Nacadas de Ancianas

Everything I've learned, I've learned from viejitas.

"Don't wear shoes that are too tight or they'll give you bunions."  Mi abuelita and my mormon sister taught me that through example.

"Don't get involved with unmarried men over the age of 30.  Chances are they have kids and maybe even a wife hiding somewhere." 100% accurate.

"Don't pluck your eyebrows too much or else they won't grow back."  I think it's safe to say most cholas didn't get that memo.

Well, one thing that ancianas like LA Seño and her comadres taught me was the fine arts of crafting.  Don't get me wrong, LA Naca is not down with scrapbooking because I don't have children and I'm not white.  That being said, I love SUPER old lady traditions taught to me by my old ladies, like making guacamole in a molcajete, making tortillas a mano, and, most importantly, learning how to fake doing both of those things without your viejo catching on.  Take my tía Coco for example.  That enanita speed-knits while watching TV, reading a book and doling out advice.  And by doling out advice, I obviously mean criticizing my life choices.  But that is neither here nor there. The important thing is that she makes me scarves for Christmas.

And while LA Seño taught me to make my dolls dresses as a kid, my real love was cross-stitching with my abuelita.  She would stitch, she would bitch, and she would do it all while looking glamorous and sharing her Winstons with me at the tender age of 5.  Although I haven't kept up the smoking habit (quit when I was 9, thank you very much!), I did keep up the stitching and bitching habits.  I've even decided to make my own little shop to celebrate my love of stitching.

I present to you the official Mi Vida Naca store on Etsy.  It's called Puras Nacadas and can be found here.

Here's a preview of the first handful of items I posted.

El Blue Demon

The Damned Truth

mmmhhhhmmm

Autobiographical

Un chingo de gracias a LA Cemita for taking these fotos on her hora de lonche!

Enjoy generations worth of sage advice.

Hasta mañana.

¡Viva México, Cabrones! ¡Nálgame, Dios! ¡Ya tengo chamba! ¡Exclamación!

Pancho Villa couldn't get it up and Emiliano Zapata was a gay.

Or at least that's what this LA Times article about the Mexican bicentennial says, and LA Naca totally believes it. It's true our history is very colorful and cruel and right now--and to some degree, always--there's a huge problem in the Greatest Country in the World. The drug wars are HORRIBLE, just like the slaughtering of women in Juarez, just like the extremely corrupt government, just like the gang takeovers in little pueblitos, just like George Lopez's face.

Oh, wait, that's right. I'm, like, 2 months late on the bicentennial. My bad. Let's try this again...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

LA Naca no longer has to sell her body to the night.

Not that I did, but it did cross my mind when I ran out of tortillas.  However, now there's no need to fear.

$300 in Santo Niño de Atocha candles later and this bish finally got herself a chamba!

So, first and foremost, to my old 9 to 5 that canned me, I dedicate this to you....



Now, as for my new employment, I'm not exactly sure what it is I do or what I'm responsible for, or even why they hired me. But I'll tell you this much: I'm pretty sure I got this gig because of this shoddily maintained blog. Or maybe it's because LA Doctora put in a good word for me. ¿Quién sabe? The way I see it, the esmart thing to do would be to not let anyone down, right? So I need to do a ridiculously better job of maintaining Mi Vida Naca or else imma get cut by my prima AND fired by my jefa. ¿Y quién quiere eso? Nadien.

I'm not gonna lie, I like having this job. I also really like getting a paycheck. It's not as good as getting cash money under the table, but I now have health insurance. Now, I can go to a REAL doctor for my tetraciclina instead of driving up Alvarado. Of course, I'll miss the days of self-medicating like I do in The Greatest Country In The World, a land that allows me to skip all the middlemen and head straight to la farmacia and shop for drugs with wild abandon!

But I digress.

Back to el nuevo trabajo. Estoy contenta y sin ninguna razón por que quitear. With the exception of a handful of cotorras who pass the time chismeando todo el santo día instead of doing actual work, everyone at my job is really nice. They haven't ONCE threatened to call INS on my nalgas. So, I got that going for me, which is nice.  Plus, they're ok with me esneaking into an office to use the internet since I can't afford it at my place because el pinche guero vecino decided to put a stupid password on his wireless network. But he'll get his. Just a spoonful of sugar makes the motor break down!

Anyguey, recently, I was cleaning the office of this one vieja who dresses like a Cabbage Patch Kid to find that Chuchito, la Virgencita and Walter Mercado all had a role in getting me this job.  For the non-believers in el destino, check out God's handiwork lying on the floor:

A NACADA Journal...I imagine it's probably filled with hopes, dreams, affirmations and a sprinkling of Joan Sebastian lyrics.

