"You know it's bad when you weird out the guy in the chicken suit."
-my quote of the night

The gig went well. They were asked back, they sold some cd's, got some names to add to the mailing list, and sounded great.

As for the costumes, I went as Girl Without a Costume, as the witch hat didn't quite fit on my head without making me look like I'd been let out of the mental institution for the evening. Which was fine. There were plenty of costumeless people there. And there were plenty of costumed folks, as well, including the aforementioned Guy in Chicken Suit.

My husband, to my surprise, got an Elvis wig and sunglasses and so had that on the entire night.

The gig was in the Middle of Freakin' Nowhere. Now I know that may seem like a redundant statement to some, who would count Ohio as a whole as the Middle of Freakin' Nowhere. However, this place was even more so. Let's call it the Asshole of the Middle of Freakin' Nowhere. That would be a more accurate depiction of its relation to the sticks.

I am not a fan of country roads. I prefer main roads or freeway, hands down, as a method of getting where you need to go. If it's on a country road, I dont really need to go there. And on Halloween, I'm really not a fan of country roads. Especially when, after I've remarked that there are probably serial killers lurking in the huge cornfields to our left and right, a sketchy looking guy on a four wheeler emerges and stares at us as we pass him in the dark. That's the kind of stuff I don't want to see on Halloween, thank you very much.

Or ever.