She was already pissed. The coffee shop in Astoria, Queens didn't offer soy milk as an option, and dairy is simply out of the question for Alison J. Rockford. The J. is for Josephine, which she can't stand, so "J" will do. She likes its imagined versatility: Janelle, Jaqueline, Johannah. So, she is undercaffeinated and grumpy. She wouldn't have been running late except that she decided to squeeze in a workout at the Queens Gym. Not because she liked the gym so much (greasy guys), but because it is one of the few fitness establishments left that still houses a Butt Cruncher machine. Most places have given them up with claims of "dangerous," but Alison J. Rockford knows the proper form.
And suffers genetically from a somewhat (a very)... Flat. Ass.
The Butt-Cruncher is worth a visit to the gym in her sister's neighborhood, which, let's face it, is otherwise kinda lame. Getting to and from Queens isnightmare. Always. No matter what. The trains to get there are the N and the R, also known as the "Never" and "Rarely," for their lack of frequency. But, Shayla was "going through it," was in the middle of it, sinking in it, with J. P. moving out, and now dating that insane girl back in North Carolina. Whatever. Alison would do just about anything for her sister. Even a trip to Queens (gag). On a weekday (cringe). They shared a bottle of wine and Thai food takeout and Shayla cried. Alison did exactly what was expected of her, ceaselessly insulting J.P. and The Madwoman of Charlotte, as they've taken to calling her. The nickname was Alison's invention.