Hasta mañana.

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.

Fashion Fridays, IX

¡Chiquitibum alabimbomba!
¡Alabío, Alabao, Alabimbomba!
¡MEXICO! ¡MEXICO!
¡RA RA RA!

Welcome to the Copa Mundial edition of Fashion Fridays!

I have been knee-deep in chambalessness and Dodgertown that I've neglected my legacy that is this blog.  Perdóname.  After enough threats of physical harm from both LA Doctora and LA Abogada, I thought I'd pick up where I left off, lest I get shived.  I'm still looking for work, but only between ballgames.  But enough about those babosadas, let's get to the good stuff: RAFA MARQUEZ.

This morning, I got up at 6am and made chilaquiles y frijoles refritos y café con leche, mami and settled down at 7am to watch the first game of the 2010 World Cup: South Africa vs. The Greatest Country In The World.

LA Naca is not what you would call a morning person, which is why, in a half-conscious stupor, I started clapping when the first goal was made only to realize about 90 seconds later that it was South Africa that scored, not Mexico. ¡Qué diablos!

Ashamed of my confusion, I downed my coffee and started paying real attention, after all, everyone knows the hottest athletes in the world are soccer players (Ethier, of course, is an exception), especially that chulo Rafa Márquez.  What's more, he's not just un taco de ojo, he's also talented.  During the second half, he scored the only goal for my team.

The final score wound up being 1-1, but it was still an exciting game, especially around 7:45, when my coffee finally kicked in.

As you can see, the World Cup is a star-studded event.  Even superstars such as Chente, Paquita and El Buki showed their support for their national team by sending their impersonators to be on Despierta América immediately following the game.

For the record, Tranny la del Barrio is my favorite.

After that, I was watching El Gordo y La Flaca, while waiting for the France vs. Uruguay game to start.  As expected, there were nacos fanaticos all up in Johannesburg.  Pobre de los sudafricanos.

The most nacos of nacos, of course, were the ones El Gordo (who isn't gordo anymore thanks to that surgery for lazy gabachos where they put a liga around your panza) chose to interview, as they are the biggest hams in front of a video crew.

The reigning title of Los Nacos Más Nacos en Johannesburgo goes to...

Banda El Recodo.

However, seeing as how this is a fashion entry, let me display for you the two greatest headpieces worn by traveling nacos.

Sombrerote tamaño caguama.

Un Chichimeco jodido y perdido.

If these nacos had any kind of class, they'd snatch up the official away jersey that looks like this:

In the case of yours truly, well, I have an extensive collection of fútbol soccerwear dating back to 1986, but my favorite shirt is one that I purchased  at the Adidas store in Santa Monica during the 2006 SS Germany World Cup.

Much like myself, it's badass.

Please note the grease stain from my chilaquiles under the I. Qué sin verguenza.

¡Arriba México, cabrones!

Hasta mañana.

Ponerte Al Día Sobre Mis Cicatrices

Dos semanas sin chamba.

Dios Mio, are you trying to tell me something?  How can I find work when this won't go away?

Every potential employer probably thinks I shanked a bitch.  I think God's messing with me.  Shouldn't my tres puntos be "healing" by now?  It's been over a month.  Plus, I've been putting aloe vera on it just like LA Seño taught me, and not from a bottle, but straight from la mata de sábila.

Off to pray to el Santo Niño and slather on some more of esa planta babosa.

Hasta mañana.

¡Qué Chismosa!

I have a love/hate relationship with chisme, and with being a chismosa.

That being said, I've derived a simple chisme chart:

If LA Naca 

A. knows you and

 1. loves you 

      a. and it's good news: I will let you share your good news so as to not steal your thunder.

      b. and it's bad news: I will pour you a stiff drink and match you tear for tear.

 2. doesn't love you (applies mostly to primos-hermanos)

      a. and it's good news: I don't care and thus will not remember, let alone repeat the news.

      b. and it's bad news: expect the news to be posted as my facebook status.

B. doesn't know you and

 1. loves you

    - see 2b above.

 2. doesn't love you

    - see 2a above.

This outline might need revising, so we'll just call this a work in progress.

In any case, have I got chisme for you!

So, word on the street is that my favorite little hole of a restaurant where I was once cht-chted by a man sitting 2 feet away, Tacomiendo, is doomed to shut down!  Now before you start to assume rat droppings, let me tell you what I heard.  Apparently, Tacomiendo was caught by the Health Department selling chelas bajo la mesa without a beer and wine license.

