We open in the blissful, sunny tornado of slack that is Frankie and Cameran waiting to leave for work. As they stand around and yap, Frankie says, "When I get fed up, I'm a huuuuge bitch." That's a bad start for the week, right there. Because there are two kinds of bitches -- the good kind and the bad kind. And the good kind, believe me, does not do that stupid thing where she has to tell you what a bitch she is. Frankie claims that this bitchy aspect of her personality been "slowly coming out lately." Slowly? Lately? Frankie apparently defines the space-time continuum slightly differently than most of us do. As Frankie talks, Cameran stares off into space, trying to wish herself out into the ocean and three feet underwater, where she might achieve the peace that can only be achieved through drowning. In a confessional, Frankie says that she realized after a while that she doesn't need any of the roommates, so if they don't like her, she doesn't care. "Fuck them, I don't need them," she says. As we go on here, you will see that clearly, Frankie is very sincere about this, and is not at all being Girl Who Is In Pain Oh Please Oh Please Ask Her About It Because It Is Her Favorite Topic. No. She really does not care about her roommates liking her. At all. AT ALL, people.
In the van with the rest of the weirdos, Cameran asks Frankie if she's got ten dollars. Testy and pissed, Frankie says that she has five, and that everything else is just big bills. She claims to have twenties, fifties, and a hundred-dollar bill. Am I missing something? Why the hell would she carry around cash like that? The only person I know who ever carries a hundred-dollar bill is my grandfather, and he can get away with it, because he's cool, and Frankie is not cool. Randy laughs, noting that "a simple 'no' would have sufficed," like, no kidding, you really didn't need to impress them with your wads of cash, there, Ebesnoozer. Back in the confessional, Frankie goes on some more about not needing to be friends with her roommates. Cameran -- providing the alternative (i.e. "non-crazy-ass") viewpoint -- interviews that Frankie "cannot make herself happy in San Diego." That's surprisingly astute for a girl who's wearing her hair that way. Indeed, Frankie has failed to grasp the fact that, much of the time, you will find yourself just as happy as you choose to be. Cameran calls Frankie's constant drama act "emotionally draining," and boy, I heard that. You can hear the glug-glug-glug all the way from the tundra of the Midwest.