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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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rituals


I've noticed that there are certain things I do without even realizing I'm doing them while I'm doing something. Certain phrases, actually. For example, whenever I feed animals, I always urge, "Eat up, Martha."

I always remove River's collar at night before we go to bed. When I do sleep it's somewhat akin to a coma, but on the off-chance that River starts scratching in the middle of the 5 AM, I don't want to be awakened by the jingling jangling of dog tags. But before I take off his collar, I always say, "Give me that collar. I want that collar! Caller, are you there?"

Once we've climbed the stairs (no, I don't sing "Climb Every Mountain.") and hopped into bed, I always scratch behind River's ears and say, "Who is that doggie? Who is he? He sure is cute. What a sweet doggie. I think we'll keep him. Yes, we'll keep him and name him River." He does his happy-dog moan and smiles, obviously taking comfort in the nightly story of how he came to live with us, the tree-hugging bleeding-heart liberals who were taken in by his cuteness and more than willing to fund the gilded liver.

But it's okay, because I enjoy that story, too.

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