Lo and behold my surprise the next morning when I saw this response.

So I did what most people do when a “celebrity” responds to them and retweeted his tweet along with another message of my own.

But then he…

And then he was like…

So then I…

And then he went and…

Now I’ll admit that I’ve never met Mr. Cheban, never hung out with him, don’t know anyone he’s slept with, male or female, and don’t have any personal knowledge of his business but one thing I do have is a finely attuned gaydar. Game recognize game and homo recognize homo.

It’s ok Jonathan, it gets better.

It’s like the circle of life, but with Internet videos.

I respect a woman who can’t even be bothered to remember her hater’s names when calling them out on her video. You’ve got to thank your haters, just not necessarily by name.

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Part I – In Which Bella Still Doesn’t Smile but with Nicer Hair
Once again we find Bella spending the majority of the movie looking pasty-faced and mopey. I will give it to the hair and makeup department of the movie though, they seem to have read my review of the last movie and given Kristen Stewart either a more believable wig or sprung for some high-end extensions ’cause let’s keep it real, that hair looked way too luxurious to really be Kristen Stewart’s natural locks. That hair looked like it belonged on a Fería commercial more than it did on Bella’s head.

Part II – In Which The Wolf Pack Refuses to Take Off Their Clothes
The only time in the entire movie where we see Jacob without a shirt is in the first 3 minutes of the movie. After that he selfishly remains clothed the entire time. He changes into a wolf and his clothes rip off about half a dozen times but he never changes back on camera. The producers of this movie made me almost throw up my lunch several times by showing me a shirtless Robert Patinson but they couldn’t throw me a boner by giving me more shirtless Lautner to counteract the sick feeling in my stomach? I call shenanigans. It’s such a shame too, because Taylor Lautner finally seems to have grown into his Cro-Magnon features. His forehead and nose really seemed to fit on his face better.

Part III – In Which There Is Finally Penetration
The big storyline for this movie was the wedding of Edward and Bella and more importantly the fact that after over 2000 pages the homosexual, sparkly vampire and the pasty-faced crybaby were finally going to be able to do it. Walking down the aisle Bella was crying and looked like she was in pain. It’s ok, girl. If I were about to marry a scrawny assed, sparkly vampire with yellow teeth I’d be crying too. Later on during the honeymoon in Brazil, she’s crying again, presumably because she’s about to be penetrated by that pasty English dick and it’s the only dick she’s ever going to get.

The sex is supposed to be so intense that Edward breaks the bed. More than likely it was shoddy Brazilian craftsmanship that caused the bed to break. The next morning Bella is once again crying and bruised up. “Why can’t you see how happy I am?” she asks him. Probably because you’re crying, bruised up, have the acting skills of a statue and your face always looks unhappy, bitch.

Of course, like so many Christian girls that save their virginity until the day they get drunk off 3 Bartles & Jaymes wine coolers and do it in the backseat of their boyfriend’s parent’s car, she gets pregnant the first time out of the gate, and proceeds to spend the rest of the movie looking like she’s dying of SuperAIDS because her demon-spawn is eating her from the inside out and can only be satiated by blood drank through a straw from a Styrofoam cup. Why the Cullens, who live in a fucking mansion and drive BMW’s have a Styrofoam cup just lying around their kitchen is beyond me.

Part IV – In Which Other Stuff Happens but I Don’t Care Because I’ve Run Out of Vodka
There was not enough vodka in my water bottle to keep me interested in this movie. Bella cries some more. Edward talks about his love for Bella and how if the demon-spawn kills her he won’t be able to live on. Bella awkwardly tells Jacob how much she cares for him while staying with Edward. The other vampires fight there werewolves who still refuse to take off their clothes. Then the demon spawn is born and actually looks cute and manages to do the one thing that I’ve been hoping would happen since I got 10 pages into the first book, the baby done killed Bella. But then they turn her into a vampire and her hair becomes even more luxurious.

End of Part 1.

If anything, these movies have taught me that Stephenie Meyers is a genius. She went after an untapped market with tons of disposable dollars – Lonely, Single Bitches. I’ve decided that for the next and final installment I’m going to attend a midnight showing, dressed in my Harry Potter outfit and interview some of these lonely, single bitches. If I’m lucky I’ll find someone who has a tattoo just like this one.

Now before you get all up-in-arms about human trafficking, that’s not what I’m asking for. I’m just as against human-trafficking as you, I even bought the ribbon for it. What I want would be more akin to a human timeshare. Hear me out.

I just want a sassy, black midget little person to be my part-time BFF and go on adventures with. She’d be small, sassy and we would shenanigate like nobody’s business. I’d name her Little Precious and we’d go on road-trips and learn to line-dance just like in the new Footloose remake.

On weekends we’d be posted up on my couch eating fried chicken and judging the latest batch of reality shows. No, I’m not being racist and assuming she’s going to love fried chicken just because she’s black. I’m being a fattie and assuming she’s going to eat fried chicken with me because there are few things I love more in this world that some serious fried chicken.

We’d snuggle together under the comforter watching Fashion Police. It’d be like watching it with my cat except instead of looking at me with a face that reads “I like that you talk to me like I’m going to answer even though I’m a cat, you ass,” Little Precious and I would discuss the fashion trends and blunders and whether or not George Kotsiopoulos believes any of the bullshit that comes out of his own brown-nosed face.

