How to Eat Pop Tarts and Be Healthy, Too
Look at that magnificent, chemical laden, white trash smorgasbord.
“Is that a treat?”
“Are you on vacation?
“You’re going to get addicted to sugar.”
“Ketogenic dieting is the only way to eat, you dumb fuck.”
These quotes represent the litany of emotions and responses people have to my food choices.
Of all the things to care about.
This raises the question “why do you eat Pop Tarts?”
It’s complex, but it’s only complex because there are a lot of simple factors that lead up to my decision to eat them everyday.
Previously, in the 90s
When I was a kid, I took some weird divorce class. The teachers at my elementary school who taught this class constantly told me it wasn’t my fault that they were divorced and often attempted to explain basic psychological principles regarding potential feelings I might have.
All this they did despite their woeful lack of education on the subject and a severe lack of pay.
Since the divorce happened when I was two, I knew wasn’t my fault. I also knew that sometimes I would get to see my mom on weekends, and I’d spend the rest of my time with my father.
Not only that, I would also see my grandparents a lot. They lived right next to my father and me, after all.
Yay family.
My father was — and indeed still is — a health conscious guy. Sometimes he opts for bro science instead of actual science, and won’t listen to me despite me being an absolute fucking genius. That’s why I don’t give advice to family members, and if I do, I charge double. Family tends to view you in one context and that context is the one you’ve given them after YEARS of knowing them.
And so it goes.
My mom, however, was not health conscious. She was busy hanging out with Kenny doing cocaine and dabbling with crack, which if you don’t know is a terrible knockoff of cocaine, and highly addictive. Let it be known that Kenny not only had a mullet, but he owned a body shop, and several cars. One of those cars was an El Camino.
When I got to hang out with my mom, it meant I could eat McDonald’s. Dad never let me have McDonald’s. I also learned how to cook grits when I was at my mom and Kenny’s.
See, cocaine makes you stay up all night and when you finally sleep, you don’t wake up early.
But your children do.
And they might not have success waking you up early if you did a lot of cocaine the night previous.
Should that happen, and you have precocious child, they’ll figure out some things.
I learned how to cook grits.
Meanwhile, at Dad’s House
Back home, my dad cooked steak and vegetables.
Occasionally, he made Shake ‘N Bake. This was the glory days before everyone had the internet and thought that Kraft using GMOs was going to give them everything from cancer to AIDS.
What a time to be alive.
So, the elder Peter Baker was a 1990s health guy.
And he was rigid about it.
Treats were usually in the form of the best cookies ever made, which if you didn’t know, were Archway brand rocky road flavor cookies.
If you are unaware, the best salty snack food of the 90s was made by Nabisco.
They were called doo dads.
Being that my eating was so strictly mandated the majority of the time, I rebelled.
I walked over to my grandma’s house and ate tons of brownies, French fries, fish sticks, and other assortments of calorically sense and nutrient sparse shit.
We also had spaghetti on Sundays. Apparently, it was an Italian tradition.
These days, I could take it or leave it.
I Got Fat
And of course, people let me know that I was fat.
Kids are shit heads.
I was no exception, because I made fun of people, too.
Not for being fat.
That would be hypocritical.
But that’s what happens when you eat multiple high calorie meals.
Goodbye, Clinton
In high school, my best friend Bob moved into the neighborhood.
Bob was the only one who could match my intellect.
He matched it so much, he surpasses it to this day.
When I have a conundrum, I go to Bob.
His family was a second family to me. I could just walk in their house without knocking.
I also had free reign to drink all the Coca Cola I wanted and eat whatever I wanted.
This free reign included all of the food Bob’s mom would cook.
A lot of that food consisted of Velveeta shells and cheese, among other tasty treats.
So, I’d hang with Bob after school and all of our smart kid high school classes while we talked about smart 14 year old kid things.
Dinner at my father’s house was allegedly at 6pm.
Rarely did it occur at the appointed time.
So I would eat a dinner at Bob’s.
Then at home.
I stayed fat.
Present Day
I’ve talked about my binge eating before. Now you know even more about it.
Finally, when I learned how to eat, food ceased to hold power over me.
It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t a short process.
But it happened.
So now — sans the doo dads and the Archway rocky road cookies — I know how to incorporate all the whitest and trashiest foods in my diet and maintain stellar blood work and health.
Conclusion
Lest you think I painted my mother in a poor light, I can take some time to put that to bed. My mother and Kenny eventually stopped doing drugs independently of each other. Kenny had a heart problem and died having molded himself into a decent human shortly before that. Mom has been clean off the crack and cocaine for around 15 years, which is no small task.
Dad still follows a mix of sound nutritional advice and bro science and is getting kookier by the day.
And as of today, I eat two Pop Tarts every day and look great doing it.
