Sometimes, the things we wear are a lot less about you, and a lot more about us; the things we feel confident and beautiful and stunning in. So, take it from a girl who wants you to be the best man you can be... Get over yourself. Take it from the girl who can rock a bikini and a good pair of sweatpants in the same day: I am far more likely to go for the guy who compliments me in the sweatpants.

We feel most beautiful when you target our core rather than our shell, and it makes you one heck of a strong man in comparison to all the shallow guys we come in contact with on a regular basis. So this summer, I'm challenging the awesome men in my life to their own bikini challenge with one simple request:

Get to know the girl inside of it.

What I Learned As A WGI Finalist

When I was a little girl, I was intrigued by my father's world of band and music, but I was enthralled with dance. I had searched for my place among many groups vowing to make me a pretty and well-trained dancer, including a pom squad in jr. high and a special jazz dance ensemble in college that I'm still a part of today. But when I was in the fourth grade, I discovered the other part of my dad's occupation: the part he didn't work with, the part that rehearsed separately, the part that was uniquely and undeniably captivating.

Color guard; half a sport and half an art form, called for the athleticism of dancers along with the presence of actors. It wasn't good enough just to dance. You had to dance, spin, toss, catch, and perform. You had to learn staging. You had to learn how to fold and transport a tarp. You had to learn what a tarp even was. You had to become a makeup artist overnight, and learn how to get your hair to poof as high as Dolly Parton. And you discovered a glorious invention you never knew how you lived without: the power of glitter. On your face. In your hair. Everywhere. Guard called for costume fittings, endless rehearsals, and stamina beyond compare. It called for money too; for equipment and team jackets and fees to cover everything that wasn't sponsored. I knew it would be hard work, but I was ready.

When I was in seventh grade, I discovered the difference between color guard and winterguard. Color guard was hot and sweaty. It was done on a football field with an often less-than-appreciative audience who was only there for football. They would go get hot dogs when you took the field to show them what you'd been working on. But winterguard was its own little world, where everyone who had witnessed it once found it unique, entrancing, and humbly impressive. The best of the best were sent to Dayton, OH to perform at WGI World Championships along with hundreds of others. The top 15 of those best of the best would be sent to finals. Those dancers were more than dancers. They were performers. They were undeniably talented. And they were stunning. I wished to be just like them.

So I worked. I trained. I got too many bruises and I let too many things hit the floor. I would sweat. I would cry. But above all, I would practice, only to make an open class winterguard and realize that all my hard work could never be enough on its own.

A winterguard show isn't impressive when one person is amazing. It's impressive when everyone is amazing. When all the flags spin together. When everyone catches a toss behind their back. And in that moment, I realized that everything I'd dreamed of and worked for wasn't really about me at all.

When I walked into our rehearsal space on the first day of the Pride of Missouri State staging camp, I had no way of knowing how the season would end. All I knew is that I had a few friends on the team, and our show was about love. But over the course of the season, I came to realize our show was about so much more than that. It wasn't about a love that was meant to be, it was about an experience that was unparalleled. I watched everyone else on our team work just as hard. I watched everyone spin together and everyone catch those tosses. I watched some drops, too, but then watched as we picked the equipment right back up again. And we kept going. Kept pushing. Kept fighting. And when we loaded the bus to Dayton on Tuesday in the middle of the night, it was far from over.

It was only beginning really. Our show was completed. There was no more choreography to memorize. No more staging to learn. The tricks had been ironed out and our show was all wrapped up and topped with a bow. But our goal was to show our art, our work, and our sacrifice to as many people as possible. That would require three runs: one in prelims, one in semis, and one in finals. Yes, finals. Where only 15 of the best of the best perform in UD Arena.

We performed in prelims and then had another rehearsal. We advanced to semis, and rehearsed some more. Every spare moment was spent spinning, stretching, and mentally running through our show. We were not giving up. I didn't make finals. We made finals. All of us. And when I walked through the tunnel, kissed the traditional UD wall for good luck, and set my equipment under the lights of UD Arena, I felt invincible. I felt talented. And I felt stunning.

It's amazing how relying on others can make you feel better than you'd feel if you'd done it all yourself.

I'm sure everyone on that floor felt stunning and talented and wonderful. So many dreams for little guard girls came true that day. But every individual walked out with tears in their eyes and pride in their soul, knowing they had worked and sacrificed and contributed to something that had been recognized by judges, performers, and fans. The best of the best. We were among the top 15 of the best of the best in our class.

I will never forget that moment. It's what I'd dreamed of since a little girl, of course. But more than that moment, I will remember everything I learned along the way. Not just about dance technique and the correct way to spin a rifle, but the things that are never said. The things that are never included in a lecture or a pep talk. The things that you just learn, merely by being a part of something greater.

So, to all my friends who think guard is just about slinging around a flag during a football game's halftime show, here's everything that happens within Dayton week that guard members experience. Here's everything the band, and especially the audience members, know nothing about.

