As you would imagine, a confrontation with feathery bling of the tiniest order (such as that which occurred at the Spice band launch on Sunday night) has definitely shaken me to the core.  This girl can’t sleep, this girl can’t eat (well, she can eat, but she thinks twice before stuffing mouth with tortilla chips), this girl can’t so much as blink without thinking of Carnival.

Let’s not even talk about what happens if she hears soca on the radio or in a store–Faye Ann’s “Start Wining” really should be called “Start Getting Teary-Eyed With Emotion While Thinking of Last Year’s Carnival and Looking Forward To This Year’s Mas.”

So, rather than going around having meltdowns of excitement, endlessly counting down the days till Carnival Monday, and driving the other inhabitants of the house crazy, I decided to channel my energies into more positive outlets:  whipping my own booty into Carnival shape.

The plan is going to be so intricate that military tactical plans will look like the scribblings of ADD-addled six-year-olds in comparison.  There will be charts detailing every last repetition of strength moves and specifying the degree of muscle pain to be sought in each activity to ensure that Operation: Carnival Ass (and Belly) is carried out to successful completion.

But, before I can fully draw up my plan (and thereby map out my exercise life for the next seven months), I need to line up my ducks.  And for that, Annie needs to get her gun.

So, today, a long-awaited shopping excursion went down… can you guess what I brought home?

Getting warmer?

Yes!  A bicycle–my very first one (well, since training wheels)!

The plan had been to get a single bike for the house so that me and the man could share and, after seeing the prices we saw for bikes on Saturday, that was definitely what was going to happen.  However, we decided to do one final shop-around today. Gotta love me some Trinicity Mall–it never disappoints! (Well, not unless I’m looking for sandals).  Sportworld had a sale on bikes, and the price of TWO of their bikes came to a bit more than half of what we had been expecting to pay for one, so this madam got a pink bike and her monsieur got a most manly red, black, and cream model.

Now, don’t go getting too excited.  I definitely am getting what I paid for:  wheels, rubber, metal, and a whole lot of squeak.  Pro bikes they’re not.  Imagine a bike from Target.  No, wait.  Imagine a bike from Walgreen’s.  Now imagine that bike from Walgreen’s getting stolen by naughty kids  and taken for a joyride over rugged speedbumps before being shoved in front of a moving 4 x 4.  That’s basically how the bike feels as I pedal along.  I think it resents me for daring to spin it.

However, I simply do not care!  I am way thrilled that the man and I can go on daily bike rides together and that I finally have a bike to call my own.  The fact that it’s ridiculously, preposterously pink and that the gears aren’t set up properly–and that it may last no further than this Carnival–only adds to the giddiness of it all.

And of course we went for a very short ride this afternoon, but as our luck would have it, the Mr.’s bike gave plenty of wheel trouble, and by the time we got it fixed and went halfway around the block it started to sprinkle, and then it started to pour.  The ride was cut short, filed under “ridiculous” and “Trinidad,” and will be re-attempted tomorrow.

I’m a cheapskate, so I pay a LOT to play mas.  I WILL deliver the goods–I’m just rounding up my arsenal.