Nacadas Italianas, Part I

"Ciao. Mi chiamo LA Naca. Io sono caffona."

¿Qué mamadas quiere decir eso? Allow me to translate.

Ciao quiere decir "¡Quihúbole, guey!" Aunque se oye medio jotito, es lo normal allá.

Mi chiamo LA Naca means "my name is LA Naca." Simple enough.

Io sono caffona was probably the most used term on my cursillo.  It means "I am naca." Serio pedo.

Although Italia is about 7,000 miles away from NacoLAndia and The Greatest Country In The World, there were still a lot of recuerdos of home all over the Roman Empire.

De Jalisco a Venezia, embarrando el mundo con nacadas es lo que hago.

Bueno pues, since I knew my first stop was Venice, I had one thing in mind: Hombres G.




Just hearing those heliumed Spaniards makes me want to drive to Anaheim and PPP it up at Xalos Bar where every night is a tamborazo and every night is an unofficial La Chica Más Fea contest.

Anyguey, after Venice, I took the Italian equivalent of La Flecha Amarilla to Pisa where I found myself at a tianguis.

Turns out, souvenirs that no one wants are available in every country.

Italian version of the Cerritos Swap Meet.

Igual de groceros que mis paisas.

Cuando fuí a cenar en un restaurante supuestamente italiano, ¿qué crees que pusieron en la mesa?

That's right.  I walked into an Italian restaurant and the waiter put Tabasco sauce in front of me to put on my pizza.  This has never happened to me in all the years I've eaten at Chuck E. Cheese or any of the other fine Italian restaurants in NacoLAndia, so I don't know why they would offer it to me here.

In ether case, I say to the mesero...gracias, joven.

Hasta mañana.

(Ni Tan) Fashion Fridays, X

"You're dead to me."

"¡Qué la chingada!"

"¡No nos has dado nada por 3 meses, mamona!"

"Pos, ¿qué esperas, cabrona?"

"You're dead to me.  Again."

Girl, let me tell you, these are a handful of the nicest comments I've received (mostly from LA Doctora y LA Abogada) about my unfortunate leave of absence. It's not that mi vida has gotten any less naca, it's just that, well... Read on.

Since my last post, LA Naca has had some major life changing moments.  Primeramente, como no tenía trabajo, pues le pedí al santo niño que me diera una buena chamba.  Since homie wasn't listening, pos me fui en un cursillo.  Of course, not the Episcopalian copycat kind, but the real deal Virgen de Guadalupe kind, except, instead of Tepeyac, I went to Jesus's house.  No, not Tío Chucho's casita in the West Side Locos infested 'hood of Penmar Parque.  Ufff, no. ¡Qué asco!  Let me show you.

That's right. I went to el Papa's house.

I'll tell you more in the next post since my innernet connection at the library is about to run out, so, let me leave you with this fashion advice I learned while at the Vatican.

Ahí donde lo ves, I'm back.  It's on like Donkey Kong.  Trust.

Hasta mañana.