Sunday Dinner
August 31, 2003, 10:59 a.m.

It's sickening to listen on the radio to people that really can't sing. Look at Hilary Duff. She really cannot sing.

So James has now found my diary. Am I now going to suddenly lock it? Nope. Why? There's really nothing to hide except for the things that are already hidden. ;) Yeah, I'm slick.

Anyway, since I'm not going to church, I'm now in charge of cooking The Sunday Dinner. Whoopie doo. Shouldn't be too hard, though, since I'm making stewed chicken. Yummay.

I had the dumbest dream last night. It involved the lives of different people, including Daniel and I hooking up (where'd that come from), some blonde guy with a bit of facial hair and his dog, and this older male that looked a lot like Kramer from Seinfeld. The last two people were involved in this weird paranormal stuff. They never knew eachother in the entire dream, but they were both affected by the same force.

Twas weird.

I was supposed to call James back last night, but I didn't-- Not on purpose, mind you. I couldn't get to a phone, and I fell asleep before I ever did. Lucky me. I must call back James today and apologize. *sigh*

Whelp, I'd better get started on dinner. Seeya.

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