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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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ain't it funny


At the end of the last Scout's Honor adoption event I helped another volunteer walk two pups to her car. She led the calm pup, while I got the spastic one who walked as though she was wearing roller skates on a newly waxed skating rink. Five minutes later, after they left, I realized there was blood covering my big toe. The dog's scrambling toenails had managed to rip the flesh from my toe's nail bed. Ow. I used a paper towel to stem the flow of blood and, once it had clotted, went on my merry way home.

This entire week has been nothing but dogs stepping on, jumping on, running over, and reopening the wound on my big toe time after time. Not only the dogs at The Compound, but also the dogs at Hanley, Inc. And then there's The Big H. A couple of days ago I was standing at the kitchen counter, flipping through a magazine, when Hanley crashed into me at warp speed, flung her arms around my legs and slid to the floor while cackling like an insane person. "I funny!" "Yes, you're funny." She's not funny. But she thinks she's funny, which is actually funny. She started singing to herself while crawling around my ankles, so I returned my attention to the magazine. That's the cool thing about The Big H. When she first became mobile, I watched her like a hawk, worrying that she'd pick up a small object and choke on it, or eat a dead bug. But whenever she finds an errant and obviously out of place object on the floor, she always picks it up and hands it to the nearest tall person to do with as they will. I think she learned this from the cats. When the day arrives that she lays a dead mouse at my feet, my suspicions about that theory will be confirmed.

While she was singing a bastardized version of The Alphabet Song, I was deep into an article about witchcraft and masturbation--I mean, architecture. I was reading Architectural Digest. Yeah, that's the ticket.--when I felt a sharp pain in my toe. I looked down to see Hanley examining the scab she'd just pulled from my big toe. Then she handed it to me and said, "Thankoo." "You're welcome," I grumbled. "I funny!" "Yes, very," I agreed, and went to find a paper towel to stem the flow of blood.

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