Tag: writing

The Scales of Desire: Seduction, Decans, and the Complex Art of the Libra Men

Libra scales beside vinyl records, whiskey, cigar, and a jazz performer
A vintage-inspired Libra scene blends balanced scales, jazz music, vinyl records, and evening indulgence.

Few archetypes dominate late-night playlists with a romantic lure like the male R&B crooner, just as Geminis dominate hip-hop. Few zodiac signs seem as innately engineered for the R&B crooner role as Libra. Governed by Venus, the seventh sign of the zodiac is celebrated for aesthetic sensibility, balance, charm, and partnership. In modern R&B, this energy crafts anthems that define sexual longing, smooth diplomacy, and emotional tension.

Yet underneath the polished falsettos and silk button-downs lies an intricate, often contradictory psychology. Far from simple romantics, Libra R&B men carry an allure as calculated as it is intoxicating, blending genuine passion with strategic manipulation, stubborn independence, and a fierce demand for justice. This blog post focuses only on the men; I need a separate post for the ladies.

The Anatomy of Seduction and Decanoic Expression

To understand the core of the Libra R&B catalog, we need to look at Ginuwine. From the late 1990s through the mid-2000s, his music created an immersive world of raw physical desire wrapped in suave vulnerability. Tracks like “So Anxious” do not merely establish a sensual mood; they function as operational blueprints for the archetype. The urgency of a late-night rendezvous, the tactile focus on touch, and the deliberate choreography of intimacy speak directly to an elevated Venusian instinct: “Said as soon as you hit the door/ I’m pull you down on the floor/And before we get to touch the bed/ Baby back up every word you said/And before we get to hit the lights/ And before we start the candlelight/Baby girl I wanna bump and grind/ This is something that is on my mind” “So Anxious”-Ginuwine.

Do you not see the attributes of a Libra, the charm, the desire, words acting as a spell to get you in his bed. Well, you won’t be in his bed but on the floor.

Astrologically, this behavior corresponds with the traditional decans of the sign:

  • First Decan (0° to 10°, September 23 – October 2): Pure Venus energy. Artists governed by pure Venusian influence channel effortless beauty, kinetic magnetism, and romantic indulgence. This is where Lucky Daye falls into the chart; a raw, sensual appeal, endurance as a performer, and stage charisma showcase this unvarnished aesthetic power.
  • Second Decan (10° to 20°, October 3 – October 12): Uranus. Introducing an unconventional, forward-thinking drive, this decan values personal autonomy and distinct individuality. More women from R&B fall into this category.
  • Third Decan (20° to 30°, October 13 – October 22): Mercury. Infused with sharp intellect, verbal agility, and structural discipline, this decan bridges art with legacy. Usher, Ne-Yo, Eric Benet, and Ginuwine fall into this decan.  illustrates this energy seamlessly. His longevity, vocal and dance mastery, and deliberate business acumen reflect a calculated mind using communication and performance to secure generational stability.

Ginuwine’s astrological energy is Physical Magnetism and seduction.  He defines unapologetic sensuality, timeless stage allure, and a tactile focus on his mission of physical intimacy.  Then there’s Ne-Yo, who rocked the world with a modern energy of romance, woven with reverence for women, in songs like Miss Independent.  Ne-Yo epitomizes this current master songwriter, balancing traditional romantic lyricism with an acute awareness of his own human evolution. Usher has dominated R&B since 1994, with classics like “You Make Me Wanna,” “Confessions,” and “Superstar.”  Usher has a strategic intellect about love, while weaving longevity. He embodies a level of perfectionism in his performances. In comparison, creating everlasting legacy that cannot be questioned.  Eric Benet shows he can emote pure romance and love through a song, yet still tells people on social media to vote and stay aware, with his string of pearls.  

The Decan Spectrum in Contemporary R&B Beneath the Polish: The Shadow Side and Calculated Justice

The public narrative surrounding Libras often centers on indecisiveness and conflict-avoidance, but this reads the sign incorrectly. A Libra man’s hesitation is rarely an inability to choose; it is a tactical assessment designed to ensure he secures precisely what he desires on his own terms. Rather than bold, aggressive demands, their decisions are governed by seductive diplomacy. A good example is how Ginuwine handled TGT and went back to doing his own musical thing. When unevolved Libra, however, the archetype reveals a turbulent shadow. One area that comes from unevolved Libra is Shifting Boundaries: Without clear self-imposed limits, they slide into passive dynamics where they feel exploited, until internal resentment triggers a sudden, absolute cut-off. Another aspect you may encounter is Reputation-Preserving Dishonesty: While a fire sign like Sagittarius embellishes stories to entertain, the unevolved Libra man lies primarily for self-preservation—to avoid conflict, preserve an immaculate image, or deflect immediate accountability. Lastly, Retributive Justice: Venus is not merely the planet of flowers and whispers; historically, it is equally a deity of retribution. As mirrored by contemporary figures like Cardi B in her legal and public disputes, when a Libra feels fundamentally wronged, their pursuit of restoration is exhaustive. An offended Libra does not walk away; they orchestrate a situation that leaves their opponent stranded while maintaining an air of detached innocence. Review how Lucky Daye handled his situation with his label, and how he came back with musical vengeance.

Grounding the Scales: Longevity, Wealth, and Domestic Stability

Despite their reputation for running hot and cold during youthful “phases,” evolved Libras transform into remarkably grounded partners, parents, and business professionals. Their relationship with resources is quiet but deliberate. Like their sister Venusian sign, Taurus, they have a deep understanding of financial resilience. They balance public expenditures with protected reserves, often working rigorously through mid-life to finance legacy goals, such as their children’s education, without destabilizing their long-term security.

In domestic life, the evolved Libra channels their obsession with harmony directly into their household. Their natural diplomatic instincts and rejection of petty friction foster balanced, forward-thinking environments for their children.

The Libra male R&B artist is far more complex than a smooth vocalist singing sweet melodies under soft lights. He is a study in calculated balance: equal parts hopeless romantic and cunning strategist, family guardian and seductive trickster. To truly appreciate their music, you have to understand that beneath the promises of devotion lies an acute mind, always measuring the scales and weighing every consequence.

Until Next Time,

Che Michelle

Also, do not date Libra men; listen to their music. It’s for your own sanity. 😊

If you want a specific astrology topic comment below!

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Stop Guessing the Algorithm: How to Write What People Actually Want to Read

How do you write what people actually want to read?

A WordPress writing prompt from a few days ago posed a question that plagues every blogger at some point: How do you write what people want to read?

If you run a blog, you know the cycle. You spend hours pouring your soul into an essay you’re convinced is comedic gold or deeply profound, hit publish, and watch the digital tumbleweeds blow past. Meanwhile, a low-effort listicle you jotted down between sips of coffee suddenly drives all your traffic.

We have all been there and it begs the question: Are we chasing an audience that does not exist, or are we just doing this all wrong?

The Stats Don’t Make Sense (And That’s Okay)

I’m currently on Day 24 of a 30-day writing challenge. It’s been an exercise in pushing past creative blocks, figuring out my niche, and obsessively checking post metrics to see what lands.

The verdict? Human attention is completely unpredictable.

Case in point:

  • I wrote a deep-dive critical analysis arguing why modern culture desperately needs to bring back Jerry Springer-caliber daytime talk shows. I thought it was witty, culturally relevant, and sharp. Result: Crickets. Barely a like, barely a hit.
  • I posted a quick, candid breakdown of my top five everyday apps. Result: Solid traffic, instant clicks.
  • I drafted a comedic story about an overdramatic run-in at the grocery store, assuming humor would lead the charge. Instead, my post ranking my favorite Pokémon companions blew it out of the water.

