It's my car, I'll listen to what I want. Thank you!

A nice lady named Holly e-mailed me to refer me to this article, proving that I may just be right for once in my live-long life.

So, recently, my car has really been the venue for some interesting conversations, starting with the middle finger thing and all. Last night it was all about Mr. Tommy Lee and why I own his album. Because...I DO! (Good one!?)

It was playing quietly in the background while we were chatting away, Tommy was minding his own business and doing his own Tommy thing, only to have my girlfriend ask, "Uh, who is this we're listening to?"

(Turning head away, mumbling under breath): Tommy...*cough*...Lee?

Her: OH MY GOD ARE YOU SERIOUS?

Of course I matched her volume: YES, I'M SERIOUS. He's a legend. And he sounds all...cute? Nice? I can sometimes understand his lyrics?

Her: You have sold out, sister.

Me: I know.

Her: Tommy Lee. What's his album called?

Me: Tommyland?

And then we both died laughing.

I turned it up. "See, it's...good? Good!"

She started mumbling things...imitating his signing...exaggerating a bit much.

I stroked my stereo. "Don't listen to her, Tommy. She doesn't KNOW. Keep singing, brother."

It's Tommy FREAKING LEE. And hello, I'm 13 again. Just like THAT!