See, wouldn’t that just be the Christmas gift that kept on giving? Besides, how am I supposed to be the gay Chelsea Handler without my own little nugget of a sidekick?

Tall, blonde, Pastor’s son, skateboarder, abs of a Greek god that he had no problem showing off, and with an affinity for Calvin & Hobbes boxers – this boy had it going on. If anyone has any info on him send a bitch an email. I don’t know that I’d go all Charlize Theron and try to break up a marriage (I don’t know that I wouldn’t either), but I’m just curious as to what he looks like now and I grossly underestimated how many Freddy Clarks there’d be on Facebook.

I mean isn’t that what the Internet and Social Media were created for? Stalking your exes and former crushes?

For those of you who had never heard it and for those of you who, like me, needed a reminder you’re welcome.

Katy Perry, the Zeus of my spirit animals, is the patron spirit animal of life, teenage dreams, skintight jeans and cross-country road-trips in convertibles.

Britney Spears is the patron spirit animal of fierce choreographed dancing and hair-flips. Seriously, as long as her extensions are on tight and she’s got a thick heeled shoe, this girl can kill it on the dance floor.

Beyoncé is the spirit animal of strutting. There is not a being on this earth that can strut harder than Beyoncé, even when blowing up cars or dancing on sand. The spirit of Beyoncé most often inhabits my body after a bottle or two of wine while walking the streets of New York. When Beyoncé’s spirit takes over your body, you just let the spirit take you.

When it comes to breakups and walking away from a bad relationship one can call upon Trina, the patron spirit animal of stuntin’ on hoes and getting over a breakup. There is no better way of walking away from a bad relationship that doing in in a fierce pair of red bottoms.

Next there is Rihanna, patron spirit animal of grindin’ up on people.

No, seriously. That’s all she needs.

The Greeks had Dionysus, the god of wine, parties and festivals, madness, drunkenness and pleasure. I have Ke$ha, the spirit animal of drunkeness, debauchery and glitter.

And finally, being the super bass of the gay spirit animal totem pole, is Nicki Minaj, patron spirit animal of

Yes, spirit animal of assassassassassassassass.
Any questions?

Day 1 – A photo of yourself and a description of how your day was.

So today, I went for a walk.

I gave praise for yet another day of life.

I drank my usual Starbucks drink, a soy white chocolate mocha.

Oh and I also climbed the most ironic sign in the history of the world and planked it.

For those of you who are new to What Had Happa and the main reason why I’m so bitter, I live in Soledad, CA. Our claims to fame are

1. We have a prison.
2. We are Steinbeck country
3. We have a lot of agricultural fields and wineries around us.
4. We have the most ironic sign outside of our city limits. One that judging from its font choice, has been there since the ’70s.

Seriously, if you ask ANY Soledad resident what’s happening in Soledad, they’ll give you a sideways look and say, “Nothing. The sign lied” because NOTHING ever happens here. The sign is pure blasphemy.

Well no longer. Now when people ask What’s happening in Soledad?

The answer will be – Aldo’s planking the hell outta that fuckin’ sign, that’s what!

If you’d like to join the 30 Day Blog Challenge yourself see the details here.

Now while my friend may be rude, she’s not entirely wrong. Still don’t you feel bad about how shitty my job has been lately that you just forgave me for not giving you a single blog post in 3 months?

Good, now let’s move on to the shenanigating.

For the most part I’ve been working nights, weekends and everything in between so there hasn’t been much time for fun. Except for two weeks ago when a friend came to visit from out of state so we decided to take her for a night out on the town. Not our town of course, as regardless of what lying billboards may tell you, nothing ever happens there. No, we drove to the “big” city of Salinas to take her for a night of bowling and greasy Chinese food. Which then led to a night of karaoke at the Denny’s lounge.

No, no. You read that right. Our Denny’s has a lounge filled with drinks, singing Mexicans and the smell of unfulfilled lives and desperation …or it could have just been the smell of the chicken fried steak. The jury’s still out on that one. All I know for certain is that walking into this Denny’s made my heart hurt.

It hurt for the 20+ people, all clearly regulars at this fine dining establishment, who had nothing better to do in town that to go to a Denny’s and listen to some old single men sing corridos. So I did what I normally do in a situation like this. I drank to make the pain go away … and then I was OK with the fact that WE were also in Denny’s “enjoying” our night.

Cranberry vodkas got me relaxed and had me do something I’d only done twice before and only in a room full of people I knew and felt comfortable with. I sang. I sang the song that has been branded into my heart ever since I first heard it in Jr. High. Salt ‘N’ Pepa’s None of Your Business

I would like to thank the fine people at Denny’s for not jumping us for being the only ones to sing an English song, I’d like to thank my partner-in-crime Salt (don’t worry. I’ll teach you the lyrics later) and most importantly I’d like to thank the 3 cranberry vodkas in the course of about 25 minutes for making this night possible.

None of your Business from Aldo C. on Vimeo.

See… now wasn’t that worth a 3 month wait?

Ladies and gentlemen, What Had Happa has returned and will be blogging on the regular, passing judgement, causing shenanigans all over the country and telling you all exactly What Had Happa.

Join the ride and tell your friends ’cause I’m back and looking to get out of the hellhole that currently pays all of my bills. Let’s make that book deal happen so I can get on with my true life calling … being the gay Chelsea Handler/Carrie Bradshaw.