If you try to reverse-engineer what strangers on the internet want on any given Tuesday, you’ll drive yourself mad. You can’t predict what will click, because readers rarely know what they want until it’s in front of them.

The Danger of Writing Only for the Clicks

If I only wrote what “sells,” my blog would turn into an endless feed of trashy erotica overnight. Don’t get me wrong—I love writing steamy, unapologetic romance. There is genuine art and fun in crafting indulgent drama where everyone gets exactly what they want.

But writers are multifaceted. Sometimes I want to write erotica; sometimes I want to write speculative sci-fi about women defying convention; sometimes I want to break down astrology as character analysis rather than mystical fortune-telling.

When you constrain your voice solely to capture mass appeal, you strip out the very friction that makes writing compelling. The moment you start writing exclusively for an imaginary audience’s approval, you kill the curiosity that brought you to the page in the first place.

The Toni Morrison Rule: Fill the Void

Toni Morrison offered what remains the best writing advice ever recorded:

“If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”

Seasoned writers and mentors have echoed this for decades. Your job as a writer isn’t to survey the market, build a demographic profile, and pander to it. Your job is to look at the cultural landscape, identify what feels missing, and write that exact piece into existence.

  • Write the piece that makes you laugh out loud while drafting it.
  • Write a love letter to your younger self that it felt terrifying to put on paper.
  • Write the raw, emotional witness to an everyday event that nobody else bothered to document.

When I posted a quiet, vulnerable piece reflecting on personal self-worth, it didn’t get thousands of views—but a reader reached out to say it was deeply caring, spot-on, and gave them comfort right when they needed it. That single connection infinitely holds more weight than a dozen empty clicks on a trendy topic.

Write with Abundance

There are over eight billion people on this planet. Your writing is not meant for all of them. It isn’t even meant for 1% of them.

Writing requires an abundance mindset:

  • The wrong readers will scroll past. Let them.
  • The right readers will find resonance. When you write with genuine specificity and voice, the people who share your wavelength will eventually track down your work. They will recognize the humor, feel the emotion, and appreciate the perspective.

Your responsibility isn’t to figure out what people want to read. Your responsibility is to write, edit, and put something authentic into the world. The audience doesn’t know what they’re missing until you give it to them.

Over to you: Have you ever published something you were certain would flop, only for it to resonate widely—or vice versa? How do you balance writing for yourself versus writing for your readers?

Until Next Time,

Che Michelle

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The “Overdramatic” Diagnosis

Comic panel: Beatrice swoons at an annual gala while guests say “GASP!”, “SWOON!”, “Not again!”, “Seriously?”, “Ugh, the drama is exhausting!”, “SNEER”, “ROLL EYES!”, and “She’s feigning it! What an actress!”
At the annual gala, Beatrice dramatically swoons as guests react with disbelief and concern.

I am still ruminating over a stranger catching an attitude with me, at Sprouts of all places. But this moment has now created two essays to finish the 30 Blog posts in 30 days, and they’re pretty strong, according to the people in my life, and a stranger with a stank face and probably an itchy butthole. I have been living in a state of high theatricality since approximately the 80s. I was recently informed once again that I am “overdramatic.” Naturally, I spent the rest of the evening silently ruminating on this diagnosis, holding a full-blown internal tribunal while processing a quiet loss.

It got me thinking about my lifelong track record with this label. It turns out that society’s definition of “overdramatic” usually means “having a physical or emotional reaction to something actively happening to you.”

Child pulling another child’s hair while he cries, with text reading “Ow! Stop pulling!”, “GRAB!”, and “WAAAH!!!”
A comic-style classroom scene shows a child pulling another child’s hair as he cries out in pain.

Take my early childhood, for instance. In pre-K, a classmate casually bit me on the cheek. I cried, as one does when being processed as a snack, and was promptly scolded for overreacting. In kindergarten, another child barged into my bathroom stall while I was using the toilet. I screamed to defend my dignity, only to be branded the problem child for breaking the peace.

By middle school, the stakes grew higher. During a cafeteria food fight, a boy launched a rogue apple directly into my face with missile-like accuracy, shattering my glasses and swelling my eye shut. Vice Principal Mr. Levy, who, mathematically speaking, is likely retired or floating in the great beyond by now, handed me detention. The offense? Crying too loudly about having an apple hit my eye, and my left eye starting to happen in my socket. When my grandmother pointed out the absolute logical absurdity of punishing the kid with the broken face and crushed specs, the school’s defense was essentially: “Well, she was being dramatic.”

Comic-style school food fight with principal shouting STOP THIS NOW!
A furious principal struggles to stop an all-out food fight in the school cafeteria.

Looking back, none of these moments were acts of hyperbole. I wasn’t throwing myself onto a fainting couch because the local café ran out of oat milk; I was experiencing basic human cause-and-effect. A bite hurts. A broken pair of glasses hurts. Grief hurts. But when you are labeled “the dramatic one,” your genuine pain gets reclassified as a performance.

Don’t get me wrong, I can admit when I’m being extra. I have the heart of a theater kid, even if I ended up better suited for stage crew than the spotlight. I know what true drama looks like, and I am fully capable of owning up to my own theatrics when I actually pull them. But there is a massive difference between putting on a show and simply refusing to be emotionally paralyzed.

We live in a culture that seems increasingly obsessed with emotional constipation. We are expected to take hit after hit, literal or metaphorical, with the cool, stoic detachment of a statue. If you react, you’re “doing too much.” If you speak up, you’re “emotionally dumping.” We’ve weaponized therapy to tell people to sit down, shut up, and keep their feelings tucked neatly away where no one else has to look at them.

The irony is that denying people the right to feel doesn’t eliminate emotion; it just forces it to curdle. We end up in a society of suppressed human pressure cookers, wondering why everyone is perpetually on the edge of flying into a rage over the smallest things.

True maturity isn’t about feeling nothing; it’s about knowing the time and place. I know how to be neutral and professional at my desk. But at home, watching a sad film or sitting with the grief of losing someone who loved and cared for me for forty years, I claim the right to be human. I demand the right to cry.

Having feelings doesn’t make you a disaster; it just means you’re awake. The next time someone tells you you’re being “overdramatic” for reacting to real life, consider the source. Often, people who demand total stoicism from others aren’t practicing self-control; they are just uncomfortable with the messiness of real human connection. And honestly? They might be the ones who need a little therapy.

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Am I The Drama at Sprouts? A One-Woman Grocery Store Meltdown

AM I THE DRAMA? A One-Woman Tragedy in Four Bottles of Alkaline Water (they were .69 cents a bottle a steal)

Crowded grocery market with shoppers choosing produce and checking out
Shoppers fill a warmly lit grocery market while selecting fresh produce and everyday essentials.

“They say, “Cardi, you tweakin’,” nah, I don’t be tweakin’ enough
Bitches be doin’ shit, and I been letting it slide, and I don’t be bringin’ it up
Bitches be out here tellin’ lies about me, and y’all just be eating it up
But when I drag her to hell, “Cardi, you evil as fuck”” – Cardi B “Dead”

Picture it. A Monday. Not just Monday. My Standard routine with my true evening ritual: I go workout and sweat the stress of the day away. Then I go to Staples run to make my copies for trivia, and then and only then the hallowed grocery pilgrimage for lunch for the week. I typically go to Trader’s Joes but tonight I chose Sprouts. I chose poorly.

I walk into Sprouts, a little to happy-go-lucky I am in my Stepford Wives mindset. I end up with the iconic Strawberry Poppy Salad and 4 bottles of alkaline water. I am trying to be healthy. I am working on my self-improvement. No kombucha, because I am TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF, thank you very much. I gather my sad little salad and my four bottles of fancy water like the disciplined baddie I’m trying to become.