To you, LA County Department of Public Health, I say, this is not a crime. This is a cultural misunderstanding.   It's what my people do.  We always hide and serve drinks under the table. Hell, my family sneaks in bottles of tequila and cases of beer to practically EVERY quinceañera y boda. It's that liquid courage that enables me to do my mother's will to take more than my fair share of floral arrangements and centerpieces.  ¿Y Qué? You gonna deport me now?

This case is as silly as trying to take away my Cajuela Cantina.  That cantina has cured every case of boredom my primos and I have ever had at any of the offensive amount of family baby and bridal showers.  I'm sorry, but if you're the one stuck getting married or knocked up, I say you're the person that needs to be drinking the most.

So, all that cheese being said, I say get while the getting's good and head on over to your local Tacomiendo before they get shut down by The Man. I'm so ashamed of never thinking to ask for a chela with my chiles rellenos before now.  Live and learn, I guess.

Off to enjoy my second Rosa Mexicano of the evening.

Hasta mañana.

El Que Espera, Desespera.

LA Naca's social life has skyrocketed since losing employment.

All of a sudden, I'm such a catch and all of NacoLAndia wants to liquid lunch with me, except for my old employer, of course.

I've also spent my other free time sleeping for at least 9 hours a night and tucking myself in for bed with several generous pours of Rosa Mexicano every evening.  Don't be jealous.

Oddly enough, on two of my adventures this past week, I wound up at The Farmers Market.  On the surface, the whole place, along with The Grove shopping center lying adjacent, is way too fancy for LA Naca, what with there being fancy stores like Barnels and Nobles and Estarbucks on the premises.  But there's one place, puesto #322, that always makes me feel like su casa really es mi casa.  I found it one day about 6 years ago and, as fate would have it, I happened to be wearing a shirt that matched the decor.  The stand is called ¡Lotería!

In my world, ¡Lotería! is a timeless Mexican board game similar to bingo, but better.  Bingo doesn't have a topless mermaid, therefore the one hecho en Mexico is the winner.  In fact, when I was an 8th grader, instead of having pictures of hottie celebrities like Jordan Knight or Kirk Cameron or Corey Haim (DEP), I opted to put up the cards of el Apache, el Valiente, el Musico, el Negrito, el Catrin, but somehow the ones that had the most influence on me were el Soldado and el Borracho. Oh yeah, and la Botella.

If none of this makes sense to you, pick up a copy of ¡Lotería! at your local TopValu.  Word to the wise: you shouldn't be paying more than $4 for your game box.

Anyguey, I'm used to playing Lotería either on the street with total strangers or at home with friends and family.  Ever since I was eleven, LA Seño would ship me off to the Greatest Country in the World just in time for the annual holiday fiestas when the carnival would overtake mi pueblito for 3 days, and it's where I first learned how to play ¡Lotería! for cash money (but pesos Mexicanos, so it's almost like playing with pretend money).

I would play late into the night, easily past 9pm, spending all my time with a laminated cardboard tabla and a gripload of bottlecaps as markers.  (If I were to play this at home with my family, we'd use un chingo de frijoles pintos instead.)  There were prizes involved, too, usually cheap plastic choking hazards. But the REAL joy came from being the first to shout "¡Lotería!" only to hear your neighbor bitch, "¡No manches! Casi casi gané, niña."

Whenever I visit Loteria Grill, I'm filled with nostalgia of my childhood gambling addiction.  Also, their food is delicious (especially their mole enchiladas), if overpriced.  Their flautas also kick nalgas.  Even better, they have a sea of different aguas frescas that constantly keep me coming back for more.

I wonder if the levels were made to look like phone reception or if that's just a coincidence.  In any case, it's not as cheap as some of my other favorite places in more hood parts of town, but it's a small price to pay for finding sanctuary, a place to belong, in an otherwise porkless and Jesusless neighborhood.

What I also love about this place is the liberties they took with creating their own Lotería images side by side with the originals.

Note how they tried to sneak in el Camion between the musical sandwich of el Arpa and el Bandolon.  I also love how they added el Domino between the classics las Jaras and la Chalupa.

Here are some of my favorite new additions to the Lotería familia.

Agarre el sombrero de tu tío pa' bailar el jarabe tapatío.

Somos especialistas en amar a los futbolistas.

El jarocho se lava la cachimba antes de tocar la marimba.

Prefiero los toreadores que los mensos boxeadores.

Yo no soy marinero, pero por ti seré cocinero.

If working as a taxista or chola doesn't work out for me, I really should think of becoming the poet laureate of la Placita Olvera. In the meantime, Corralejo is calling my name.

Hasta mañana.

C-C-C-C-Cambios

LA Naca lost her chamba.

