Okay, fine – this isn’t exactly a STINK that I need.

After all, I don’t need to spend several long hours being interrogated by Homeland Security. And I don’t need to be strip searched, and, most likely, cavity searched as well.

Still, these decals are just about the funniest way I’ve seen to make your suitcase distinguishable from the countless others that come sliding down the conveyor belt in baggage claim. It’s only $25 for a set of four decals: cocaine, piles of money, sex toys, and kidnapped flight attendant (which is my least favorite – I find it too disturbing). But while the price is probably more than worth a laugh, I suspect that these stickers are bound to get you into some serious trouble …

I can hear the latex gloves squeaking in anticipation. (Photo courtesy of TheCheeky.com)

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Don't leave home without it.

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I was stuck this morning. Absolutely stuck. It’s yet another sunny day in San Francisco, my cold is almost gone, and I’m not letting myself enjoy this crazy city until I get a post up. Ill-advised, perhaps, but also noble. Which just my be my personal motto. Second only to, “If it’s fried, I’ll eat it.”

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This travel item isn’t even that superfluous. Actually, I think it’s a bit of a necessity. So I strongly suggest you hop into your car, head to the local Target or Wal-Mart or Costco or whatever, and pick up at least one, or possibly two, food bloggers. They will prove indispensable on your next trip. Just be sure to get the awesome, willing-to-eat-almost-anything variety, and not the stuck-up, won’t-touch-it-if-it-isn’t-certified-organic kind.

What’s that you say? Your local mega-mart doesn’t carry food bloggers in stock? That is indeed a tragedy. I suggest you get online and try to find one that way. And no, you can’t have mine. But I don’t blame you for trying. Because holy crap, is she awesome.

I met the effervescent Gastrognome on New Year’s Eve, at my friend (and fellow blogger) Rachel‘s house. When I found out she would be in San Diego for the same conference that Rand was attending, which was en route to Rachel’s wedding in New Orleans, which we were all attending, I was thrilled. We were going to be more than internet friends! Hooray! (more…)

The other day, fellow blogger and copywriter Philip posted this to his Facebook account:

You can tell he's an ad man.

I nearly peed from laughing and from sheer joy. Because “F*ck it, I give up” very often becomes my fashion motto roughly halfway through a trip. I start out hopeful. Delusional even. I bring three-inch heels and convince myself that I will wear them all over <insert foreign city here>. A few hours later, I have given up almost entirely on looking presentable, and find myself licking the stain on my sweater to determine what it was (jam, in case you were wondering). (more…)

I kind of hate Cory Doctorow. Like that one kid I can’t stand but keep seeing at parties, I can’t remember why I hate him, but I’m sure I have a good reason. For a while, I thought my animosity stemmed from some run-in he had with my hubby during which he wasn’t polite to him, but apparently I fabricated that. Rand’s never actually met Cory Doctorow, though he seems to think, based on what he’s read, that he’s pretty cool.

Then I thought I disliked Doctorow because he named his daughter Poesy Emmeline Fibonacci Nautilus Taylor Doctorow (Note: in the original draft of this post, which exists only in my head, I had composed some fictitious name for his daughter that was something like “Frenchie Spaghetti Tyro Brahe Doctorow,” and changed it after realizing her real name is far, far better). But then, the more I considered it, I realized how unfair that was, because how can you hate a man for the name he gave his daughter? Really, that will be her job when she’s 13. Besides, Emmeline sounds quite lovely.

But I still hate Cory Doctorow … right? I mean, even though he seems kind of interesting and accomplished and volunteered for Greenpeace and is probably a cool guy. I’m sure I have my reasons, whatever they are. (more…)

I know, I know: you’re probably thinking that Threadless‘s star has waned from it’s glittering height of popularity several years ago (by the way – that, dear friends, is how you mix a metaphor). Gone too are the days when I could actually get away with wearing logo t-shirts without looking like I robbed a college student on laundry day. I’ve come to terms with the fact that, at the ripe old age of 29, I’m a good decade older than Urban Outfitters’ target demographic, and now appear to be the creepy old lady who is shopping there, you hope, for some younger relative’s birthday present and NOT herself.

But none of this changes the fact Threadless has some absolutely adorable t-shirts out there. And since they’re now not as en vogue as they were, say, 4 or 5 years ago, it is now officially cool to wear their clothing again. Hell, one could probably get away with wearing their tees even if she’s pushing 30 … or pulling 25, as it were.

So even those these aren’t technically travel items, they are tangentially related to travel. And let’s face it: so is my blog. (more…)

This isn’t just about an item that I was convinced I needed – it’s about one that I actually bought. And holy cow, have they changed my life.

No, really.

Okay, fine – but they’ve changed the way I pack, and that’s a big part of my life. So there.

I first became aware of packing cubes when I went to Italy with the lovely Pinguina in 2008. I had seen them before at luggage stores, but the price kept me away. I figured they fell into the vast category of entirely unnecessary and potentially satanic products: like peep-toe Ugg boots (designed for getting pedicures in cold weather), a yodeling pickle, and anything from the Paris Hilton “clothing” line.  These things were just invented to make you spend your money and question the existence of god, right? (more…)