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April 2011


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


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.


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


maine AIDS alliance

global AIDS alliance


AIDS foundation houston

bering omega community services

frannie peabody center

Timothy's hair by Larry Henderson Hair Design.

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carry on clangers

Becky's brother is visiting, in town for their mother's birthday, which I think is today. I think she's one hundred and eighty years old. I'd cut her arm off and count the rings, but people call that mistreating the elderly. Whatever. David brought his constant companion, Bailey, a rat terrier (Or, so I believe. He's not talking, no matter how long I shine a light into his face.) who's not impressed at all by Rex's ability to bonk Bailey on the butt with his nose. Bailey told Rex to stop and snapped at him, a response that Rex is very much used to by now. Rex said, "Huh. Okay. Carry on. I'll be in the front yard peeing on everything if you change your mind."

David and Bailey arrived around 6 AM, or so I'm told. I'm also told that I looked pretty pathetic when Becky asked me which bed was David's when they came upstairs in my apartment. I believe I made Becky repeat the question three times, in both disbelief that someone was talking to me after I'd only been asleep for an hour and also because I'd temporarily misplaced my comprehension of the English language. I think I also said, "Unghablahhaaluhfwah," but don't ask me what that means. As you can plainly see, I'm a wonderful host.

Because it's Saturday, (or so I'm told) and the majority of our neighbors operate on that 9 to 5 schedule I've heard so much about, I was woken from semi-blissful slumber by a variety of loud noises. By definition, Noise is any loud sound or sounds that isn't caused by me. Someone else's lawnmower at 9 AM is noise. Our lawnmower at 9 AM is noise, because Mr. Becky operates our lawnmower, not me. Our neighbor and his friends working on their truck at 10 AM is a cacophony of disturbance that the government should think about using to make supposed enemies confess; a combination of drills, tools hitting pavement, much lothariolike banter and grunting from the menfolk, and the shrill bleatings of a woman whose volume knob is perpetually set at 11. ("It's one more than 10.") Factor in the people circling our block like sharks driving Detroit's finest steel who all seem to need a new muffler and a tuneup (Perhaps they should visit our neighbor, but only if they don't mind that it will take six months to complete any repairs needed.) and you have a very grumpy Timothy indeed.

The people circling our block are those who visit a resale shop located a block away. These people, referred to by those of us within The Compound gates as Gulders, walk by our yard and attempt the fine art of Being Neighborly. Being Neighborly means smiling brightly, perhaps waving, and attempting benign conversation which both parties know will lead to nowhere fast. "Nice day, isn't it?" "Your alyssum looks lovely." "What a beautiful dog." Our own neighbors aren't neighborly, of which I heartily approve. I lived in my apartment in NYC for about eight years and hardly ever spoke to my neighbors during that time, so I'm not used to benign banter. If a stranger thinks it's okay to comment on my alyssum or my dog, I think it should be okay for me to respond in a similar random fashion. "That's a very shiny bald spot you have there." "My mommy said I should never talk to strangers. Do you want to touch me inappropriately?" "It's the perfect day to make a sacrifice to Satan, don't you think?"

And no matter how many times I tell him, Rex won't bite the Guilders when they reach through or over the fence to pet him. If they're stupid enough to reach into HIS yard and pet a strange dog, he's by all means entitled to sink his teeth into their hand. Especially when I'm standing ten feet away watering the alyssum and they do it without asking me first if it's okay. Kids, NEVER approach a strange dog. Especially when his owner is probably even stranger.