The purpose of this blog is to be a sort of chronicle of the summer N, C, and I (that would be me, J, not a new person with the initial "I") get to live together. In October or whenever it snows C is leaving us to pursue her dream of being an Olympic snowboarder and in December, I am graduating and moving to Portland so this summer is, to say the least, special. Blogging about breakfasts at Frank's, be they for breakfast or dinner, is an attempt to preserve our time together so that, when we scatter to the four corners, we have something to look back on and a way to remember the inside jokes and adventures we share.

For that reason it was decided that all three of us should take turns blogging. C has yet to step up to the plate so it has been left up to N and me but really, I don't know why I even bother. N's blogs are so complete, so well-worded; her phrases so exquisitely turned that I feel my blogging is more than unnecessary.

Be that as it may, here I am again anyway. This past Saturday I started a new job as an RA for a camp at Gonzaga bright and early at eight am (which turned out to be pointless because there was a miscommunication between the camp organizers and housing so I was there at eight and couldn't help anyone with anything until noon. I was glad I brought a book. C was scheduled to leave Saturday for a trip to California scheduled and paid for before she broke up with Dildo Baggins (he looks like a hobbit and he had the nerve to break up with C, so is obviously a bit of a douchebag). Given that we love each other, and we love breakfast at Frank's we all dragged ourselves out of bed at six in the morning and trundled to Frank's. Since I am one to wallow in self-pity allow me to point out that this expedition was worst on me because I actually had to be ready to go to work after this ridiculously early breakfast. Harumph.

Well, I finally got to see the new dishwasher who pretended not to know C and N even though, as N mentioned, he was introduced to them in no uncertain terms. Maybe it was the hour but I honestly can't remember much distinctive about Saturday's breakfast. Coming to Frank's at 6:30 am on a Saturday is similar to going at 7 pm on a Tuesday in that the counter is empty and we were seated right away. The good thing about Saturday morning versus Tuesday night is that the regular crew was there. I got an extra piece of bacon which was delicious and fantastic and all the things that bacon usually is, but it had that delicious after taste of free! Woot.

Sunday was, on the whole, more lively which I feel somewhat traitorous in saying because C was absent but, in all honesty, I think the liveliness proceeded more from the hour (10:30 am) rather than the company. We again saw the awkward new dishwasher [henceforth to be known as ADB: awkward dish boy] who, personally, reminds me a bit of the Beattles; not one in particular just the Beattles in general. I think it's the haircut. The new dishwasher has now becoming a running joke because every time we see him we smile and say "hi" and he looks at us like we have three heads. Maybe that's the problem, maybe his vision isn't very good and he things we actually are one woman with three heads, each of which prefers a different breakfast. I wouldn't say "hi" to that no matter how many times we were introduced.

Speaking of breakfast preferences. N and I deviated from routine and decided to split an omelet. This was so unusual that our order actually got handed to someone else which was satisfying in a way. It's always good to break up routine and remind people that you are not utterly predictable.

Lastly, ADB isn't the only new staff member at Frank's. There is a beautiful new waiter [henceforth dubbed GS: gorgeous server]. Unfortunately on Sunday GS was working as far away from the counter as he could get so we only saw him when he came to the counter for food pick-up. Sigh. However, the waiters at Frank's rotate sections rather than settling into one set section so all we have to do is keep going back (at this point not really an option) and he's sure to wait on us sometime. If only that was a euphemism. Sigh.

Well, I really think that's all the news that's fit to print. For yet another week the jam remains on the shelf largely because there's no good way to incorporate the concept of jam lactation or bacon erotica into a blog. Although we do manage to incorporate into conversation with alarming frequency.

J