Shopping cart surrounded by scattered fruits and vegetables in a dark grocery store
A lone shopping cart stands amid scattered produce in a shadowy grocery store aisle.

And then. THEN!!! I approached the register. I forgot to put the gray bar up to separate the items from the customer in front of me. Forgetting about the sacred conveyor belt divider, that tiny plastic bar that separates each customer, is a crime against humanity. I place my items down like an absolute rookie, and this woman with a bad weave and attitude turns to me with the fury of a thousand suns and snaps, “Can I finish?” rolling her eyes so hard I felt the breeze. I was wondering if she rolled any harder could she see her past life? A part of me wishes I channeled my inner Cardi B, but I channeled my inner Catholic.

I apologize. Dramatically, sure, I’ll own that “OMG, I AM SO SORRY”. But I was SINCERE. And she has the AUDACITY to tell me “Stop being dramatic?? Ma’am. Ma’am. You are the one rolling your eyes, from me forgetting the little gray divider. It’s you, YOU ARE THE DRAMA. The projection of frustration, on a stranger, on me!!! The absolute projection happening at register 1 of a Sprouts on a Monday night.

So, I slink off to another line like a woman exiled from the line of purchasing, and the universe says “We are not done with you yet” the next two cashiers proceed to psychologically ice me out. One’s staring at his name badge like it holds the secrets of the universe. I’m standing there, water bottles and salad, wondering if I should just leave the salad and my dignity behind and drive home in shame.

Customer points angrily at cashier while shoppers wait at grocery checkout
A tense grocery checkout interaction unfolds as a customer questions the cashier while another shopper waits nearby.

It would be great to say I persevered. I got my salad. I got my water. I got home. But I didn’t, I instead put all the items back and left. As someone who desired that delicious salad, while trying to load 2027 Baddie up. One thought echoed through my head was she now thinks I’m dramatic, and honestly? I might be proving her right by mapping out every other Sprouts location in a 30-mile radius. So, I never have to see her again. Is that dramatic? Absolutely. Do I regret it? We’ll revisit going to THAT Sprouts in November of 2028.

But here’s the real ending, I left with no food, because I felt disrespected. Past the bit: that customer was having a bad day that had nothing to do with me, and for one hot second I almost let her bad mood become my bad mood too. I didn’t. I said sorry, I took the L, I left without my Strawberry Poppy Salad. But I kept my Monday intact, with the good vibes I was feeling.

That’s the whole lesson, dramatics aside somebody else’s nasty attitude is theirs. You can hand it right back to them without ever picking it up yourself.  I will get a better salad another day, and that delicious Strawberry Salad with feta cheese can feed another person, just not me. I ended up with a bag of Smartfood White Cheddar Popcorn, so much for being a baddie.

Until Next Time,

Che Michelle

If you would like to sponsor my next Salad, not from that Sprouts à  Ko-fi.com/chemichelletales

What I really wanted to say to this woman, but my brain shut it down à https://youtube.com/shorts/F7TTLla_csQ?is=mC0vRQhPJjc5sWNF

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In Defense of the Most Underestimated Sign in the Zodiac

A love letter to Taurus’s goddess energy, the cut-off game, and why you should not, under any circumstances, activate one.

Robed woman gathering flowers beside a fruit-filled garden fountain

A robed woman gathers flowers in a lush garden filled with fruit, roses, and a flowing stone fountain.

By Che Michelle · Staff Astrologer & Person Who Has Met Several Tauruses

Here’s what people get wrong about Taurus: they are consistently misunderstood. The prevailing image is someone lounging and snacking, but this stereotype misses Taurus’s depth and power. Taurus isn’t just about comfort; they embody quiet strength, discipline, and an unyielding force. I want to correct this misconception and highlight why Taurus deserves serious respect.

Taurus is a fixed earth sign, ruled by Venus. Before you let that lull you into a false sense of security and picture soft lighting, a diffuser, and someone whispering about thread counts, I need you to understand that Venus is not just beauty. Venus is beauty and war. People always forget the war part. They let Roman mythology smooth it over. Do not let it smooth it over. The goddess of love has always had a fieriness to her, and so does every Taurus I have ever met.

What a Taurus Actually Is

A Taurus is sensual in the truest sense; all five senses are fully online at all times. They don’t just love food; they love a well-prepared meal, good company, and just the right ambiance. Serenity means as much as the meal itself. Catch a Taurus at home on a Friday night, with their favorite snack and show, and you see them in their purest, most divine state. Someone made a mistake giving Virgo to Mercury; Taurus and Virgo both deserved Hestia. I said what I said.

They are also, contrary to the “homebody” reputation, not actually homebodies. They do not want you in their home. There’s a difference. Their home is a sanctuary. If you have a standing invitation to a Taurus’s house, you have been vetted. You have been assessed. You passed something, and you may not even know what the test was. That’s the thing about Taurus: they won’t tell you about the test.

“If a Taurus has given you a key to their home, congratulations. You have cleared a background check that no institution could have conducted more thoroughly.”

Loyalty Question

Loyalty is often attributed to other signs Scorpio, Capricorn, Libra but my core argument is this: loyalty finds its truest home in Taurus. If you want steadfastness, reliability, and unwavering commitment, Taurus stands above the rest.

What makes Taurus’s loyalty unique is its combination of honesty and steadfast support. A Taurus won’t coddle you or always agree. Instead, they will meet you with unflinching honesty, telling you if you’re wrong, unhinged, or making a questionable decision. Still, after calmly offering their perspective, they step back and allow you to make your own choices, even if they disagree. Their loyalty means supporting your autonomy without enabling you, and trusting you to learn from the consequences.

About Fighting

Everybody always gives energy to Aries. And Aries deserves that. Aries are ready and willing, and I respect it. But if we are ranking Earth signs by their capacity to end you in a physical altercation, and apparently today we are, the order goes: Taurus, then Capricorn, then Virgo.

Virgo is third on that list, not because they can’t fight, but because Virgo will kill you, and they know it, so they don’t fight. A Virgo, with their mutable energy, has done the math on every possible outcome and decided the smartest move is restraint. That’s not pacifism; that’s threat assessment.

Taurus, meanwhile, will use every ounce of their logic and groundedness to avoid conflict right up until they don’t. And when they don’t, it’s over. They are grounded. They are rooted. They have been patient. And all of that patience has been building like pressure behind a dam that they built themselves, brick by methodical brick. When it goes, it goes. You were warned. Technically. By their silence, which you misread as peace.

“A Taurus doesn’t lose a fight because a Taurus doesn’t enter a fight they haven’t already won in their head. They waited. They grounded. They calculated. You never had a chance.”

The Cut-Off Game (A Brief Warning)

Everyone talks about Capricorn’s cut-off game, and they deserve the credit. But Taurus? Taurus will cut you off, and you will not know until three months later, when you realize they haven’t texted back since April. No announcement. No dramatic speech. No explanation. One day, you are in their life; the next, quietly and efficiently, you are not. They rearranged the furniture, and you are no longer in the floor plan.

Unlike a Libra, who will deliver justice with their fists and then feel bad about it, a Taurus delivers justice the way they do everything else: patiently, precisely, and on their own timeline. They are not angry. They are not dramatic. They decided, somewhere along the way, that you were not adding to the serenity of their life. And a Taurus protects their serenity the way some people protect their credit score obsessively, quietly, and with the full force of their considerable will.

In Closing: Cher, Janet and Lizzo

If you want to see Taurus’ energy in its highest form, look no further than Cher, Janet Jackson and Lizzo, three very different expressions of the same cosmic blueprint. Cher her sultry nature, with a fierce unapoligetic nature, yet she graces the world with a fierce interperation of Venus. Janet is the textbook: soft-spoken, sensual, deeply intelligent, with a Venus-blessed presence that can change the temperature of a room without raising her voice. She has managed her power so precisely over a decade-long career that you only realize how much she was holding back when she decided to let it out. Pure Taurus. Controlled, then suddenly, magnificently, not.

