Quality problems, people. Quality problems.

I have an issue with mascara. No matter what I do, it gets everywhere. It's obvious to me that I haven't a clue how to put it on properly. How is it that men get off so easily? My husband complains when he has to brush his hair instead of wearing a hat. I have black tar on my skin over here! These are quality problems people!

What? No juice from real live cacti?

I distinctly remember my father telling me when I was little that Cactus Cooler soda had cactus juice of some kind in it... I remember him going on and on about how if you were stranded in the desert, with nothing to drink and mirages everywhere tempting your thirst, you could cut open a cactus (because everyone has pocketknife with them when they are spontaneously stranded in the desert) and drink its juice.

I remember the visual he painted for me... a poor old man, dragging his almost-lifeless body over the desert sand, gasping for breath, sand whipping into his mouth with the desert wind and then, suddenly, as if a ray of sunshine beamed down, sent by God himself, a cactus appeared in front of the man, green, strong, full of sweet-tasting liquid... as if to say "Drink me and live!"

You get the visual too, right?

While at the BevMo today, I happened upon some Cactus Cooler and thought, "Now that will quench my thirst!" Out of curiousity, or maybe just to confirm the presence of cactus juice, I scanned over the can to read the fine print, the ingredients list, something to tell what what type of cactus juice was included because SURELY there must be some...

Then, I found what I was looking for. The subscript below the name on the can said "Orange-Pineapple Soda." Where does the Cactus come into play? What do oranges and pineapples have to do with the old, thirsty, stranded man in the desert? Don't pineapples only grow in tropical climates?

Then it dawned on me.
I'd been duped.

Despite the second's worth of disappointment I felt, I bought the soda anyway, and let me tell you, it was worth every penny. I won't be packing it for my next hiking trip to Joshua Tree, but it was cold and sweet and juuuuust fiiiiiine.

Mow, mow, mow the lawn.

Isn't it funny that husbands (well, male homeowners in general) take so much pride in mowing their lawn? I mean, let's analyze this for what it really is -- it's trimming plants, watering them, keeping them green. Who would have thought that when a man becomes a homeowner, he'd take so much pride and care in caring for live things?

I mean, my daughter is a live thing... does he take pride in caring for her? Not so much. What my husband needs to understand, though, is that is you neglect the grass for a couple of weekends, it gets long, it looks unkempt, the neighbors start to wonder if someone's lifless body is rotting on the kitchen floor, etc.

If you neglect your child, she grows up to straddle a stripper's pole, and in the opinion of Chris Rock, that makes you a failure of a father.

I'm really not complaining about my husband neglecting our daughter, I'm just amused at how much time he'll actually devote to the lawn each weekend. Most of our neighbors have lawn services, so my husband is like the last of a dying breed of male homeowners in the upper-middle class of our city.

I've got a new drug.

well, a new vice anyway.

It's sorbet. It's frozen into real fruit. It's like the nectar of the gods. It's available at Costco for about 12 bucks.

Island Way Sorbet, Yummmmmmmmmmmm

Six Feet Under is going belly-up...

or, rather, the award-winning (sometimes comedic) drama on HBO is currently in its last season. No one pulled the plug, per se, it's just that the show has apparently reached a closure of sorts in regard to its writing, and director Alan Ball, writer of "American Beauty," (a personal favorite of mine) is choosing to move on to other projects.

I must admit that I'm pretty sad to see the show go -- much sadder than I was at the end of "Sex and the City" -- and it's just about the last remaining show I follow, other than "Boston Legal," the show that replaced, or spun off from, "The Practice."

There are only 4 episodes left, and while it's fun to see some storylines finally come together, almost all of the love relationships are more dramatic than ever, and I wonder how in the hell they're going to end this show and not piss of its loyal followers. While I don't want to see it end all hunky-dory (that would be completely un-"Six Feet Under"-ish) I also feel like some of the characters need closure and some of the relationships need to either get better or get over with.

The saddest part to me, though, isn't the show's ending. It's that "Six Feet Under" is about as artsy and creative as good television drama gets. I love love love the show for its direction, its bold storylines, its crazy ass dream sequences. I'm saddened by the reality that once it's gone, the brilliant set design and film direction will be gone with it.

I realize all good things come to an end. With these 4 final episodes, I sincerely hope Alan Ball continues to dazzle me and leaves me with a sense of satisfaction that "Six Feet Under" was a worthwhile 5-season, 50+ hour investment of television viewing pleasure.

What a weekend!

Our family just had our bi-decadely (yeah, I know that's not a word) family reunion at my mom's house in Riverside. There were about 40 people in attendance, some of whom I hadn't seen since I was a kid. It was a great non-stop party that started Thursday morning when my mom picked up my Uncle Pat from the airport, to this afternoon, when Aunt Sandy and Uncle Jim headed back to Fresno. Most of the cousins were there, and all 6 of the Staples siblings made it too. Things have changed from 7 years ago at our last reunion; the grandparents have since passed, and none of the step-siblings were in attendance. It was a great time :)

When a face moisturizer says it "firms" your skin...

what that really means is that it makes you swell up like a freak. But hey, swollen eyelids means no wrinkles!

The Zombie Moms Want YOU!

