The Clampetts come to Calabasas

So we need some updates. The summer is winding down, I'm finishing up my last day at work, and school starts on Monday (last year of Law School. Yay. Josh, how many more years do you have?) We've been busy squeezing all the fun out of the summer, and we haven't had time to post. We're not sorry.

Mom and Dad Herbert (Grandma and Grandpa to Diesel) came and visited us a couple of weeks ago. I made a slideshow complete with captions for your viewing pleasure. There are many stories, but the best one is about me:

Place: Santa Monica, 3rd street promenade, men's restroom at Yankee Doodle's.

Dad and I have to make a pit stop. The bathroom is a two-holer, and I opt for the stall. As we are doing our thing, I hear someone else come in, and try the door to the stall that I'm occupying. When the mystery man realizes that the door is locked, he decides it would be a good idea to knock.

"ocupado" I say. (Spanish is the preferred language in LA bathrooms)

Then, in the mystery man's infinite wisdom, he tries the door again, this time more vehemently. When the door doesn't open AGAIN, he knocks AGAIN.

"I'm in here!" I say.

Third time's a charm, so when he repeats the pulling on the door and knocking procedure, I've had enough (I don't have a temper).

"If you knock on that door one more time, I'm gonna punch you in the face when I get outta here." I say, ever so politely.

"he'll do it, too" Says my dad, ever the helpful bathroom cohabitant.

"I'm gonna knock your head off" says the low, gravelly voice from the other side of the door.

My dad laughs, and LEAVES ME IN THERE WITH THE GUY!!!! Mind you, I've just threatened to punch a stranger and I have no idea what he looks like. The Hulk could be behind that stall door. So I finish, curse my dad for leaving me, bow up my chest as far as it will go, put a menacing look on my face, and swing open the door, ready for a fight.

When I open the door, ready to look the guy in the eye, I actually have to look down. There, standing before me, is a FOUR FOOT TALL, BALD, 60-year-old LITTLE PERSON (MIDGET).

He says nothing, I say nothing, a couple of seconds go by, and I just walked out of the bathroom. As I get outside, I see my dad, doubled over in laughter.

"you could have told me he was four feet tall!!"

"No," Dad said, "I figured you could handle yourself!"

Enjoy the pictures. And if you threaten people without seeing what they look like, make sure they are at least taller than Josh Reese.