Lizzo is the new-age version: louder, fiery, likely with some Gemini in that chart, but the core is the same: goddess energy, quiet business acumen, loyalty to her people, and a record of watching critics fade away with composure. That’s Venus energy. That’s Taurus energy. They keep building and running the business while detractors quietly eat what they serve.

That is the Taurus way: steady, resolute, unshakeable. If you have underestimated this sign, now is the time to see them for what they truly are: quietly powerful, fiercely loyal, and deserving of your respect. Recognize their strength, or risk underestimating a force you can’t control.

★ Che Michelle is a writer, cultural commentator, and someone who actively keeps a Taurus in her corner for protection. She has no formal credentials in astrology and doesn’t care.

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An Aquarius Love Story, Not for the Weak or Stupid

Culture & Cosmos: An Essay by Che Michelle

He Said She Was “Too Loud.” The Stars Said Y’all Don’t Belong Together. Both Are Problems

By Che Michelle ·  Astrology Enthusiast & person way too invested in the Megan and Klay breakup.

Let’s talk about the diabolical relationship of *coughs, coughs* Klay Thompson and the Hot Girl Coach Megan Thee Stallion.

Specifically, let’s talk about the part where Klay Thompson, a man who’s spent the better part of a decade throwing up half-court shots in front of thousands of screaming fans and calling it work, had the unmitigated gall to say Megan Thee Stallion was too loud. As Black women, we all know what “TOO Loud” means.

Comic panel of a couple arguing, with speech bubbles saying “YOU’RE JUST TOO LOUD!” and “SHHHH!”
A partner shouting while the other looks frustrated.

Sir. You play in arenas. You are paid to perform in front of noise. You generate noise bouncing a 1.4-pound basketball up and down the court. And your complaint about one of the most successful women in hip-hop is that she was too much? Too loud? Too ghetto? Too present in her own life? [I almost inserted Too Short favorite word, but I think you beneath it.]

I need everyone to sit down, because we are going to talk about what actually happened here. I mean really talk about it, with receipts, with charts, and with the kind of clarity that only comes when you’re willing to look the universe dead in the face and say: baby, the stars tried to warn you both.

The Setup: A Love Story in Two Acts (And One Press Statement That Deserved No Press)

Once upon a time, Megan The Stallion, born Megan Pete on February 15, 1995, in Houston, Texas, stepped out publicly with Klay Thompson, born February 8, 1990, in Los Angeles, California, and the internet lost its entire mind. They were gorgeous. They were tall. They were both at Megan’s foundation, the Pete & Thomas Foundation gala, looking like someone’s vision board come to life.

And then about 8 months later (give or take a month), it ended.

And then, allegedly through the grapevine, came the commentary: she was too loud. Too ghetto. He prefers to keep his options open, aka cheating.

First of all: who let this statement leave the building? Because whoever drafted that press release needs their astrological chart read immediately, because Mercury must have been retrograde in their soul.

Second of all: Megan went from releasing Loverboy, a song dripping in hope and romantic energy, the sonic equivalent of showing up to someone’s door with flowers, to dropping a snippet that, cleanly, devastatingly declared: all that wifey shit is dead.

And honestly? She is Correct. Move accordingly, Meg.

But here’s what nobody is talking about. Here’s the thing that made me put my phone down, pick it back up, and start typing immediately:

These two people were, astrologically speaking, practically the same human being.

The Mirror Problem: When You Date Yourself and Don’t Know It

Let’s pull out the charts, because the universe left evidence.

Both Megan and Klay are Aquarius suns — born just seven days and five years apart. That alone puts most of their personal planets in the same neighborhood. Mercury and Venus don’t wander far from the Sun, which means two people born close together in the calendar year often have nearly identical planetary blueprints, just at different degrees, different aspects, and expressions. I do understand nature vs. nurture; they have different life experiences that have shaped who they are, different levels of love, trauma. Let’s add Saturn fatherly energy in the mix, finding time to kick their ass to success.

And that is exactly what happened here.

Both of them have significant Capricorn placements; we’re talking Mercury, Venus, Mars, stacked up in the sign of ambition, discipline, image, and I-will-build-this-empire-if-it-kills-me energy. Capricorn isn’t warm and fuzzy (I should know; I was raised by a Capricorn and dated a Capricorn, not for the weak of heart). Capricorn is a business plan with good bone structure. Two people loaded with Capricorn energy will be fiercely hardworking, intensely focused on their futures, deeply image-conscious, and here’s the part nobody wants to hear: somewhat emotionally guarded when things get complicated.

And then they both have Leo moons- like, what the hell, have dealt with a Leo moon: the ego traps, the melodrama, the inability to forgive. Leo and Scorpios are two sides of the same coin, and no, I won’t explain further. I have real-life evidence.

A Leo moon is a person whose emotional core is built around pride, performance, loyalty, and the deep, desperate need to be seen and not just loved. Witnessed. Celebrated and made to feel like the most important person in the room, because internally, that’s where they live. Leo moon people are generous, warm, and fiercely protective of the people they love. They are also spectacular when they feel dismissed or disrespected.

Two Leo moons in a relationship means two people who both need to be the star. Two people who both feel deeply and perform those feelings loudly. Two people who, when the relationship starts cracking, will both feel the wound in their identity, not just their heart.

This was never going to be a quiet breakup.

The Twin Flame Trap (And Why It’s Not as Romantic As It Sounds)

Here’s what people get wrong about the concept of twin flames: they think it means a perfect match. It does not. What it actually means — in the original, more complicated sense is that this person mirrors you. Your strengths, yes. But also, your wounds. Also, your patterns. Also, the exact thing you haven’t healed yet.

Taking a moment to say, Meg, Megan takes this as a big sister who has dated weird men. Enjoy your life, be great, love yourself even when it’s hard. Go back, listen to your music, and remember the greatest love story ever told is the love story about you. Not about any man, but you how you found love in a hopeless place and shine bright like a diamond. Oops, sorry, I was listening to Calvin Harris and Rihanna while typing this essay.

Klay Thompson comes from a family of athletes. His father, Mychal Thompson, played in the NBA. His world is structured, legacy-driven, and has a specific idea of what a partner looks like in that context. What Megan reflected to him was the intoxicating feeling of being in the culture, not watching it from the sidelines, but really in it, and the ego boost of being with a woman that everyone wants, of having a presence that fills every room she enters.

Klay isn’t built like Russell Wilson; he needs to take some classes from Mr. Wilson on being present for a successful woman and stop listening to that Drake album.

He wanted the Hot Girl Megan Thee Stallion “the persona.” He got Megan Pete, the real-life human. And Megan Pete has been through real-life, devastating events. Quoting Ariana Grande’s song 7 rings- “Been through some bad shit, I should be a sad bitch/ Who would have thought it’d turn me to a savage?” Megan requires a partner who shows up consistently, with emotional availability, with warmth that doesn’t clock out when the cameras do. What Klay reflected on Megan was the dream she’s always carried: stability, family, someone solid who could hold her when the world got loud.

No, seriously, Klay, I will stay out of men’s business, but my big sister’s energy is oozing out. This is the same advice I would give my brother. You have to know what you personally want in a partner. Not what looks good on paper or to your friends. You may need the more laid-back woman, and not the trailblazer, the Hot Girl Coach, and that is ok. What you won’t do is talk mad shit about her or cheat on her; have some damn dick discipline. Shit, you can go do 8 hours of basketball practice, but as soon as another woman comes around, you start acting like a “Que” in heat.