Are you a zombie?
Are you a mom?
Are you getting bleary-eyed or have already lost interest in these questions due to extreme sleep deprivation?

The Zombie Moms want YOU!

Do you frequently ask what day it is?
Do you frequently ask what month it is?
Have you all but dropped the words "sleep in" from your vocabulary?

The Zombie Moms want YOU!

Have you spent ungodly amounts of money on under-eye concealer for dark circles?
Have you then cursed the under-eye concealer you spent a fortune on because your dark circles are beyond reproach?
Are you now cursing me for reminding you of your dark circles and the ungodly amount of money you spent on under-eye concealer?

The Zombie Moms want YOU!

Do you often shampoo your hair only to realize that you shampooed your hair only moments before?
Worse yet, do you shower and dry off only to realize that you never shampooed your hair at all?
Have you given up on bathing altogether?

The Zombie Moms want YOU!

Do you forget to complete simple tasks like eating breakfast?
Do you fall asleep in your breakfast once you do remember to eat it?
Does your 'breakfast' not get eaten until lunchtime?

The Zombie Moms want YOU!

Are you on your fourteenth cup of coffee and it's only 11am?
Are you mistakenly drinking decaffeinated and are going to have to drink 14 more cups to 'wake up?'
Can you even still spell 'decaffeinated,' let alone pronounce it?

The Zombie Moms want YOU!

Did you stop reading these questions eons ago?
Are you still reading, but the words are all sort of jumbled together and not making much sense anymore?
Can you even keep your eyes open long enough to get to the point of this blog post?

The Zombie Moms want YOU!

The Zombie Moms is a brigade of women who believe that, never again in their life, will they ever get a good nights' sleep. As a result of this, they've created a fantastic group for women to come together and bitch about how little sleep they get and how their husbands walk around humming and whistling, happy as clams, oblivious to the blank stares, the blood-shot eyes, the altogether listless shell of a person their wives have become.

Join The Zombie Moms now and receive a free down pillow and bottle of Tylenol PM with your registration! To register, you have only to add an account of your most sleep-deprived moment as a comment to this post :)

Now, back to bed for me.

My new favorite show...

There are really only a couple of things I religiously watch on television, and most of them I don't have a problem admitting to. I have always watched the Bachelor/Bachelorette -- something about it makes it hard to turn away from. Kind of like a horrible car accident that you don't want to see, yet you can't help but look anyway. I don't always admit to watching that one.

I will admit to watching Oprah every single day of my life, however. I rarely watch it when it actually airs (ahhh the wonders of Tivo...) but I do watch EVERY SINGLE EPISODE. If it's something I'm not interested in, I'll delete it, but because I love me some Oprah, I watch just about every show. My husband doesn't get it, but that doesn't surprise me. He says that Oprah is trying to "Oprahtize" America -- whatever that means.

So my new favorite show is actually a lot less light-hearted than the Bachelor/Bachelorette and Oprah are. It's called "Intervention," and it airs on A&E on Sunday nights. They typically feature two individuals who are dealing with addiction of some kind, whether it be to drugs, food, gambling, etc. They follow the individuals through several typical days in their lives, and eventually the individuals are intervened upon by their family and friends, which is the whole point of the show. The addicts believe they're taking part in a documentary about addiction, but really the show is structured around their interventions and whether or not they'll accept the treatment plans they're offered. It's a very interesting show... it makes me glad that I've never faced addiction of any kind.

Unless of course you consider watching Oprah an addiction ;)

Maybe I expect too much...

but in the middle of the night, when the teething, cranky, crying baby needs some Motrin, and I say to the husband, "Can you help me get some Motrin set up for her," is it really too much to expect that he do more than just bring me the unopened box?

I mean, honestly? To me "Can you help me get some Motrin set up for her" means open the goddamn box, unscrew the lid from the bottle and remove the syringe from the plastic wrapper, insert the syringe into the bottle, suck the amount of Motrin prescribed into the syringe, and bring it to me!

My god, you would think I asked him to do 40 jumping jacks or something.

The bombings in London.

They just make me think that it was incredibly selfish of me to bring a child into a world where monsters like those that bombed London today can do so without a moment's hesitation. It's sick, really. More importantly, now that she is here, how do I explain things like this to Avery as she grows up and begins to understand better? It's just horrible.

Independence Day in Tijuana

So we went to a friend's house in Riverside for the 4th this year. A hilltop nearby holds their local fireworks show, and it's easily visible from the backyard. We knew we were in for a treat because we could sit in the comfort of their yard and still get an awesome show for free. What we didn't know, however, was that every freaking neighbor within a 3-mile radius was going to be lighting off their own illegal fireworks all night long, leaving tons of smoke and ash in the air and tons and tons of debris in the streets and on the sidewalks. We also didn't know that of these 300 or so houses in this particular housing track, there was ONE exit and route back to the freeway. So not only did we sit all evening in danger of being ignited by illegal fireworks from Mexico, we also couldn't really escape the danger for over an hour. It took us 1 hour and 12 minutes to drive 18 miles. Ugggh. It's safe to say that next year we'll be staying home and watching the two fireworks shows that are visible from our house. Why we chose to venture out of our comfort zone this year is a mystery to me.