….another day in the Ghetto…

Ghetto Blotter from the AZ Hood:

An aluminum can collector, who apparently had not been notified that aluminum cans are not that profitable, was seen gathering cans on Country Club near Prince (aka Shooter’s corner), nearly filling a garbage bag full, but more importantly was seen to have bent over, picked up a nearly full can off of the desert dust floor, then chugged said can before placing empty in recycle-ready bag.

An angry pubescent fresh from getting his books stolen out of his locker, maybe, was seen yelling at Malibu and another rider on the corner of Catalina Highway and Snyder.  The road was trafficless and the two riders were not obstructing traffic.  The truck, driven by the angst-ridden, pimple-faced, hormonally confused teen, parked behind the pair and waited before proceeding around.  After proceeding six feet forward, not inconvenienced in the least because there was a stop sign, he opened his car door and yelled, “GET!….Out!….Of……road” then mumbled off.  The pair of cyclists, one on the phone with another cyclist, laughed hysterically.

The Tucson Police Department was able to locate two (2) TaSondra Bentleys in their system.  One being black, the other being white.  A local cyclist using the name as a stage name is reportedly scared that she might already be in the Tucson Police Computer Profiling System.  If anyone has any information on whether the woman breaking into cars on Country Club was white or black, please comment below.

At a gas station after dark on the corner of Country Club and Ft. Lowell last night, a bum rolled up to a patron in his wheelchair and reportedly uttered this:

Bum: You got a nice lil car therrrre.  Bet you can gimme some money.

Patron: Nope.

Bum: Ma’am.  I’m Huuuuuuungray.  I know you got food in there!!

Patron (beginning to clean out said car): Nope.

Bum: GOD DAMN it.  I need money.

Patron:  Me, too, man.

Bum (looking through the trash Patron is throwing away, mostly coffee cups): I bet there’s food in this stuff.

Patron: Nope.  It’s garbage.  That’s why I’m tossing it.

Bum: Huh.  (long pause) So. You musta had as bad a day as I did.

Patron: Nope.

That’s all she wrote,

BB

I got an invite to join my grade-school best friend (there should be a proper name for that, like a family-type name) and her sister and thousands of miscellaneous people to audition for The Biggest Loser.  My friend’s sis is in the auditions in Burbank.  C., one of my BFFs, sent the text while I was in the desert the other day: “hey. S. is flying in for biggest loser auditions next weekend…want to wait in line and people watch? heh.”  (C. works in the business).  I wrote back: “Jesus. maybe.”

Now she’s got the weekend jammed packed.  How can I pass that up?  I mean, LA is the Great American Escape!

TaSondra Bentley is goin’ to Hollywood to be A STAR!

Anyone who has seen my computer lately will be not too surprised to hear I got a new laptop, however, unknowingly on the day of the Windows Vista launch.  Those tech guys are fiesty!  And mean.  In any event, here were my specs, which were upgrades from my last computer: 1. to have sound. 2. to have a working touchpad. 3. to be able to hold a wireless connection without dropping it for more that ten minutes. 3. to weigh less than 20 pounds. 4. To not be so loaded with stuff that it sounds like a jet is flying overhead.

They were able to help me and even set me up to run AutoCAD.  whoa.

ghetto livin’,
BB

Dear TaSondra Bentley,

I know who you are.  I’m angry, like, race a TT angry, like, since Wednesday when you broke into my car.  I’m in that place where I only go to hang out among the petroglyphs in my PAIN CAVE.  I hope you google me and get this letter.  ‘Cuz you should be scared, if you’re smart enough to be.  You’ll prolly find out by now that my credit won’t get you much.  You’ll prolly also find out that the Tucson Police DO care (if they ever call me back again).  Give me my identity back, you bitch. Stop it.  Anyone who is dumb enough to be found by ME, who flunked Spy School, is DUMB.  Have fun as Becky Broeder, soc security number 5##-###-XXXX!!!!!!

Sincerely,

Becky Broeder

 P.S. I got a call today notifying me that YOU (I) DID NOT WIN the $100,000 giveaway, asshole.
Saving the world, one life at a time.  Starting with mine.

BB

You know, I am all about personal responsibility. When the shit flies, I’m certain I started flinging it first somehow. When the tide turns and I don’t get my way, as per usual, I look inside and see that my horribleness has caught up with me undeniably. Karma, or the cycle of life, or the way things go. I’m not sure, but we get ours. Always.

I’ve had enough already.

I think I am often not that great. But on the whole, I’m ok. I treat people exceedingly well. I trust. I give. I loan. I smile at strangers. I hug my friends. I am honest. I don’t, generally, give a damn, as long as I’m making people happy. ‘Cause that makes me happy. Then we are all happy. So, I am stunned at the storm I seem to have been standing in for the past three years. (more…)

My friend, Erica, and I had to drive to a job site at the crack of dawn this morning. I picked her up at her house, near downtown, telling her to grab her camera for the drive down to Sierra Vista. There was a lot of white stuff on the ground. I felt like I was in Montana again.