The problem is that you cannot give someone what you haven’t fully developed in yourself. He wanted the Persona. She needed the Partner. And the stars had been quietly taking notes the entire time. Truly a lesson in wants vs. needs and communication.

What the Capricorn Stellium Was Trying to Tell Them

Here’s the thing about loading your chart with Capricorn energy: Capricorn will make you work. Capricorn will make you build. But Capricorn, especially multiple Capricorn placements stacked together, can make it very hard to be vulnerable. It can make feelings feel like a liability. When you have two equally driven, equally image-conscious people look at each other across a room and think, “I see myself in you,” and not immediately realize that is both the attraction and the warning.

Two people who are both fiercely focused on their image, both ambitious, both emotionally proud they can admire each other enormously. They can push each other to limits they never imagined. They can look unbelievable together in photos.

And when it falls apart, they can also hurt each other in exactly the place it stings most: the ego, the legacy, the public narrative of who they are.

“Too loud.” “Too ghetto.”

That is not a man describing a woman he loved. That is a man protecting his image at the expense of someone else’s. That is the worst of Capricorn: cutting, cold, and image-first, dressed up as a preference.

The Verdict

Megan Thee Stallion deserved a man who heard her laugh across a room and thought There she is with a big smile across his face; the Usher song “There Goes My Baby” should play in their head as she walks across the room. Not “There she is,” and have the lyrics from Kendrick Lamar, “Bitch don’t kill my vibe be her entrance song, and want to say Turn it down to her.

Klay Thompson deserves (a lot of things) to figure out what he actually wants before presenting himself to another woman as an option. Get some therapy. Go travel and do an Eat, Pray, Love adventure.

And both of them, if they ever want relationships that last, need to stop dating their mirror and start dating their complement. Someone who fills in the gaps. Someone who carries what you don’t. Someone whose chart, when laid next to yours, feels less like oh we’re the same and more like, ” Oh, you have what I’ve been missing.

The stars didn’t fail Megan and Klay. The stars were, frankly, screaming an Andre 3000 lyric to them: “My partner yellin’ Too Soon, Don’t do it! Reconsider!/ Read some literature on the subject, you sure?…”

They weren’t listening.

All that wifey shit may be dead, Meg but your era? Your era is just getting hotter: “Big bank take lil’ bank, bitch, add it up/Hoes takin’ shots, but they ain’t in my caliber”

★ Che Michelle is a writer, cultural commentator, and someone who actively asks, ” Why didn’t you consult an astrologer before launching this relationship. She has no formal astrology credentials and remains unbothered by this fact.

Support my unhinged commentary using Zodiac Signs–>https://ko-fi.com/chemichelletales

p.s. this was in my draft i wanted to add more but i am still on a mission of posting everyday for the month of September. I have sorta failed but I going to find away to pump out 10 more essays/blog post.

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Capicorns write Long books

Warning: This was a fun post I wrote for entertainment purposes. I thoroughly enjoy both books. The storytelling is top-tier, and the life lessons are stellar. But in both books, I felt the Capricorn energy exude from them. As I read, all I could say in jest was, “This is a Capricorn thing.”  We are still in Chapter 18, and it’s been 2 hours. My mind would drift to Capricorn in my life, which is typically long-winded and sometimes overly detail-oriented. Please enjoy this blog. I have no disrespect for either of these women; it’s just my poor attempt at humor, comparing the books I’ve read.

Random Thought: Capricorns write the longest book ever (upon some extra investigation, Capricorns do not hold the honor of the longest book). I may be narrow-minded about Capricorns.  This is based on my observations and other articles I have read about Capricorns. Women of this sign can be very detail-oriented, get stuck on one subject for too long, and overlook details that reflect poorly on them.   From reading, you may wonder where I got that thought.  I am currently reading Tina Knowles’ book “Matriarch.” I love this book; it’s witty, honest, and funny, and, on the low, she’s giving young ladies tips and knowledge that have been lost in current generations.  How do you decide to leave a bad situation? How do you pursue your dreams with focus and determination? How to be your person.

A full review is forthcoming once I’ve finished the book.  It’s a trend I’ve noticed in almost all memoirs I’ve read by Capricorns. I have only read three books by Capricorns: two by former First Lady Michelle Obama and Matriarch by Tina Knowles.   Below are a few takeaways from each book that I would like to attribute to Capricorn pause, Black, and Successful Capricorn women.  I have met the dark side of Capricorn; they are all long-winded but never seem to harness their success.  That is another blog for a different post.  Below are five thoughts I have taken from reading memoirs from Capricorn Women:

  1. Capricorns are detail-oriented to a painstaking level.  Numerous details are layered into each chapter and sentence.  I love the details, but when you’re still in Chapter 4 after 5 hours.  In Becoming, Michelle Obama describes the home, the smells, and the rhythm to the point where you lose sight of why she’s telling the story until 10 minutes later. I had to go back and re-read a section to understand how the story connected to its impact on her life.  This is not awful; it forces you to pay attention, and in a TikTok 10-second world, it was nice to focus.  Seriously, please get to the point about why you didn’t continue playing the piano.
  2. Capricorns focus on the most mundane things but speed past the most impactful moments. Tina Knowles’ details were terrific, but I could tell from the editing that certain things were left out or edited down to fit the book’s length.
  3. You will learn the tips to get your life right. I am serious; after reading Michelle Obama’s book and even Mama Tina’s book, I am ready to be the woman I want to be.  Michelle offers words of inspiration and practical advice on how to be present without losing yourself.  Mama Tina teaches you how to achieve financial stability without going broke and to stand in your truth. If you are missing life lessons from your parents, read this book.  (This sentence just gave me an idea for a new post.)
    1. Bonus: she provides semi-detailed instructions for a delicious Gumbo recipe.  When I get access to a kitchen and a whole day, I make Mama Tina’s Gumbo. If her kids won’t learn to make it, I will. I EVEN KNOW THE BISCUITS AND DRINKS I will make!
  4. They make some of the best mothers, creating a fiercely independent daughter.  Hold up, a Capricorn raised me, and I am very independent and couldn’t care less about other people’s opinion of me, which came from my mama. However, reading this book made me realize that Capricorns make the best mothers (warning: when they are healed and not working from trauma).  Look at their kids. No, Michelle Obama’s daughters went to top schools and are living the best private lives. Tina Knowles, we are not going to sit here and notice that she has two successful daughters who are private and refuse to pay people to do their work!  The proof is in the writing and the daughters.
  5. Their vulnerability makes them 10x more driven. Listen to each book; someone hurts their feelings beyond compare, and they devise a plan and seek revenge. The revenge doesn’t last long, but they devise a plan and leave.   That is another life lesson you should take away from this book.
  6. These are long-ass books. I understand Ms. Tina Knowles is 71 and fabulous, putting some 40-year-old woman to shame!  Michelle Obama, in her 60s, I believe, is again putting 40 a 40-year-old woman to shame.  Matriarch clocks in at 432 pages, possibly more, while Obama’s book reaches 448 pages, with an additional 16 pages if purchased from Target, for a total of 464 pages. I have the Target book and the journal. Get the journal you need; it’s full of life lessons to learn from.

Overall, I love both books. You should take the time to read books by these extraordinary ladies.

 Ko-fi.com/chemichelletales

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Handle With Care: A Survival Guide for Friends of Writers

Handle With Care: A Survival Guide for Friends of Writers

It is a late Sunday night. I am currently sitting in the driver’s seat of my parked car, in front of my house, utterly paralyzed by exhaustion and avoiding the thirty-foot walk to my front door. It’s that sacred, slightly delirious twilight hour when the engine is off, the streetlights hum, and your brain decides: Yes, this is the exact moment to unpack the existential baggage of being an aspiring author.

