the rusty bucket

Tyler and I went to The Rusty Bucket for dinner. He had a burger and I had a Great Lakes Christmas Ale with some hummus. We had great conversation about (a) life, (b) ministry, and (c) girls. I felt pretty buzzed by the time we were done--the good beer coupled with eating barely anything today turned me into a sort of lightweight--so I had him drive us back to my place. Dylan met up with us there and we finished the night off with some Killian's and enjoyed the beautiful weather on the front porch. It was a great evening. I've really developed a taste for beer lately, but not for the cheap, watered-down smut known as Lite beers. Not a big Miller or Bud fan. The last time I went to Rusty Bucket was when I first moved home. Dylan and I met up for some drinks--he had a Great Lakes and I had a double shot of bourbon. At the time I was an emotional wreck, dealing with all sorts of hell from every direction. I remember the night perfectly: crisp and cold, with scattered clouds, snowflakes sprinkling. Those were the days I would drink Nyquil to fall asleep at night because otherwise the stress would keep me awake (I'd drink half a bottle a night!). After we went to Rusty Bucket back in February we went across the lot to the bookstore and perused maps of Alaska and I dreamt of Alaska, escaping to that far-away and beautiful land, and Dylan cornered me and said, "Things are going to get better for you, man. I just know they are." Things continue to get better. God continues to bless me. I'm thankful for where I'm at and thankful for his forgiveness when I'm ungrateful for all that he's given me. And now a snapshot of our conversation on the porch:

Me: "Do you think animals will eat each other in the new heavens and new earth?"

Dylan: "There won't be any animals. Because they don't have souls."

Me: "Are you just saying shit to piss me off?"

Dylan: "Yeah."