After drinking my manditory 7 cups of coffee, give or take, I pull off the road and Erica and I have a full-on photoshoot. We were given the “take your time” command so we did. In the midst of taking our time, I left my camera and phone on the roof of my car, after getting some sweet shots of white saguaros and palm trees. Then gunned it out of there, Montana Winter Driving Style. I heard two solid ‘THUD!’s and made some dumb reference to Erica about “ice clods” then it dawned on me just like the sun was doing, the thuds were my phone and my camera.

I flipped it at the next exit thinking of all the phone numbers I have in there. Jumping out of the car to Erica’s “BECKY! Watch IT!”, I muttered, “hey. I got it. I know what I’m doing. I do this all the time on black ice…” I ran down the on ramp and for another half mile or so, eyes peeled to see if my luck with things like this had run it’s course, looking for any semblance of electronics. I had a lot of kind people stop, but waved them away with crazed looking-for-phone eyes. I found the phone. It was certainly run over by at least two half-ton pickups, or more. Possibly, just one semi, at least. I ran back and told Erica, “I found it.”. We get in the car and she is in disbelief. So, I hold out my hand and show her the goods: five solid LG pieces. “Keep yer eyes open for the camera, k?”. I was able to laugh about two hours later.
I am, officially, the most airheaded person I know. And no one has suffered the consequences of that more than that sweet little Canon Powershot that met it’s gruesome death with its buddy the LG camera phone, so often working together like a little slideshow symphony each picking up where the other left off, today. It is a sad, sad day. Double sad for each lovely device that enhanced so many lives for years.

My absentmindedness kills,

BB

I am announcing my intention to formulate an exploratory committee. For a week, I thought I’d branch out and begin a new chapter for myself. Forget the blog. I’ve outgrown it. But truth be told, I miss you. I am the most pathetic ex, ever. I’ve gotten out a lot more. Even dated: something I really don’t like. It’s like applying for a job when I don’t know what I’m applying for. I don’t really believe in looking for jobs, either, as I’m more of the ‘fall in your lap’ kind of girl. So, yet again, I find myself happiest in the comfort of my male friends, doing all the things I normally do, missing the fact that I chose to not share it with the world. Don’t get me wrong. There are new rules. My exploratory committee has been formed to investigate how I can be a better person, a better blogger, a better G-D American. Here is what they have pieced together thus far.

1. We can all learn a thing or two from watching rollerderby, which is what some friends and I did last night. I learned that it’s high time for me to start sticking my ass and elbows in to other women’s bellies and backs. That’s right. Crit riding = Rollerderby. And on a personal level, not just on a biking level, it’s high time for me to let my West Virginian teammate, Jeanette, handle business, crack some skulls, and sling me into people, if need be (we’d make kick ass rollerderbyers, mate).

2. I have decided that you can comment all you want, but consider it like an English class. I write what I write and done. No editing. You discuss. If you have something nice you want to say, say it and I will secretly smile and laugh and be glad. If not, I appreciate the dialogue, but you won’t get me to talk back. If you want, call me, if you have my number and want to leave a message cuz I most likely won’t answer my phone (but will prolly call back)…. or myspace me. You can even drunk myspace or call me. Just don’t call and scream and cuss me out like Mike Jones does though. But back to the blog: I will not make appearances at the ‘hashing out of what I might mean’ session.

3. That said, if you are sitting around procrastinating your ride, wondering if you ate too many oats and you should purge your breakfast, considering if you need sunscreen or would rather get the ‘tanline medal of accomplishment’, thinking about your watts for the day and your LT levels and T levels and your Hemotocrit Levels and iron levels and serotonin levels and masterbation levels and protein levels, and hydration levels and flexiblity levels, and caffiene through green tea and suppository levels, and legs-up levels, after spoozing over the altitude tent that you know Gunn has, and thinking about how underendowed you are and what will you possibly do after your legs are gone and sun-damaged and wrinkly even though you used the Bath and Body Works lotion you stole from your host family at Fitchburg, considering the wicked sprint that Dietrich beat you in with his hands tied during a training race where you accidentally went down over the train tracks and OH GOD, I’m fine and not embarassed and people like me, right?!?!, then saying ‘F@#$ it I don’t need anyone to like me cuz I’m a winner, well no, I’m not, then maybe I’m funny, well, no, I’m not, but I shop at Walmart and save a dime so that I can cheat my friends on the dinner bill when we go out for non-fat yogurt, and, in fact, I’m just a mean piece of shit that likes to make nice people feel bad, make fun of weirdos and handicapped people and everyone at the coffee shop whose asses I just kissed, and, I am not ever witty enough to make a hateful comment that makes any sense so I have to make up words like ‘furburger’ and pretend like I know what ‘third person’ is and I think everyone else is “LAME” because I am really just uncertain about my future and my personality and those two chest hairs or the boobs I lost in my quest for the perfect power-to-weight ratio, well, then GET OFF YOUR SAD ASS AND DO SOMETHING FOR HUMANITY, or, if you can’t do that, then go ride. Just ride. And leave me alone.

