Andrea Chacos

Honest opinions with just a touch of humor. 

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Published Essays

Post Independent •

The summer slowdown

June is when the vibe in the air changes and my winter malaise magically melts. I wake from a hibernation that puts me out of social commission for many months of the year and I say good riddance to winter and its long, bipolar shoulder season. No more confusion when to put on a waterproof snowsuit or take my chances with shorts and flip-flops when heading out the door for the day. I tuck away my underutilized skis, my self-diagnosed Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), and my introverted moodines...
AspenTimes •

Beware — a redhead ahead

Generations of gingers have burdened my family with fiery attitudes and overly assertive personalities. My redheaded grandmother was a strong-willed, intense Hungarian. My mother is the same. I was also born possessed by a deep desire for self-control, perfection, and require frequent reminders to take my surly, “know-it-all” attitude down a notch. Hating my red hair and the hot-headed temperament that comes with it has always been at the top of a list too long and sad to print here.
AspenTimes.com •

When your car’s license plate stands out in the crowd

I drove through the four-way stop sign without slowing down or stopping because I didn’t even see it. Someone to my left pressed on their car horn so passionately that I thought I was the star in some sappy Hallmark movie. I slammed on the brakes before hitting a pedestrian in the crosswalk and then proceeded to roll through the intersection in indecisive fits, waving apologetically in all four cardinal directions.
PostIndependent.com •

Why we love and hate the family chores

I ignored the heated dispute by pretending to be an overworked human resources executive and prayed the team would utilize the problem-solving skills I’ve been coaching them on for years. Soon I heard a door slam, a few zesty words that would make a kindergarten teacher blush, and the whirr of a lawn mower. The other teenager dramatically dragged the vacuum out of the closet and then washed the sink’s dirty dishes as if teasing them to break.
VailDaily.com •

The devil is in the details

My son likes to quote, “Manners maketh man” whenever he sees humankind acting in ways that disrupt his sense of order. I get excited when he speaks like this, not because I raised a son whose command of etiquette would make Emily Post proud, but because I perversely enjoy seeing people behaving recklessly in the wild. It’s like going to the zoo to gawk at orangutans except human beings are more fun because we were taught to pick our noses and fornicate in private.
VailDaily.com •

How to leave the party with a walking taco

I worked my way toward the door looking for a way to leave the party although I was still having a good time. I had already mingled with friends, contributed to the potluck feast, and wished the guest of honor a happy birthday. I even gave the host a small gift upon my arrival because I knew I wanted to depart a couple of hours later without so much as a goodbye when my bed and a book called me home. I despised the effort in long, drawn-out goodbyes, and preferred a quick and quiet exit instead....
VailDaily.com •

Is there karma?

My body hit the pavement like an asteroid entering Earth’s atmosphere. My face and knee absorbed the initial impact, and I would soon have black and blue marbling like a slab of prime beef served at a high-end restaurant. I lay on the ground stunned until I could confidently roll over and dust off my pride. Some would call this a clumsy accident because I wasn’t looking where I was going, but as I recalled my previous days’ actions, I decided once and for all: Karma is real.
VailDaily.com •

A teenagers’ guide to calling out ‘sick’ from work

I think death is knocking on my bedroom door ready to put me out of my snotty misery, but it’s only my father with a cup of tea and a thermometer to take my temperature. I have a flair for the dramatic and cough loudly. I want to call out sick from my part-time weekend job, but I am in no condition for responsibility. I’m too impossibly weak to lift the telephone receiver to call my boss and tell him I won’t be able to come to work this Saturday.
Vail Daily •

The rules of the game

At the edge of town, we have a stubborn red traffic light that refuses to turn green, especially on Sunday mornings. This is when I chaperone a car full of neophytes to their driver’s education class. Part of me wants to wait hours, if not days, for the traffic light to turn green because it’s the law. The other part of me wants to unleash an inner rebel that craves some action. She wants to simultaneously run the red light and yell obscenities while watching it fade away in the rearview mirror.
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