That being said, LA Naca now has more time to focus on Mi Vida Naca...y los Doyers. Don't worry about this lapse in time being about the running out of material.  I just had to cry it out and stand in the unemployment line first.

In fact, the thought of running out of nacadas makes me go jaja.  Chichis Christ, I have a never-ending supply of nacosidades.  Lo naco me llama y me encuentra.

This time, inspiration came from LA Doctora.  She found a business card for a taxi cab service here in NacoLAndia.  I usually have no need for cabs, as the MTA serves me well when my carcancha doesn't.  But, I think she saved it for me in case I was looking for a career change.

I don't know why she chose gypsy cab driver as a possible new profession.  Upon further reflection, I guess I am qualified for the job.  I have both excellent driving skills (I only cut off BMWs) and am insured most months of the year.  Part of me thinks that this idea came to her because I almost got into a traffic accident a few years ago while trying to take this picture.

(Photo courtesy of driving down Venice Blvd. by Culver Blvd.)

Maybe that's why LA Doctora chose to give me this card for LA City Taxi.

What's awesome about this business card, besides offering a 10% discount, is that the other side has a 2010 calendar.

...y se hacen delivers.

Hasta mañana.

¿Qué Quiere Decir Triple Salchow?

LA Naca's mind was blown last night watching las Olimpiadas with LA Doctora.

We watched about an hour's worth of men's figure skating while playing several rounds of "es o no es?"

After suffering temporary blindness from sequins overload, we decided Johnny Weir would be our last show of the night.

And what a show it was!

I don't think I knew too much about Johnny before last night, but what I did know was that he did something that touched me deep in my naca core.

JOHNNY WEIR SKATED TO JUANGA!

That's right, nacos.  Juanito Weir triple toe-looped his way through a dandy routine he dubbed I Love You, I Hate You to the sounds of Raúl Di Blasio's instrumental rendition of Juan Gabriel's Hasta Que Te Conocí.

I just spent many hours trying to figure out how to embed this video into a blog, pero soy demasiada naca para entender esas chingaderas.

That being said, please enjoy I Love You, I Hate You.

.

And for the record, Juanito totally es.

Hasta mañana.

Rayitos de Amor

The Dollar Spot at Target is the biggest peso trap ever.

First off, only half the items in said spot are actually a dollar.  Many items are $2.50, so when LA Naca throws 8 Hello Kitty notebooks into the shopping cart for 6 sobrinitas and a few grown-ass friends, I get to the register thinking I'm spending 8 bucks when in actuality it's $20. ¡Qué diablos!

There's also some crazy mind-control happening at The Dollar Spot.  How else can I explain owning four desk calendars when I only have one makeshift desk made of cardboard boxes?

Now that I've been burned one too many times, I steer clear of that area, so as to avoid getting sucked into it's tractor beam.  But it's still Target, and things you never knew you always needed jump out at you and leap into your cart and beg you to take them home, like flannel sabanas, or $2 chanclas, or Optimus Prime piyamas. 

On my most recent trip to Target, I bought a picza pan. Was it necessary?  Of course not.  How many piczas have I made since owning it?  One.  Was it worth the trip?

Hells. To. The. Yes.

Why?  Because San Valentín placed before me the most naco of nacos I've ever seen at a Target, ever.  I felt such a kinship towards him, as he perused the cosmetics aisle.  I wanted to go up and talk to him about who highlighted his hair, but his vieja was there and I didn't want to cause any drama.  So, I simply admired the naco from a distance, feeling my pulse race and my soul soar.

Seeing as how I'm sin verguenza, I followed him.  I followed him out of the cosmetics section.  I followed him into the cleaning supplies section.  I followed him to the scanner, when his vieja started to notice, so I had to slow down and keep a few paces between myself and my love.  Nonetheless, I needed to capture this Hallmark Moment so you could understand why my heart was all aflutter.  Please enjoy my most recent unrequited love based solely on Cursi-inspired hair.

Amor, amor, amor

Amor, amor, amor

Quiero que me vuelvan a mirar tus ojos

 Si en una rosa estas tú
Si en cada respirar estas tú
Como te voy a olvidar
Como te voy a olvidar

 

Si te clavaste aquí en mi corazón
Y de amor has llenado mi alma
Y tu sangre corre por mis venas
Y tu sangre me hace estremecer
Iré contigo.

Si no puedo encontrar amor verdadero en el Target, ¿pos entonces dónde? 

After 7 or 8 minutes of deep consideration, the answer (possibly influenced by my home decor) came whizzing towards me like a Broxton slider: Chavez Ravine.

Amorcito corazón, yo tengo tentación de un beso...by the nacho cart.