3. I am not as tough as I pretend to be, ever. No one is.

4. I was walking down 4th last night, after having full-on ditched my friends at a bar. Time to go. I had not another minute to spend there. No reason. So, walking down the street to find my friends that left earlier who might be driving a car down the street, I was asked by a Jesus person, front and center: “if you were going to die in the next few minutes, where would you go and what would you be doing?” My answer to her was, “hopefully, I would be in my friends’ car because I lost them and I would be going to.. bed”. Her answer was “Jesus loves you anyway”. To which I said, “I know”. The lesson in that encounter: Do what you gotta do and try to do it right. I don’t think anyone appreciates the here and now and efficient problem solving more than Jesus. But that’s just my opinion. His followers would prolly say I’m wrong. My exploratory committee will be proving or disproving the American-ness of that notion.
5. I am never bitter. Never sour. I have met the best people I could ever imagine and the most loyal are among you. My problem, as always, is trusting too much, believing too hard, overlooking to often. I guess if there is a major flaw, there are worse, but if you treat me wrong, or treat my friends wrong, then no more chances: one, maybe two. Then you’re out. There are just too many people in the world and not enough time for me to waste my days with idiots. I’d rather waste my days with thoughtful people. Thanks again, every one.

6. I’ve been studying Bostonese. And with that, I should return to the Patriot’s game.
Now that we’re all set, wanna make out?

BB

I need to gain perspective on what I used to think was a good time.  This site has been fun and I enjoy the feedback, that is, until some ass decided it was their good time to make me feel bad, anonymously. Yea, I could always delete comments made, but I don’t believe in that.  Go read someone else’s stuff or ride your bike.  I don’t have much more to say until I feel like being hammered by criticism again.

Sorry, and thanks for the support to those that gave it freely and honestly.

BB

As seen on NBC’s Today Show, Nightline, US Weekly, People Magazine, the Oprah Winfrey Show, The View, and Dateline, by fitness expert and food guru, Becky Broeder. A-List Clients include Henk Vogels, Paris Hilton, George Clooney, Nicole Ritchie, Christian Slater, and Johnny Knoxville.

“I like to call this program the Guilt Yourself Into Fitness Diet. See, all you have to do is eat a cookie or two and then feel like hurting yourself. The system is simple. You drink 12 beers, you do 1200 situps. You drink a bottle of wine, you have a four hour ride the next day. It’s really easy. You begin to FEEL BAD about your bad behaviour. Look! Here’s another example: you eat crap for two months straight, you ride hard for the two months straight following. You eat a chocolate bar, you attack the group ride. You eat a brownie on Big Square, you ride into the headwind over those little cracks that pop up every 1.5 seconds in Marana. It’s SO EASY. Stay up all night? Sleep all day, no food, no ride. It’s so easy, anyone can do it. No meal plan, no exercise equipment. In fact, if you’re on the road without a bike and you eat like a pig, GUESS WHAT?! YOU RUN, WALK, DANCE, STUNT DRIVE. No schedules, no broken resolutions. You get to pick your potion according to how awful you are. The worse a person you are, the skinnier you will be. IT’S SO EASY.”

What if I have an injury? Did you bring it on yourself? If so, YOU PAY. If not, you should sleep.

What if I don’t have enough money for the binge portion of the program? Then you PAY for it. You prolly spent your money on something dumb so go ride.

What if I get caught up in someone else’s coaches program and end up doing 53X11 for 26 miles up Lemmon? Then do it again the next day because that was a dumb thing to do and you should want to punish yourself.

What if I take all my clothes off inexpliably in public places? Good or bad? Is that evidence that the program is working? Yes. Indeed it does! You are feeling good. NOw continue with a big workout cuz you’re an idiot.
What if I don’t feel bad about my behaviour and need another motivator? You are overtraining at that point and need more sleep.

Call 1-866-DUM FAST to speak to an associate who will tell you to download a bunch of Scream-Mo onto your ipod to get your rolling. I will include the playlist and some recipies that range from fasting for penance to feasts for motivation.

It’s just so easy. Now get to it, jerko!
BB

The harder and more I train, the bigger my thighs and butt get, the more I weigh, the slower I go uphill, no matter how the variables of protein intake and resistance while training are adjusted.
Thus,

I need to race crits. Or, just diet and not train.
BB

I am publicly apologizing to Jake, one of my life coaches, who did fall off the face of the earth, but also managed to scramble back up onto earth, resurfacing here with me today at Ike’s Coffee Shop.

It’s Monday and I’m living the life. I have been out of work since before Christmas so, consequently, I have a lot of time for riding, coffee shops on Mondays to focus on ‘recovery’, and myspace early and often.

My day began with the poor man’s massage: an average speed ride of nearly nothing (aka “pet the horses ride” where I come from) which led to coffee with the Grey Wolf. (more…)