I added the post to the blogs portion of my writing portfolio.

A snippet from my self-deprecating blog post.

It’s part of being human, to make mistakes. That doesn’t make mistakes suck any less.

As much as I beat myself up when this happened, I learned. I corrected myself, laughed a bit to maintain my sanity, but most important, I learned.

Please, enjoy the anecdote of my little failure. If nothing else, it’s entertaining.

That’s me wearing the shirt in about 1994. I base the year on my brother’s friendly demeanor. By the time he was 13 or 14 (1995-96), he was too much of a punk to smile in pictures.

I don’t remember the circumstances of receiving this shirt. I recall opening it as a gift. Kudos, family, for planning such a humorous present.

But I know my grandma has a matching sweatshirt. (Hooray, genetics!) I also remember when my family used to challenge me to silence, thinking I surely couldn’t keep my mouth shut for an hour. Note: I could, and I was well-paid for it. I like to think I was an enterprising child.

I am aware I talk a lot. Rest assured, I continue to refine this quality so it may be productive, not a nuisance. While I work on that, please, have another laugh at the picture. I also like to think I have a good sense of humor.

Three cheers for processed food — 60 years ago. This 1953 ad from the American Trucking Association contrasts with the 2013 perception of processed food.

Part of me laughs at the way the American Trucking Association characterizes this as a “distribution miracle,” but I also shake my head, knowing the problems processed foods pose today.

Innovation, social impact and practicality have to balance each other out — it’s a fascinating conundrum. Processed food undoubtedly revolutionized food consumption, but it had a negative impact on the state of U.S. public health. There’s the argument that people need to understand what they’re eating, and then they’ll make better choices, but education has its limits. As someone who spends more time than I’d like at the grocery store reading ingredients labels, I understand the temptation of efficient ignorance.

I had a laugh when I saw this ad, but I suppose processed-food advertising hasn’t come that far (i.e. High Fructose Corn Syrup).

Sigh.

DIY ornaments, courtesy of DiGangi-family quirks.

The first year of Chubby’s Holiday Collection, 2009, brought NASCAR ornaments, gifted at random yet somehow personal to the recipient (for example: mine was black and gold, the colors of my alma mater). Miniature John Deere tractors have adorned my Christmas tree since 2010. In 2011 we received Disney ornaments which bore comically sloppy paint jobs.

This year, Menards had no ornaments left on Christmas Eve. Never easily deterred, Chubby happened upon some figurines and purchased about two dozen, among them bar maids, cheerleaders and winter sportsmen. As usual, they remained in the shopping bag until Christmas morning, when we passed it around to choose our gifts at random.

We went home with two cheerleaders, a bar maid, a snowboarder, a homecoming banner and a young man who can only be described as a Home Team enthusiast.

True to the creativity Dad passed on to me, I took 20 minutes over the holidays to make my figurines into ornaments, so they could join the ranks of Chubby’s Holiday Collection. [Aside: the nickname Chubby comes from a botched Siri command, “Call Chuck DiGangi.” Response: “There’s no Chubby Jangi in your contacts.” The name is not commentary on his physique.]

In summary, three figurines broke during the transformation process, but I suspect Dad would be proud of by nimble use of drill bits. Also, I now possess a handful of endearingly hideous ornaments.

I’m also sick. My stomach churns. Arms shake slightly. I should really use the bathroom, but I am here alone, and I can’t leave my things. Add that to the list of reasons I should replace this crappy Dell with a tablet, or, at the very least, a newer, lighter laptop. Mobility has become a priority in my life, but my 5-year-old gadgets suggest otherwise.

The high school students across the coffee shop discuss Instagram. It seems that an acquaintance of theirs owes her most-liked Instagram photo to one of the girls here. Well-done, high school girl. You are better at framing square photos and choosing an arbitrary filter than the friend you’re talking about behind her back. It’s probably not even the composition that earned those coveted likes, rather your ability to better choose Instagram-worthy subjects. Applause, applause, applause. This is definitely a conversation topic worthy of the 10 minutes you’ve given it.

I still need to use the bathroom. Is it unreasonable to ask a barista to keep an eye on my laptop? As much as I want to dispose of this thing, it still harbors sensitive information and all my files and photos since 2007.

