The first forbidden fruit stolen from my parents still occupies its throne of magical importance. In my case, it’s Olympia beer in the tall aluminum can.
Other friends have offered Dad’s stash of marijuana, dirty magazines found in parental chest of drawers, and hard liquor siphoned off in secret.
What’s yours?
[yeah, I know I’m still not really writing. stupid brain]
Be My Blog 
Gin. Tanqueray.
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It was probably the time I stayed up and secretly watched the adult party turn into a strip poker game. I was definitely not supposed to do that. Boring as hell. I think I went back to bed and fell asleep before anybody really got naked.
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mmm, oly
the first thing i remember lifting from my folks was cigarettes!
once my best friend and i stole some liquor from her family’s pantry, only this went abysmally because:
1) we were 14;
2) we stole crap like cooking sherry; and
3) we didn’t have anything to put it in but ziplocks, and drinking out of a ziplock.. well..
once we snuck it over to the neighborhood rec center late one night, it only took us about 3 minutes of experimenting to decide we’d wasted our effort.
the next time we tried, my best friend stole a bottle of her dad’s (cheap) wine. we didn’t know where to go so we into the corner of a dark parking lot behind a grocery store. when we got there we realized we had no corkscrew. like idiots, we smashed the neck on the broken brick wall, encouraging the attention of the truck driver unloading his semi at the back dock. it wasn’t long before the cops showed up, laughed, and shooed us off.
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Re: mmm, oly
Drinking out of a ziploc. Oh man that’s good.
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Re: mmm, oly
For serious, drinking out of a Ziploc is a lower standard than most hobos ever reach, so frankly, I’m impressed.
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My father’s yellowing paperback copy of The Fountainhead.
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You must have been feeling randy.
Love,
Unfunny
Also for me: dad’s porn stash and mom’s fabulous opal rings.
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Wow, I didn’t think I did any of this cool stuff, till reminded me of my habit of “borrowing” cigarettes from my mother. I wasn’t a very good thief, though, so I ended up resorting to forgery to give notes to the store so I could purchase cigarettes FOR her.
1 year of being cool, maybe 2, who remembers? Then there were 28 or 29 years of being horribly addicted, and just about 13 years of being a reformed nicotine whore. Go me.
This food addiction, well, that’s still going strong 😛
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Dad’s back copies of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.
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Dirty magazines and hard liquor.
Though, after my parents stopped drinking I adopted a habit of drinking the bottles, then filling them back up with water (adding food coloring if necessary. I showed my stepbrother this trick when he moved down, and he proceeded to get so drunk one day he got caught. The win here is that whenever a bottle of vodka mysteriously froze solid, or a neighbor got served a foul-smelling mix drink, I got to blame him…
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Weirdly, one of my bottles of vodka did freeze mostly solid at one point, and no one was siphoning it and adding water.
We stared at it — it was five o’clock and dawn was breaking and no one knew what to make of it — until said, “Look! Science happened!”
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My parents were so permissible-slash-uninvolved that I don’t have one of these cultural objects. LMAO.
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Clothes!!!
I used to steal my dad’s navy blue wool sweater in junior high and run home and replace it before he got home from work. Same for my mom’s tan riding boots in high school. Ooh, and perfume! I used to use my mom’s since I wasn’t allowed to wear any; I figured she wouldn’t smell it if I wore her scent.
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Dad’s Seagrams 7.
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College tuition monies spent in months of dissipation.
Best I can do. Hey, you know, Quaker. We suck at the lying thing.
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i never took anything like that from my parents. i never drank, i hated weed until i was 20, i didn’t smoke, i had my own better pornography from the internet, and they didn’t really have anything else I wanted. I also moved out basically when I was 11 tho so I had a relative amount of freedom.
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For me, it was only the 70s-era Playboys in a tattered cardboard box, underneath a tarp, underneath a box containing a lawnmower engine. I never got into pot smoking because the few times I tried it–much, much later–were absolutely not enjoyable. Our house had gin, which I didn’t like the smell of, and a few crusty cans of beer in the back of the fridge that probably needed carbon dating (“we keep it around for when your uncles come over” …even though they typically brought their own beer.)
I never got into the hard liquor until I was old enough to buy it with my own fake ID. At that point, it was all about sitting in the park, drinking straight from the warm bottle of Absolut Citron, which was inside a sock. “A sock,” you ask? Because the guy with the backpack of booze had several bottles, and enveloping them with socks prevents them from clinking together. To this day, I cannot drink citrus flavored vodka.
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Everclear and Oozo. Boy was I in trouble when my mom found out that I was breathing fire to the neighbors.
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My father’s gun.
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mom’s pot.
(I also “borrowed” a lot of her dresses, but ripped out all the shoulder pads before giving them back.
30% of my brother’s tape collection also went straight to me.)
Dick Weber had some bourbon that I tried drinking once, which I promptly threw up.
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oh man, I can still taste the cheap gin with warm 7 UP chaser. age 13, me and my best friend drank it at the beach at night after we climbed up on top of a lifeguard platform.
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My folks didn’t have any forbidden fruit around that interested me, unless you count champaigne filled chocolates, which just seemed like a horrible waste of chocolate.
My thing was searching out the homes where I babysat for sex manuals. I’d get the kids down to bed, and then search the bookshelves for anything informative on this most interesting of topics. It made for a pretty complete education.
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Pretty sure it was either Franzia boxed wine or vermouth. (Tried both, can’t remember which came first.) No wonder I never became much of a drinker. Though if my parents had had a decent single-malt Scotch around the house when I was at that liquor-stealing age, who knows what might have happened…
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