A few years ago, I attempted to write a book titled The Secret Son of Hephaestus. The premise was born in a writing class: What if Aphrodite and Hephaestus secretly had a son, but Hephaestus had to hide the child in the shadows so his mother, Hera, wouldn’t obliterate him in a fit of Olympian wrath? It was layered, tragic, and entirely mine. Naturally, the moment I pitched the idea, someone chimed in with, “Oh, so it’s basically Percy Jackson.”

Illustration titled THE SLOW WRITER'S JOURNEY, showing a writer surrounded by clocks, papers, and words including FOCUS, LOST PLOT, DOUBT, IDEAS?, HELP, and WRITER'S BLOCK.
A frustrated writer struggles to create as clocks, tangled thoughts, and unfinished pages swirl around him.

For the record: I have never read Percy Jackson. Nor was it “just fanfiction,” as another friend so cheerfully labeled it. It was a mythological retelling—an ancient and respected literary tradition, thank you very much. But that sting highlights an uncomfortable reality every creative person eventually confronts: Writers and their friends exist in an ecosystem as fragile as a draft saved only on a glitching USB stick.

In my years of typing, stalling, and voice-recording rants in parking lots, I have deduced that every writer has four distinct categories of friends:

  1. The Ghosts: They will never read your work, and they will never support it. If you sent them your manuscript, they’d probably use it as a coaster.
  2. The Cheerleaders Without Glasses: They will never read your work, but they will show up to your readings, buy you coffee, suggest cool indie bookstores, and shout your praises from the digital rooftops. Bless them; we need them.
  3. The Unqualified Critics: They don’t actually understand your genre, style, or creative soul, yet they wield their critiques like a toddler swinging a sledgehammer.
  4. The Unicorns: Cherish them. Guard them with your life. They read your work, remember your characters’ names, and aggressively text you at midnight asking: “When do I get chapter four?”

I recently stumbled upon a viral Instagram post outlining the unspoken rules of loving someone who writes. It resonated so deeply that I felt called out from my car seat. So, as a public service announcement to the well-meaning civilians who share their lives with storytellers, allow me to translate what’s really going on behind the blinking cursor.

1. Hitting “Send” Is an Act of Raw Vulnerability

If a writer hands you a manuscript or emails you a Google Doc, understand that hitting Send took more courage than a lion tamer stepping into the cage. We are essentially handing you our bruised, exposed nervous system printed in 12-point Times New Roman.

I was once on vacation after getting edits back from a writing group. I handed a chapter to a friend whose opinion I truly treasured. They made a parade of polite excuses about how they had “too much on their reading list” to look at it—and then spent the next three days complaining aloud about the terrible published novel they were reading on the beach.

You are not obligated to read my work. Truly. But if you have time to complain about a celebrity memoir you hate, watching you deliberately avoid twenty pages of my soul feels like a slow paper cut. Don’t hit us with, “Oh, the title looks cute!” It’s okay to say, “I don’t have the bandwidth right now, but I’m rooting for you.” Radical honesty beats a transparent brush-off every time.

2. A “Good Writing Day” Can Salvage Our Entire Existence

Writing in the modern world is an uphill sprint through molasses. We don’t live in the 1980s where you could just shut off the cathode-ray television, sit at an oak desk in absolute silence, and hammer out prose without distraction. We live in an era where modern life demands two jobs, libraries close at 5:00 PM, Barnes & Noble tore out all their good tables, coffee shops kick you out by 2:00 PM, and your phone constantly lures you into a thirty-minute TikTok doom-scroll.

Add in real life, depression, and the sheer exhaustion of having ideas in your head but zero energy in your limbs, and stringing 500 coherent words together feels like summiting Everest. If your writer friend announces they had a good writing day, treat it like they just won an Olympic bronze. My boyfriend will light up and say, “I’m so glad you got some writing today!” That single reaction will carry me through the rest of the week.

3. Staring Blankly Out the Window Counts as Hard Labor

When you catch us zoning out into the middle distance, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, we are not taking a mental nap. We are actively directing a three-act tragedy behind our retinas.

We are deciding whether Janelle would actually slap her boss or insult his loafers. We are blocking scenes. We are figuring out how to describe body language without using the phrase “she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.” Once, while sitting in this very car, I watched a bizarre argument between strangers unfold across the street—it had an inciting incident, rising action, and a climax so dramatic it felt like Shakespeare had a fever dream in a suburb. I was taking mental notes the entire time. That wasn’t loitering; that was occupational development. (And yes, wandering a bookstore for two hours is also taxable research.)

4. When We Say the Book Is Trash, Wait Forty-Eight Hours

Every writer has a day where they re-read their morning draft, decide they are an illiterate fraud, and solemnly swear to burn their laptop and take up goat farming. The Secret Son of Hephaestus is currently in literary purgatory because one day I decided the first three chapters were utter garbage.

Give us two or three days. A nap, a sandwich, and a little distance usually reveal that the manuscript isn’t irredeemable trash after all; it just needs a tightened paragraph, a deleted subplot, and slightly better lighting.

5. Specificity Is the Highest Form of Love

If you want to make a writer cry happy tears, do two things: remember our characters’ names, and tell us specifically what made you react.

A coworker once read a romance short story I wrote and casually remarked, “Sophia really deserves her own story after what happened with Camille.” I practically levitated. She remembered Sophia! She treated my imaginary friend like an actual human being!

Saying “It was good” is the conversational equivalent of a pat on the head. But telling us, “I screamed when he slammed the door,” or “This paragraph felt a little rushed, but that one line made me laugh out loud”—that is golden. It proves you were actually inside the world we spent months building in our heads.

At the end of the day, slow writers are still serious writers. Unread writers are still writers. We aren’t expecting our inner circles to act as an uncompensated, unpaid PR agency or a literary agency board.

All we ask is mindfulness. Be honest if you don’t have the time. Be kind if it’s not your cup of tea. But if you’re going to be in the passenger seat of our creative lives, maybe don’t tell us we’re writing fanfiction when we’re trying to build an empire.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been sitting in this driveway for fifteen minutes; the car is getting cold, and I have thirty days of blog posts to conquer. Bam. Good night.

Here is the link for the post that sparked this essay: https://www.instagram.com/p/DcoHebUESAD/?stkn=NGN3OGJpdmt3Z3d2

Also, if you would like to read my short stories or chapters, comment belowà I want to read your works ☺️

If you want to support my coffee shop visits: https://ko-fi.com/chemichelletales

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A Libra, A Capricorn, and a Whole Lot of Nerve

Culture & Cosmos: An Essay by Che Michelle

On the beef between Cardi B and Latto, the stars, and why nobody ever suspects the Capricorn.

By Che Michelle · Astrologer Enthusiast & Unsolicited Opinion Haver

Gentle reminder: this is for entertainment purposes. None of this is factual; it’s just an opinion.

Cardi B and Latto are beefing, well, not quite. My first reaction- my very first, unfiltered, God-honest reaction- was: out of everyone on this planet, why these two? I opened YouTube, saw the discourse, and genuinely had to sit down. Not because I was shaken, but because I was already sitting down. Realizing everyone focused on past events and nobody was talking about what’s really going on here, I, unfortunately, cannot help myself.

Let me back up before we talk about rap; we need to talk about the cosmos. Specifically, we need to talk about the modality’s cardinal, fixed, and mutable signs. Contrary to popular belief, the real drama in astrology isn’t between a Scorpio and an Aries. It’s between signs that share a modality and are therefore, cosmically speaking, too similar to get along peacefully for long.

