The Beaker Conspiracy.

If you haven’t had the privilege of visiting Joe and me at our humble abode here in Santa Barbara…well, first of all, you’re missing out! I mean, not only are we just buckets of fun, hosting game nights and having dinner parties and whatnot, but we’re also five minutes from the beach, six minutes from the best pizza joint ON THE PLANET, and ten minutes from State Street, the most happenin’ place to shop till you drop.

But this isn’t about what you’re missing out on if you’ve never visited us. This is about something spooky.

Something eerie.

Something downright TRIPPY.

Something I like to call The Beaker Conspiracy.

First, some background. Those of you who’ve been to our place know that we don’t serve drinks in your typical goblet or tumbler. We serve drinks in bona fide, scientific beakers.

This is something that Joe had been practicing for several years before we met, back when he was still a bachelor. He thought it’d be cool to have a set of 500 and 1000 ML beakers to use as drinking cups, because it’s just random enough to be awesome.

(And it turns out, he was right. Everyone LOVES these things.)

So when I moved up here back in August 2008 and was introduced to the beakers, I thought, Sure, they’re cool. Definitely a “Joe” thing… And then later, when we were engaged and putting together our gift registries, I guess I sort of assumed that we would be replacing the beakers with “real” glasses.

Little did I know that Joe would not be a fan of this idea.

We ended up with kind of an “agree to disagree” deal, in which the beakers remained, but we ALSO got some nice tumblers for those occasional times when we (okay, I) felt like being a bit fancier.

Here’s where it gets freaky.

The beakers?

They keep BREAKING.

One minute, we had six of the 1000 ML sized beakers, and within the last eight months or so, they’ve dwindled down to a measly TWO.

How is this happening, you ask? Well, that depends who you’re asking.

Joe thinks that I’m harboring a secret hatred of the beakers, and that every chance I get, I slyly drop one on the floor and do a silent little witch’s cackle in my head.

But the truth is, I’ve accepted the beakers. I’ve accepted, in fact, that everyone we’ve ever had over at our place seems to prefer the beakers over our fancy tumblers. And I’ve accepted that the beakers are, in fact, much easier to clean than said tumblers, and I’m cool with the beakers.

It just seems like every time I grab a beaker to wash it, dry it, or pour some cold water into it, the darn thing slips right out of my hands and crashes onto the counter or floor, causing a little curse from my lips and a “See? You hate them!” from Joe’s.

I swear, people. I’m not doing it on purpose. It’s a conspiracy, I tell you!

Or, as Joe puts it, my “subconscious hatred of [the beakers] has resulted in four of them being shattered cruelly…in an attempt to change [his] formerly happy domicile.”

Lies, I tell you.

Here’s the truth: The beakers are totally suicidal. They’re depressed because they aren’t being used for their intended chemical, scientific purpose. They just want to be reunited with the Bunsen burner, and they’re willing to die a noble (if not entirely painless) death to get there.

I just hope, for their sake, that there are Bunsen burners in beaker heaven…

(PS: Pretty sure I hyped up the “creepy” factor a little too much. But it was still fun, right?)