On Sunday, I saw a dirty, black Range Rover turning onto my housesitting street in Malibu. It had to be Flea. Miraculously, his Range Rover wasn’t as offensive dirty. See previous post for details.

The next day I went to the beach, and a skinny girl with an adorable black and white dog was out frolicking. She was wearing a hippie tunic.

The girl looked like a model that I’d seen in magazines, but I couldn’t be sure. She had a model body but wasn’t freakishly tall. (Models can be difficult to ID in real life because many look pretty/average without their hair, makeup, fancy clothes and retouching.)

I went back to my reading. Even though many people lived in this area, I figured that the model girl had to be Flea’s girlfriend. Welcome to my logic.

Beach Day 2: I was sitting in an oversized white shirt because I’d managed to get sunburned. Then Flea, the model girl from yesterday, and her dog crossed my path. How pathetic was it that I was right? They went down the beach about 100 yards before taking a swim.

Flea is the only Red Hot Chili Pepper I’ve ever really liked. And it hasn’t been in a crushed-out kind of way. He’s a really talented drummer* and has always seemed like a cool and spiritual guy. I’d like to be invited over to his crib.

*Flea is the bass player, but I got overwhelmed by my drummer obsession and was in denial. Thanks, readers Terry and Jon for the correction.