“Everyone always says Aries and Scorpio don’t get along. Sure. Fine. But I have personally watched more Scorpios go at the necks of Aquariuses and Leos than anyone else. They fight amongst their own kind. Look it up.”

The Signs in Question

Cardi B is a Libra. Latto is a Capricorn. Both are cardinal signs — the initiators, the ones who start things, who lead, who move first and never ask questions. And that matters, because cardinal signs do not wait. They do not simmer. They act, and then the rest of us spend three weeks reading the think-pieces.

Now, here is what I need People to understand about Capricorns, and I say this with all the love I have in my body, which today is a moderate amount: Capricorns are unforgiving in a way that makes Scorpios look like customer service representatives who want you off the phone with the BS you are spewing. Everybody is always on about Scorpios. “Oh, they hold grudges.” “Oh, they’re vengeful.” “Oh, don’t cross a Scorpio.” Meanwhile, a Capricorn has been quietly building a case against you since 2019, has documented every incident with timestamps, and will bring it up at a moment of their choosing, which is always your worst moment. You think a Scorpio is cold? A Capricorn will work with you. Professionally. Cordially. And it is the person who has a file on you to take to the boss during PMAP season. Always wondering why your boss knows about you taking 45 minutes for Lunch; it was Janet (from the show “The Good Place”). Simultaneously. It’s an art form, honestly.

What Actually Happened (Probably)

Here is my theory, and it is correct (as of today, my theory has been verified by Instagram, YouTube interviews, and media posts/sources): Cardi B is a Libra, a sign people chronically underestimate, and said something. At the same time, she was upset and knows she shouldn’t have said it. In the heat of the moment- I mean, heated- because Libras get heated, and there is a record conversation. People think Libras are gentle diplomats floating around on a little scale, trying to balance everything. And yes, sometimes they are diplomatic. But the other times? They will fight you, both metaphorically and physically. A sign blessed with Charisma and hands, always worried about Aries, when a Libra will cuss you out and give you a swollen lip. Evidence: In 2022, Oscar Will Smith slapped Chris Rock. A Libra’s version of justice is not karma; karma is passive; karma is “the universe will handle it.” Libra’s version of justice is you wronged me, and I want to watch you bleed a little. Proportionately, of course. They’re not animals.

So Cardi popped off and said something sharp. She probably knew immediately it was too far because Libras have a conscience, which is both their best and worst quality. She admitted later she felt bad. At the time, Cardi was pregnant. Probably still feels bad. The “I messed up, I miss my friend” energy is radiating off this whole situation like a heat lamp.

“Cardi B is out here feeling like she lost a friend. Latto is out here feeling like all these Rappers are her Ops.”

Latto, meanwhile, and this is important, was in her first trimester when all of this went down. I want you to really sit with that. A pregnant Capricorn processing a friendship betrayal. You want to talk about fermenting? You want to talk about a grudge aging like a very expensive, very dry wine? That woman sat with it. We do not know when she wrote the song. It could have been right after the recording was released. It could have been six months later when she was knee-deep in postpartum feelings, and the original wound reopened at 2 a.m. for no reason. Either way: she wrote it. She kept it. She released it. That’s a Capricorn movie. Patient, deliberate, devastating.

Business of It All

Here is what I also believe, because I’ve thought about this for an embarrassing amount of time: Latto will work with Cardi again. Not because they’re best friends. Not because they’ve healed. But because Capricorns understand money in a way that transcends personal feelings. A Capricorn will look at a check, then look at you, then look back at the check, and decide that their feelings are secondary to their financial ecosystem. “We can make money together but we ain’t cool” is not a contradiction to a Capricorn. That’s a business model.

Libra and Capricorn placements, when they’re not beefing, make excellent business partners. A natural tension exists between them, and when it is directed correctly, it produces something. They’re both cardinals, both initiators one leads with charm and the other leads with strategy. Put them in a studio instead of a comment section, and you’ve got a hit record. Put them on social media with a grievance, and you’ve got… this.

The Verdict

Will they reconcile? Eventually. Will it be soon? Absolutely not. A Capricorn’s cut-off game is not a temper tantrum  it’s a considered decision, and they do not reverse considered decisions on anyone else’s timeline. Latto will raise her daughter, mature into an even more formidable version of herself, and one day when she’s ready, on her terms  she will decide that excommunication was a bit much. And Cardi will be so relieved she cries. And that’ll be that.

In the meantime: everybody calms down. Nobody is in real danger. This is not Biggie and Tupac. This is a Libra who said something wrong and a Capricorn who decided to let the album say what she won’t. Honestly? Iconic from both. The stars practically wrote it themselves. As of today, I saw several posts/videos on the YouTube page “Lawdamercy” where everything I said was validated. In addition, there are two Breakfast Club clips on YouTube that I haven’t listened to, but they also clarify my reasoning. The links are below:

“Latto Talks ‘Big Mama’, Motherhood, 21 Savage, Drake, Ice Spice, Cardi B & More” The Breakfast Club 04 Jun 2026

“Cardi B responds to Latto: ‘I always wanted to make it right. 05 Jun 2026

Trapp, M. 30 Sept. 2025 “Cardi B Apologizes to Latto Over Leaked Call Comments, Tells Ice Spice’s Manager To “Post It All”

https://www.revolt.tv/article/cardi-b-latto-leaked-call-apology-ice-spice-manager

Photo Credit obtained from YouTube page LAWDAHMERCY, date 04 Jun 2026 http://youtube.com/post/UgkxTp_tIM-DCenb5CDXzNVp52dUImvARhi-?si=oAoHOItQMLYz9_Mm

★ Che Michelle is a writer, cultural commentator, and person who has strong feelings about modalities. She holds no formal astrology credentials and considers that a feature, not a bug

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Why I Stopped Drinking Wine: A Rant Turned Essay.

Tearful woman packs wine bottles into a donation box while saying goodbye
A tearful woman packs her favorite wine bottles for donation, saying goodbye to cherished memories.

Let me say this up front, under oath, hand on the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc I am no longer allowed to finish. Thank you, 40s, for taking the one thing I love.  I love, well, I LOVE WINE! I love it the way some people love their pet chihuahua or a decade-old grudge from a frenemy, which they can never remember how it started. But Susan, when I see you in the streets, it’s at sight! I digress; I love wine, in an unhealthy way, but I also know when to stop.  At one point in my life, I dreamed of becoming a sommelier. I saved up money and dreamed of opening a local wine shop, with the shop name in cursive on the awning.  Special tastings, book events, even cooking classes. I understood wine as a language and a culture before I understood it as a drink.  I grew up Catholic, so during communion we would take a sip of wine to represent the blood of Christ. On milestone birthdays, or even special occasions, a bottle of champagne was customary. The glass of wine to toast a life well lived before saying goodbye to a loved one, because some things are too big for words, and a toast feels right before saying goodbye forever. I was raised in this culture; I learned how wine pairs with meals and events, and how it’s used. My family introduced me to the fine culinary rituals of wine, the same way other families introduce kids to Little League early, with the confidence that I’d be good at it.

So understand what follows is not a wine takedown. It is a eulogy to say goodbye to an aspect of my life that I outgrew, or my Liver said no more. And like most eulogies, it has three parts, and only two of them make me look good.

Comic-style scene with red wine, running shoes, notes, and text reading “AFTERNOON PAUSE.” and “…THE FINISH LINE CAN WAIT.”
A glass of red wine and running shoes invite a well-earned afternoon pause.

