You know, I thought that he was a little fruity, but last night that thought was blasted from my head like a cow through a chute.

What the heck. I’ve got arena brain.

And no, I’m not talking about my husband on the fruity part. That part’s about Keith Urban. Mr. Hotty Hotterson is most definitely NOT a fruit basket. Hubba. Hubba. I was the one yelling, “Take off your shirt!!!”

I’m just kidding.

I was only thinking it.

Oh alright. I did share that thought out loud to Hank, and I might have had to say it loudly because it was loud there. But I definitely didn’t yell it. Well, perhaps.

But back to the evening out.

Hank and I had a date last night. We went to cowpoke central: the Greeley Stampede. And I must say, this was the cleanest, safest feeling carnival I’ve ever been to. The carnies weren’t scary (but the fact that “carnies” is actually a word and not flagged by spell-check is a bit alarming), the place didn’t smell as much like cow poop as we had anticipated, and there were signs everywhere that said “Drink More Fluids.”

Well, ok.

We started our evening off at what the Internet told us was the highest-rated restaurant in Greeley. Hmmm. We might beg to differ on that, but we had fun anyway. It might be the highest rated because they have the strongest drinks ever. I had one regular-sized marg and proceeded to take too many self-portraits of us. For about an hour.

This one is titled, “Before Margarita.”

All of these are titled, “After Margarita.”

Stay with me here. It gets better.

Yes, that’s right folks. I had ONLY ONE. Jeez.

Not quite sure about the creative content, here.

And finally, the boots. This pic is titled, “Before Concert.”

And why “Before Concert”? Because this one is titled, “After Concert.”

One must keep in mind, when one goes to a concert in an arena, that when it rains just before a concert, the “floor” of the arena, which is made of dirt, might perhaps be a little muddy. My Frye boots have never looked so “vintagey” cool. And Hank wore his Blunnies. He said it was because they were comfortable, but I know deep down he wore them because they’re Australian and he wanted to represent to Keith Urban.

This is Mr. Hotness himself, and even though he had his stupid shirt on he still didn’t hurt my eyes.

And this made us decide that we will make the trek again later this week with the boys, because how fun does this look?!

So here’s to another carny post in few days. May it be filled with turkey legs and funnel cakes and tales of Ferris wheels and bumper cars.

And may we have no stories of tossed cookies. That means you, Holden.

Until then.