?

Log in

No account? Create an account
NOH8

April 2011

S M T W T F S
     12
3456789
10111213141516
17181920212223
24252627282930

my (our) books

Fool for Love When You Don't See Me

Someone Like You I'm Your Man

He's The One It Had To Be You

The Mammoth Book of New Gay Erotica Best Gay Erotica 2007

Best Gay Love Stories: New York City Best Gay Love Stories 2005

Three Fortunes In One Cookie The Deal

contact

If you have any of the above books and would like them signed, mail them to:

P.O. Box 131845, Houston, TX., 77219.

Please include three dollars for return postage.

Send email to timothyjlambert@gmail.com


Warning: This blog may contain homosexuals which in the states of California and Maine have been alleged to destroy the sanctity of marriage. Read at your own risk.



Jon%20DeMichaelQuantcast


recommended courses of action


Scout's Honor Rescue is an all-breed, no-kill, Not-For-Profit 501(c)(3) animal rescue organization committed to bringing courage, character and compassion to Houston's homeless pet population and making a positive difference in the lives of these stray and abandoned animals and the Houston community as a whole. 100% of every dollar donated goes directly to saving the life of a homeless animal.

Scouts Honor Rescue Inc.

locally known

join(RED)

maine AIDS alliance

global AIDS alliance

UNAids

AIDS foundation houston

bering omega community services

frannie peabody center


Timothy's hair by Larry Henderson Hair Design.


Powered by LiveJournal.com

don't drop bombs


Late in the afternoon I'll take Rex to Becky's house to spend time with the girl dogs, which gives EZ freedom to stretch her legs and also allows Rex's jugular to remain intact at the same time. This was the case last week when Rex was over at Becky's house for the afternoon while Becky and her sister were visiting their mother. Rex and the girl dogs were alone in Becky's house for two or three hours, a situation not out of the ordinary by any means, until I went over to feed the girl dogs at dinner time. I let myself into Becky's house, fed the girls in the kitchen, and then let everyone outside to pee and run around. After a while I let everyone back into the house and went back to my apartment. Minutes later my phone rang. It was Mr. Becky, who'd arrived home and wondered if I'd been in his house. Yes, I replied, and told him how I'd fed the girls. But did I see anything out of the ordinary? Not so much, I answered. Why?

A few days before this story began, Becky's sister came to visit, so Becky baked a coconut cake. It was a heart shaped yellow cake with pink frosting, with sprinkles, and green coconut lightly dusted over the top. Half of it was eaten by us and, when this story began, the rest was covered with plastic wrap and left in the center of the dining room table where the dogs wouldn't get it.

Or so we thought.

When Mr. Becky returned from work, he found the cake pan licked clean and totally devoid of cake remnants. The plastic wrap was on the floor beside the table. The dining room chairs were pushed in to the table, except for one that was ever so slightly askew, as if moved so a dog would have better access to the tabletop. All of the dogs were the picture of innocence with nary a speck of frosting on their muzzles or yellow cake crumbs in their teeth. We interrogated them thoroughly, but none of them were willing to confess.

It wasn't until later that night, when I fed Rex his dinner and he sniffed at it, instead of devouring it instantaneously, that I thought he might be the culprit. Unfortunately, I'd pointed the finger earlier at Margot, one of the girl dogs, who is notorious for moving things around like chairs, quilts, and dog beds, because she's compulsive and requires things to be where they're supposed to be, or where she needs them to be at that moment in time. But no, Rex ate his dinner, yet without his usual zeal. Something was amiss. It wasn't until later, when he threw up his dinner and it was laced with specks of green coconut, which definitely weren't in his dinner the first time, that I had a genuine clue as to which dog ate the cake. After I cleaned up what Rex wouldn't eat the second time (Would you want to clean up ABC raw turkey neck and cow heart? I thought not.), he went to bed.

Over time his stomach seemed to swell to twice its regular size, an obvious symptom of too much coconut cake. It wasn't until the next day, after going to the front yard, squatting, and farting louder than a gassy cow on stage at Radio City Music Hall, that he showed any sign of being the jaunty, happy Rexford G. Lambert that we all know and beg not to jump on us. I immediately whipped out my cell phone and sent Becky a text message that read: Rex's ass exploded.

Comments