Reason One: My Body Filed a Complaint

Somewhere around 2023, I noticed I was gaining weight despite working out three- to five-mile runs, weight-lifting, and watching what I ate.  My body betrayed me and packed on the pounds, disrespectfully. The weight I was gaining was the fitness equivalent of studying all night and still failing the test. Turns out the problem wasn’t just the wine. Hormones were changing and not letting any ounce of fat go, turning everything into visceral fat. It didn’t help that over the two years, a parade of fitness instructors and trainers seemed personally offended by my request to train my back, shoulders, and arms instead of doing squat variation #47. I want a total body workout, not just a booty buster. I am not that girl; give me some deadlifts and chest press. For the love of GOD, let me do a clean and press for 15 reps, for three rounds.

I want a sculpted back. I want defined arms. I would like, once, to finish a workout without someone implying that my only redeeming quality is my corn-fed, hills-walking booty that I have because of genetics. One trainer straight-up asked if I wanted “a fat ass for my man. “Ma’am.  I don’t give a fuck about what a man wants! This is my body. I am the one who lives in this body. I get to decide what it looks like, not some future man.” I digress; I’m in my 40s now, and my liver, gallbladder, pancreas, and any other organ have opinions on my wine intake. Opinions I did not ask for!  But trying to keep my internal organs healthy and happy. An overrated fine, and necessit..) I made the boring, responsible decision to save wine for special occasions.  If I do decide to partake on the rare occasion I must drink, I must have wine before 8 p.m., like I’m a toddler. I plan the next day around “detox.” This is not glamorous. This is a grown woman doing math before a glass of pinot noir. The indigestion, four extra pounds, and elevated liver enzymes are not worth it. And to the person already forming the words “You shouldn’t drink at all! It’s bad for you!” Kindly keep that to yourself.

Reason Two: My Bank Account Filed a Complaint

This reason is the least poetic and the most honest: money. I work two jobs. In a fair universe, that buys me unlimited $15 bottles of wine on sale with a coupon. We do not live in that universe. We live in a universe where someone thought Herbert Hoover’s idea of tariffs was a great idea, as a bottle of Italian wine goes from $7.99 to $18.99 because, say it with me, TARIFFS! Before I turned 40, I spent roughly a few hundred dollars a year on wine, which, written down like that, is not bad. These days it’s closer to a hundred, maybe less, spread out over a year. I have learned to nurse a bottle slowly as it owes me money. I even stopped gifting wine, mostly because everyone I know has quietly done the same math I did, or has become a wine snob.  Please read the next paragraph for better context. Cutting the wine budget was, unglamorously, one of the best financial decisions I’ve made. No cinematic redemption arc here. Just a woman choosing her savings account over a Cabernet, and feeling, against all odds, pretty good about it.

Candlelit table with wine, cheese, bread, and a candelabrum
A warmly illustrated dining table invites guests to enjoy wine, cheese, and candlelit conversation.

Reason Three: My Friends Ruined It, and I Will Not Be Taking Questions or Opinions on this hot take

Here is the actual dagger. Not my liver. Not my budget. It was my friends. Et Tu -Bianca, Et Tu! (Pause if you don’t know the Et Tu line; go read Julius Ceaser. Read the classic if you want to learn the 48 laws of power, not the Robert Greene Book; back to our crafted Rant.

Somewhere along the way, a portion of my friend group transformed from “people who enjoy wine” into wine “SNOBS,” a much more insufferable species of wine lover. Not the fun kind of wine lovers who have restaurant connections and a taste for the elusive bottle of wine. They actually know all the history and details, smiling as they regale you with their time in France learning about this wine. (Shout-out to Fred from Total Wine, amazing teacher, sarcastic wine lover; I would have a glass with you anytime.)

Friends dining together as a waiter serves wine in a restaurant
Friends share wine, laughter, and conversation during a lively restaurant dinner.

I mean the kind who cannot let an opinion pass unchallenged, even when the opinion is mine, about my own mouth, tasting wine with my taste buds; case in point: the champagne and fried chicken incident. Pause, I know that wine and Fried Chicken can go together. However, not all champagne pairs well with fried chicken. It’s like eating a banana with coffee; your breath will smell like Hot Sh!t. On this day, that particular champagne had the word ” aperitif ” on its label.  An aperitif is a pre-meal palate-waker/cleanser, not a companion to fried food. This particular wine didn’t work for me with fried chicken. I was not asking for a debate. I was reporting sensory data from my own tongue. And one of my friends at the table decided this required a rebuttal, inevitably ending with the suggestion that, of course, it would pair with fried chicken.  I quietly ate and drank nothing that evening. You are not going to tell me this wine complements the fried chicken when the wine was clashing with salt and oil and, on top of that, the cool charcuterie of cheese and prosciutto.

Another time, someone not worth calling “Friend” decided to force me to have Riesling with my meal. Hear me out, I love Riesling, but it has its time and place. It follows a spectrum from super sweet to super dry. No, these are not sommelier terms, but I had dreams of becoming one, and obviously, if you are reading this, I am not a sommelier.  The wine arrived with our meal. I was having roasted fall vegetables with a spice element and a dry Riesling, which messed with my tongue; I tasted more bitterness and a metallic taste.  I personally wanted a nice Red to complement the Smoked Paprika and chipotle seasoning.  The other person smiled and grinned, saying, “Isn’t it great?”  My face as I watched them eat their smoked fish and try to act like it was the perfect pairing.  You can drink wine with anything, but sometimes it’s ok to ask the server for a suggestion or trust your taste buds rather than force a fake smile. Ahh, those vegetables deserved a better wine. Before someone says, the Riesling would have been fine, again my taste buds, my mouth, my digestive system.

Then there’s the Snooty friend at dinner, ordering red wine with a small speech attached, the pointed looks exchanged between me and the server, like we’re all confused about the speech for ordering wine. Meanwhile, I’m eating my vegetables, telling the server, “ Please bring me the wine the sommelier or chef suggested with the meal.” Now I would like to state that I know that I am just as pretentious as my snob friends. You know when people are staring at you, judging you, and saying “oh, you ordered that?” or “I am surprised you ordered that?”  Looking at the server giving the knowing look, we understood each other and what was exactly happening: they’re upselling the bottle with the highest markup, and I would rather trust a stranger’s inventory than sit through a monologue about tannins from a friend who just learned the word 10 minutes before dinner.

I don’t want wine to be the whole conversation. I want it to be the icebreaker, not the entire evening’s agenda. I don’t need a treatise on why you, personally, deserve the Riesling. I need you to relax, order the Moscato you actually want, and talk to me about literally anything else: politics, Bravo, the weather, our various ongoing personal collapses, the horrible co-worker that you hate. Drinking with these particular people didn’t make me feel included. It made me feel like I’d wandered into a time-share seminar I never signed up for. To be clear, it’s not all friends; there’s a small, beloved exception to this rule: the friends who will always get a glass poured in their honor, no questions, no commentary. The friends who understand the wine is a part of the experience, not the experience. They invite you over to watch TV and have wine and food on deck. The TV is on mute, with ambient lighting to enhance the laughter of friendship. Just a wonderful time with people who love you more than being pretentious. A good time. You know who you are. Everyone else: you turned my favorite ritual into a performance review, and I stopped attending.

The Verdict

So here’s the accounting, in order of how much it hurts to admit: I stopped drinking wine for my health, because the body in your 40s does not forgive the way your body in your 20s did. I stopped for my finances because a savings account and investments are, shockingly, more satisfying in the long term than a $15 bottle with a coupon. And I stopped, honestly, because a handful of people decided that loving wine wasn’t allowed to be simple anymore. Turns out a pretentious wine snob is a special kind of insufferable, worse, even, than someone who won’t admit they’re wrong. Both are annoying, but it turns out they’re related and deserve each other.

P.S. I had a bottle of wine it was called Clean Slate Riesling 2024. It was amazing ! I need to get another bottle ASAP.  Would  you like to buy me a glass of wi…coffee 😊 →Ko-fi.com/chemichelletales

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