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NOH8

April 2011

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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.


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if you leave


Yesterday was monumental in that not only did I make plans to leave the house and go somewhere where there would be a gathering of people who aren't me, but I committed and followed through with the original plan. Of course, there were a few snags along the way.

I'd told Becky of my plan to leave the house the day before and then reminded her yesterday while she was out doing errands. I'd originally planned on cleaning L____'s house before I went out, but then postponed that because I was worried about being late for the evening event and told Becky as much while we talked on the phone. A couple hours before I had to leave I shaved, another moment of magnitude, and then realized the clothes I'd planned on wearing needed washing. I threw them and other cold water washables into the machine, took a shower, futzed about with other minor tasks, and then realized the laundry would never dry in time before I had to leave. I donned my typical jeans, black T-shirt, navy jacket, and Chucks uniform, instead. I had a half hour to get to my destination and wondered if Becky was still going with me. I went over to ask and Becky stared blankly. I reminded her that I'd told her earlier and Becky pondered that, wondering what she'd been doing at the time that was so distracting. She asked for a few minutes to change clothing and to find her camera, which was fine with me, because I realized I didn't have my wallet.

I raced through my apartment, looking in all the usual places for my wallet. Was it in yesterday's cargo shorts? No. On the dresser? No. On my desk? No. In the refrigerator? (Don't laugh. It will happen to you.) Not this time. Where could it be? EZ was no help in the matter. She was trailing me the entire time, hopping about at my heels as if we were playing a wonderful new game. Or else she had to pee. I let her out and then went back to the great wallet search. Was it on top of a dog crate? No. In the hamper? Oh, no. Not the hamper. Rather than check the hamper, I checked the washing machine. My wallet was springtime fresh and very damp. No time to worry about that, I jammed it into my back pocket and went outside where EZ was standing outside the door with a goofy grin. Apparently she can't pee on her own, unwatched, or without praise. After all but holding up a placard with 9.8 scrawled on it, I ushered her inside, shut the door, went to the car, went back inside, found my keys, locked the door this time, and found Becky, who had already opened The Compound Gates in preparation for our not so immediate departure.

"Do you have his book?" I asked.

Grumbling, she thrust her purse and camera at me and retreated back into her house. I backed the car out, shut the gates, and Becky joined me again, book in hand. We were off and, moments later, after only running one red light, we circled the Central library branch a few times and managed to find a parking place on the street. In a commercial loading zone.

"Are you sure?"

"It'll be fine."

"We might get fined."

"I'm sure we can park here in the evening."

"I guess we'll find out."

We exited the car, locked the doors, and then Becky unlocked them again so we could retrieve Becky's purse, her camera, and my car keys. And people wonder why I don't leave the house on a regular basis. It's because I'm seriously out of practice.

Finally we found ourselves inside the library, our destination, listening to Mark Doty read selections from his memoir, DOG YEARS, which was well worth everything that happened beforehand. I also got to finally meet Paul Lisicky afterward. Even though we were both at Saints and Sinners last May we somehow kept missing each other. Becky took pictures of Paul and I, but in every shot one of us had squinty eyes or was making an odd face. She took one of Paul, myself, and Mark together, while Mark was signing Becky's book, and that one turned out fine. I remarked, "I'm sandwiched between literary hotness."



I also got to finally meet Melissa J., who works at the library and was the one who told me that Mark would be reading last night. She and I have been interacting on various social connection sites for some time, so it was nice to finally see that she's a living, breathing person with a bad-ass tattoo on her arm. Thanks, Melissa!

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