A birthday, a messed up grill, and the funniest thing ever said in a drunken stupor

They happen to all of us - nights when the powers of grandeur, chance, and mayhem align to create moments we keep forever.

We call them memories. Or drinking stories. Or whatever.

For good or bad, I remember sitting in a friend's closet for 3 hours as campus police raided a party downstairs. I remember running pants-less around my block after winning a game of ultimate beer pong. I remember hitting up 11 bars in one night with the Heterosexual Lifemate just after we turned 21. I remember the night one of my best friends almost died of alcohol poisoning.

But while those epic nights are what ring forever in our own eternity - to be passed on to others as microcosms of who we are - the nights that really matter are those that pass by without event.

We call them normal.

Moments of greatness are rare, but the normal nights – the ones that are good, but not quite good enough to register on any list – are the nights that bind us to our lives and the people we share them with.

Friday night was one of those for me.

That Agitator, my roommate, was celebrating birthday No. 23 at a bowling alley, so I headed over there after work with Scott and Dave.

We arrived just as they were finishing up a few frames and, after a few hellos and Stefan humping the ball machine, most of the party split, leaving my trio with AJ, his girlfriend Alex, Stefan, Vesco and Carl.

After a few minutes and a drink or two, the other group decided to stay and gamble. Not feeling in the mood to lose $40, Scott, Dave, and I decided to go downtown.

We stopped by Tonic first and I had a beer and a couple Jack and Diets while some horrible hip-hop act blabbered on the stage (I say Wolf, You say Pack. Boo.), at which point we moved across the street to Imperial.

The bar was packed, as usual, so we had to wait in line for about five minutes. I threatened the bouncer that I I’d go back to Tonic, but he didn’t seem to care much.

We did get to witness a near-fight between some unseen party and a tool-bag wearing a polo shirt with pegged sleeves (we get it, you work out. Congratulations.)

Once we finally did get in the door, I ran into a football player named Luke and chatted for a second. This isn’t that big of a deal, except that I have no idea how he knows me. I’ve never covered football for the newspaper. Oh well, I like Luke and he’s a good guy.

After that, we sat down at a table and marveled as the uneventfullness ensued. We drank, we talked, and we made fun of a redhead that was dancing in circles around the bar.

After a few such laps, she approached Dave and whispered some sweet nothings into his ear. She asked if he had a girlfriend, told him she was really into him, and basically made it very clear that he had to do was pay for a cheap cab ride back to his place (or find an alley) to do the bedroom bump.

This might sound good in theory, but let’s make one thing clear. This girl looked like she had sustained a face-first fall of significant distance as a child and never bothered to repair the damage.

As she left to make another round, Dave made it clear that he wasn’t really interested. Scott put a lot of effort into trying to convince Dave otherwise while I half-heartedly chipped in.

When Dave asked me, however, whether I would do it, I finally had to agree with him that it was a bad idea.

I think it's important at this moment to point out that I am no ladies man, as I'm sure most of my friends will attest to. As loud and forthcoming (which sometimes is more abrasive) as I may be, I am also pretty shy around women I’m interested in and I'm not good at "closing the deal."

But I do have a reasonable level of charm and intelligence, at least I hope so, and an extremely ridiculous set of standards. I recently stopped dating a girl because she had ridiculously horrible taste in movies (In my defense, though, she also disliked Anjelina Jolie and Kate Beckinsale, and I was dating her mostly out of boredom to begin with).

So when Dave asked me if I’d hit it at Imperial, I had to give an honest answer. My input validated Dave’s dissent, which baffled Scott to no end.

Scott’s phrase of “She’s not that bad” quickly replaced my (and formerly Ricky Bobby’s – if you’re not first, your last) “I’m too drunk to taste this chicken” as the night’s most repeated phrase.

It continued on to Tonic, where Scott continued to argue the merits of lowered standards while simultaneously proving that I am not the world’s worst dancer.

Dave’s mind couldn’t be changed, even after several more drinks, so we took the $6 cab back to Dave and Scott’s apartment.

At that point Scott and I’s argument took a turn toward heated, and Scott sprayed the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.

"That's why I've had sex with more girls than you, and some of them were bigger than you."

While I’m a man of rapidly-decreasing girth, I’m still on the large side of the scales, which makes Scott’s statement sort of baffling.

Calvert hit the floor laughing, I couldn’t breathe for about 10 minutes, and Scott started cooking some boneless buffalo chicken wings while wondering what he’d said.

Then we went to the Gold and Silver for breakfast before finally hitting the sack at about 5 a.m.

Just another normal night.

Currently reading: “The Lord of the Rings” by J.R.R. Tolkien, “High Fidelity” by Nick Hornby, “Dreams from my Father” by Barack Obama, “I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell” by Tucker Max

Line of the Day: “Here is the heart of Elvendom on earth,” he said, “and here my heart dwells ever, unless there be a light beyond the dark roads that we still must tread, you and I. Come with me!” And taking Frodo’s hand in his, he left the hill of Cerin Amroth and came there never again as a living man.

From the iPod: “Blackbird” by the Beatles

Latest movie: “Jumper” (fucking terrible, predictably, and they’re going to make a sequel)