She's the female star of the highest grossing movie of all time (James Cameron's "Avatar"), and the female lead in J.J. Abrams' popular "Star Trek" franchise. She's also a Calvin Klein underwear model and she's been romantically linked to the Sexiest Man Alive (actor Bradley Cooper). With that kind of resume, you would think actress Zoe Saldana could grace the cover of any magazine in the world. But the 33-year-old actress tells The Huffington Post exclusively that's not the case. "I can't yet pose for any magazine. I wish I could," the soft-spoken actress told us on the red carpet at the Cosmopolitan for Latinas launch party Wednesday night in New York City. "There are a lot of magazines that are still sort of...that only cater to a certain demographic and only put certain people on their covers," she added. "And that's fine - I never lose hope that one day certain big magazines can broaden their exposure of what is an American face," added the half-Dominican, half-Puerto Rican actress. Zaldana says magazines have tremendous power to bring about change. "I never like to get political, but when you have the ability, through your media, to influence a large mass of people, I would want to be a part of the evolving cycle of progress vs. keeping things the way that they are. I think that I speak for a lot of us, Americans, that I would want to see a little more diversity," she said. "For the love of God, we have a Black president," Saldana added. "That should've set the tone on a lot of things that should've been a little quicker, and it's not enough." Saldana says she feels it's important to address these kinds of issues. "I feel like I need to contribute my two cents in terms of something that should be happening more," she said. "But that said, I'm always a person that's half-full, and magazines like Cosmopolitan for Latinas are doing what others should be doing more of." Cosmpolitan for Latinas, a new magazine aimed at acculturated Latinas in the U.S., launched earlier this month. Zaldana is the magazine's first ever cover girl - an honor that she takes very seriously. "For me to have been invited to be the first on their cover, I feel so honored and grateful," Saldana said. "To be seen and to be respected for my work and acknowledged as a true American Latina...means a lot to me."

I've always had an irrational and bitter resentment toward good sleepers. You know who you are. You probably don't mean to brag, but you guys always do. You always do.

"I could sleep ANYWHERE," you say, casually. And, "I'm a mess without my ten hours of sleep." And you don't confine your annoying somnolence to nighttime. "I need a disco nap," you'll say, tucking your legs up, closing your eyes and falling asleep at will during broad daylight on some lumpy, scratchy couch without a single ritual or sleep aid or even a moment of doubt about your ability to greet The Sandman. Jackhammers, neighbor dogs barking, horns honking, doorbells ringing, nothing can rouse you from your REM delirium.

Meanwhile, I could be lying on a mattress made from homemade marshmallows and space-age polymers custom fitted to my firmness needs, my cheek on a silk pillowcase, with Sade and Kenny G perched on the edge of my bed to provide optimum easy listening -- while under the influence of a fistful of pharmaceutical sleep aids -- and still be wide awake even as a team of massage therapists kneaded the kinks from my shoulders.

Becoming a parent was to insomnia what a box of cupcakes and a gallon drum of Hershey's chocolate syrup is to diabetes. What can be managed under the best of circumstances is now a full-scale crisis that has been ignited by the sweet nectar of parenthood.

I really had a handle on it before I had a baby two years ago, and looking back, I have no idea what I had to toss and turn about back then. Seriously, any worries subordinate to "responsible for entire human life" seem pretty trivial to me now.

My daughter has all of the makings of a great activist: Her heart is giant, her mind is quick, and she's as naïve as an elf. She believes that every human being is good and kind and will do the right thing. Occasionally she will see otherwise: a guy throwing litter out his window, a mom sneaking soda into a water cup, a dog on a short leash chained to a tree. Dismayed, betrayed, and outraged, she processes these injustices as rare aberrations to her ideal world.

She's wide open with no armor, I often say about her. Not even a thin coat of cynicism to blunt the realities to come.

She was only in kindergarten when she wrote a letter to the People's Republic of China urging them -- adamantly, like pretty please Sirs -- to renounce its one-child per family law. Her sister was adopted from China, and the thought that her sibling might not have been due to unfair legislation struck her as wrongheaded. Families should have the freedom to make this decision, she argued. Her passionate plea, written in 5-year-old script, was signed with a string of x's and o's.

Hungry children, neglected animals, polluted environments, look out. If you think one person isn't big enough to make a difference, just try throwing away a piece of plastic in our house. You'd better hope the Reduce-Reuse-Recycle czar isn't around to bust you.

So when my daughter reads in her "101 Ways to Save the World" book that proceeds from a certain charity will benefit battered women and abused children, she wants to know what it means. What's battered? And why are children abused?

I would give anything if she never had to know about men who hit, or creeps who lurked behind bushes, or adults who hurt the children who trusted them.

I stumble my way through an explanation, realizing quickly that there is no way to sugarcoat abuse. At this exact moment, I know that my daughter is growing her first layer of skin.
When I was a little older than she -- junior high -- I had a friend named Amanda. She was beautiful: thick amber hair, olive skin, and the greenest of eyes. When she chose me to be her friend, I felt as if I had won a prize. I was scrawny and awkward and far from a beauty, but next to Amanda, I couldn't help feeling as if her glow transferred onto me. I liked her parents, too. Her dad was funny, her mom was bubbly. When I played at their house, there was always plenty of snacks, laughs, and smiles.

One day I went to school and Amanda wasn't there. A week, maybe two, passed, and still no Amanda. When finally she returned, I remember the relief that flooded through me. I ran to her in the courtyard, reached for her hands. "You're here. Finally." We hugged and then pulled back and looked at each other.

"I'm back, but not for long," Amanda said. "My mom and sister and I have to move -- to California. My grandparents are there."

"But why?" I whined selfishly because her moving was going to hurt me.

Amanda looked around, then down at her white Keds. Amanda always wore the whitest of Keds. "Because of my dad," she said, looking up briefly.