All right, I have returned from the restroom. Upon typing the last word in the previous paragraph, I went to the bathroom: Because no one in northern Indianapolis would duck into a Starbucks to steal a 5-year-old, piece-of-crap Dell laptop. All is well.

I’m intrigued by the sense of conviction people adopt in November — commitments to write a novel, run 100 miles, express their thanks and abstinence from shaving (yes, I think No Shave November counts). It’s inspiring, but I always feel a sense of failure Nov. 2 when I haven’t yet participated in National Novel-Writing Month. November comes out of nowhere and BAM you haven’t started writing. At that point, only 29 days to write a book seems a laughable goal. Perhaps my ambition for November should be optimism.

No matter. We received only one group of trick-or-treaters at our condominium complex, and I thought it might be best to politely answer and say we had nothing. My husband, feeling guilty, grabbed some dark chocolates from the fridge and dumped handfuls into their bags. So much for health consciousness.

I look forward to it. This is the first time my husband and I will have a chance to open our door, see youngsters’ creative costumes and share a small something with them as a way of partaking in the festivities. One thing makes me hesitate: Sugar.

Thinking back to my childhood Halloweens, I relished the piles of candy, choosing the most chocolatey option if I had the opportunity. Friends and I eagerly approached the large houses in hopes that a wealthy person would give us full- or king-size candy bars.

The non-candy things were either lame (bundles of pennies), discarded by Mom (homemade goods) or useless (plastic spider rings).

Still wanting to participate in treat-giving, I typed “healthy Halloween” into Google. Seeing a result from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, I felt optimistic, but the recommendations were vague, common-sense and disappointing:

“[A]utumn events like Halloween and Harvest Day are fun times to dress up in costumes, go trick-or-treating, attend parties, and eat yummy treats. These events are also opportunities to provide nutritious snacks … ”

Yay! Like what?

“Examine all treats for choking hazards and tampering before eating them. Limit the amount of treats you eat.”

OK, yeah.

“Provide healthier treats for trick-or-treaters such as low-calorie treats and drinks.”

Good. Like WHAT? Most seasonal drinks, like hot chocolate and apple cider, are sugar-laden, too. (Obviously this wasn’t helpful. Moving on.)

Some sources led me to think I should trust parents to monitor their kids’ sweets consumption. While I like that idea and know many parents who are great at such tactics, I’d rather not contribute to the sugar overload in the first place. And I enjoyed finding great recipes, but I know from my own experiences that there’s a good chance they’ll be turned down or thrown out later. If anything bothers me more than scant options for quality food, it’s food waste.

What about those non-food items? I may have felt cheated out of candy or indifferent as a kid, but those inedible items kept my sugar consumption lower than it would have been if everything I received were chocolate-coated treats.

And I remember using a few Halloween-themed pencils year-round.

I found a few lists of non-candy items to give out, like this one from Yahoo and this one, which shows you where you can buy the items.

Pencils may not generate the same excitement a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup would, but they’re useful and won’t contribute to health problems. And I can’t bring myself to ignore an evening of little hands knocking on our front door.

Pencils it is. Try not to hate me, kids.

I found leaving Florida to be exciting and sad. I already miss the co-workers and friends that made this last year so memorable, and my fiancé stayed behind to continue working until an opportunity in Indy arises. But the farewell from work was fantastic: AP and New York Times style cupcakes (my nerdy specialty), peanut butter-chocolate brownie heaven from a co-worker, ice cream cake (I guess they noticed my love of chocolate) and some kind and funny words. I’m happy to have made people smile and laugh during my time in Florida. They certainly did the same for me.

My AP and New York Times style cupcakes.

An indication that I missed the Midwest: Upon entering Indiana, I looked out the window and exclaimed, “Oo corn!” I’m sure I’ve never been happy to see a cornfield before.

Among the corn is this metropolis in which I’ll need to set up a nest for me and Matt. I’m staying with my gracious sister- and brother-in-law-to-be, but I’ll be searching for my own necessities soon: an apartment, a gym, good vegetarian restaurants, and more mundane things like doctors, pharmacies and go-to grocery stores. I hope to have an exciting setup by the time Matt arrives. And then it’s wedding time in Chicago — we marry in just less than four months.