Feliz día de San Valentín.

Hasta mañana.

Para Nosotros, Por Nosotros

To know Top Valu, is to love Top Valu.

Those of us lucky enough to live in barrios chidos like Lennox, East Los, Wilmas, Temple City, Inglewood, El Monte, Culver City, Lynwood or Whittier know just how awesome Top Valu and Valu Plus grocery stores can be, including the strip malls in which they are located.

Today, LA Naca will take you on a magical ride through the Culver City branch of Top Valu, ideally located between Mar Vista Gardens and, for those of you paying attention, Tacomiendo.

 

LA Seño calls this place "the 'hood market".  Guáchale.

  

Fruta de horno y pan dulce.  Not Top Valu's finest work, but if you're in a pinch, they got it.  Whatever you do, DON'T buy their bolillos.  Piedras tienen mejor sabor.

  

I once ate $3 worth of Top Valu chicharrones.  Hypertension is the best!

  

These jello cakes are interesting.  I have yet to try them, as I usually prefer cakes that don't wiggle.  Plus, LA Seño makes the best gelatina ever, so nothing anywhere in NacoLAndia can compare.

  

Ready-made salsas and guacamole, for the shameful.

  

Are these called churros or chicharrones?  I forget.  I hate them, anyway.

  

lalalalalalalalalalalala.

 

Espices!

  

Goya: so much more than creepy Jesus art.

Abuelita and Nesquik chocomil = Best. Aisle. Ever.  

Also, let it be known that LA Doctora, LA Santera, LA Messicana and I have been invited to an Abuelita-hosted pari en el centro.  I can't wait to post on that. 

I think I might take one of each of these galletitas to said pari.

  

Jarritos and cidral as far as the eye can see. Déjenme en paz, que aquí me quiero morir. 

No wait!

  

ADM.  Tostadas Guerrero.  Leave me here forever instead.  But you know, before I decide to get shipwrecked in the tostadas (a)isle.  I'm gonna need...

...crema ágria (I'm 100% sure the only difference between these two is the packaging.) y...

...un chingo de queso fresco.

Just very be careful when ordering cheese at the dairy counter or else you might find yourself yelling, "Bish, I said I want a 1/4 lb of Oaxaca!  How does that sound like Fresco to you? ¡Sácate el queso de las orejas, vieja!"

And while we're on the subject of leaving me on a deserted island...

 

It's not a pari without un chingo de chelas.

Top Valu has other brands of beer, but I'm not German, Japanese or from Fort Lauderdale, so they're worth mother to me.

  

Speaking of mothers...I get shivers up my spine every time I see the huge crate of corn husks.  

Tamales-making is sorely overlooked by Social Services as a form of child abuse.  LA Abogada and LA Doctora can attest to this, too. Speaking of corn products...

Grain hierarchy: the lowly pan de trigo, the just-for-norteños-y-gabachos tortillas de harina, then the almighty tortillas de maíz, all while the segregated white bread looks on from the north.

 ~

Top Valu is the FUBU of supermercados.  Puros paisas work there, puros paisas shop there.  Therefore, Top Valu offers great finds that no Vons, Albertsons or Whole Foods would ever carry.

  

I've never seen piñatas sold at Trader Joe's, or Chivas mascots, for that matter.

  

Ralphs might carry La Bella Durmiente and Rosita Fresita dolls, but Top Valu wins by carrying La Chilindrina.

  

All drugstores and supermarkets carry RID, but who is badass enough to carry MATAPIOJOS?  Ya sabes quien.

 

Even the Food 4 Less on Western and Venice only has a handful of velas on hand, plus, they're stored underneath the fruit section. ¡¿Qué es eso?! At Top Valu, velas are treated with respect.  You best believe I own one of each.

 Pozole bowls: when only the finest of china will do, especially when you're entertaining.

Speaking of which...

Entertainment at it's finest: Plaza Sésamo, Por tu Maldito Amor, Chivas USA y Capulina vs Las Momias.  Something for ever naco. I totally bought that last one. 

Now, mi gente, if I haven't successfully sold you on the wonders of Top Valu, maybe I'm not doing a good job, or maybe you're dead on the inside.  I don't know.  But here's where I whip out my greatest advertising ammo for you to visit your local mercado and fall in love with it as I have.

  

If you don't naturally have the same obsession with making guacamole as I do, you will at these prices.

Please note that if you're looking for fancy items such as Theraflu or deodorant, those are kept under lock and key, so make sure to ask one of the assistants to help you.

Top Valu...Keepin' it real for over 30 years in ghettos all over the southland.

Hasta mañana.