Dolores del Rio de Porciúncula

Does God want LA Naca to be a chola?

This is something I've been debating heavily for at least the past 48 hours.

While I do wear arracadas to every Dodger game--I'm convinced they (along with my K-Swiss) bring them la buena suerte--I don't like, nor own, Fila chanclas or Randy Moss jerseys.  LA Naca prefiere huaraches y fútbol.  What kind of chola would I be?

Please, Chuchito, I know I've recently been praying heavily to you about my career, as made evident by the abundance of Santo Niño de Atocha candles burning on my kitchen windowsill, but please don't make me become a veterana.  My tía Lupe is a veterana and that vieja desgraciada STILL uses peroxide to lighten her hair and a lighter to melt her eyeliner!  ¿¿Qué es eso??

You might be thinking, "But, LA Naca, what role does God have in making you a chola?"  Well, I'll tell you.  I just experienced Divine Cholillo Intervention.

My life changed suddenly and rather permanently this weekend while I was frying up some empanadas chinas (gyoza to the gabachos).  That's it.  Not exactly Marta Estewart difícil.  ¿Y qué pasó?  The canola oil jumped out my pinche sartén and burned my hand, creating immediate, painful blisters.  I was running my hand under cold water when I realized that Dios Todopoderoso truly works in mysterious ways.

He branded me with a trinity of strategically placed stigmata.

 

Knowing it was God's will to give me tres puntos, I immediately stopped cooking and jumped myself into my own gang.

Mi Vida Naca por vida.

Hasta mañana.