1) You will be busy. 
Wake up. Eat breakfast. Get dressed. Check out the performance arena. Come back. Change. Drive. Unload. Rehearse. Change. Load. Drive. Hair. Makeup. Uniform. Drive. Load. Stretch. Drive. Unload. Warm up. Perform. Load. Drive. Change. Unload. Rehearse. Load. Drive. Announcements. Shower. Change. Bed. And you gotta eat three times a day in there somewhere.

Rinse and repeat.

It is a no nonsense trip. You don't get to stop for dinner and take a 3 hour break. As if performing wasn't enough to exhaust you, the rehearsals are. The long drives are. Even the sheer fact that you have to be somewhere every second of the day on such a tight schedule is enough to fry your brain. You better carry your schedule with you (but bring an ink pen, too, because it will change at the drop of a hat).

2) You will be sore. 
Extend your arm. Point your feet. 5-6-7-8 and turn. Dut dut OUT! Toss. Catch. Prep. Toss. Drop. OUCH. Recover. Lift. Extend. Curve your arm. Close your fingers. Free arm is down. "For the last time, girls, that toss is out on EIGHT!" 5-6-7-squeeze, push, OUT. Release. Breathe....

Sound familiar? It does if you're in guard, and you know what each of those things mean. You've heard them a thousand times from your instructors and teammates. You know how bad it hurts when your rifle jams your thumb. You know how much you bleed when you stick your hand in too fast to catch a sabre. You know the way things black out for a moment when you whack your head with a flag. And yet, you keep right on going. Chances are, you don't even notice your body is giving out until you're done with the run-through anyway.

3) You will be tired.
So your rehearsal lasted until 11 p.m. last night, and the venue was an hour away from your hotel. You have to be up at 6 a.m.  But don't you complain, because that's a good day. An easy day. You might only get four hours of sleep one night. You catch 10 minutes naps on the bus when you can. They're all that get you through the week after all. Any time you get to lay horizontal on a bed is nothing short of a luxury, and it isn't taken for granted.

P.S. We drove through the night last night and arrived home at 8:30 a.m. I'm writing this post at 10:13 p.m. after three naps and only one meal that I've dared to emerge from my bed to consume.

4) You will be judged. 
Everyone in that arena has worked just as hard. The judges are top notch. They are critical. They are harsh. They don't miss a single thing. You must have the best of the best judges for the best of the best guards.

The audience will judge you, too. You'll be criticized by the enthusiasts for not being artsy enough, but you'll be bashed by a high school audience for being too abstract. Some people won't understand your show. Or worse, they won't like it. Most people don't understand guard itself, and believe me, all of us are used to that. But everyone in Dayton knows their stuff. They know what it is and how to do it.

Just remember... It may be a sport, but it is also an art. It's 1,000 people's opinions in one day. Some will love your show. Others will despise it. It's like life; you can't please everybody. All you can do is the best you can do. Sometimes it isn't enough. But sometimes, it is.

5) You will be loved. 
Because now that I'm sitting at home after a concluded season with no rehearsal footage to review, no practice to go to, and no performance to prepare for, I'm not thinking about the schedules or the aching muscles or the technique of it all. I'm thinking about the group I did it with. I'm thinking about the literal blood, sweat, and tears we poured into our season, and the countless hours spent with my closest friends. I'm thinking about the age-outs, too; the ones who may never spin again, and the bonus babies who surely never will. That may not mean anything to the general public, or to my readers who have not experienced guard at all. But for us performers, that thought alone is enough to instill tears for the memories had and the uncertainty of what's to come. That team, my team, as it existed wholly and interdependently only yesterday, has ceased to exist. I will spin with the Pride of Missouri State again. That much is certain. I have a year left before my age out and I don't intend on wasting it. It will be the same name, but it will be a different team. The people, the talent, the jokes, and the memories I've clung to since December will never be the same again. It will never again be the way it was only yesterday.

So to my friends who think I march around with the band and wave a flag around... Stop telling me that. Because it's offensive to degrade my entire life into what I do in a five minute show. Because I might be passionate about the sport itself, but in the end, it's not really about color guard. It's about inspiring other performers to be better. It's about impacting performers and non-performers alike with your art. It's about making people laugh, cry, believe, love, and feel something when they might not otherwise. It's about the journey you make individually, and where it takes you, and who you get to spend it with. It's about the hugs and tears when it's all over, and that one comment someone said three months ago that still makes you laugh when you're walking down the street. It's about the frustration that you learn to handle. It's about knowing your limits, and pushing past them.

I've learned a lot about guard since I started spinning with the Pride of Missouri State. I've learned that I never had a very good turn-out in my feet, that my rifle tosses are always high, and that I don't like spinning weapon half as much as I enjoy spinning flag. But after all that, I learned that it's never really been about guard. It's about everything it gives you; the confidence, the pain, the dignity, the plight, and the twenty seven other performers you now consider family.

Because it's never really been about guard. It's about knowing what it's like to feel alive.

Congratulations to all units who performed with thousands of others at WGI World Championships this past weekend, and a special thanks to the members and staff of the Pride of Missouri State for making my dream come true.