note: apologies for any and all spelling errors. spellcheck and i are at blogwar. xo.

when you work at a store owned by a famous stylist celebrity clientele are pretty much a given.  but i don’t freak out around celebrities, and haven’t since i was 18 and had to buck up in order to get paid to work at record labels.  there is nothing professional about whipping out a tittie and a sharpie in front of [insert famous and/or attractive rock/hip hop star here] during a business meeting… most of the time.

but the other day i almost lost my shit when ice-t, coco, and COCO’S ASS (deserving of both capital letters and it’s own shout out) came through. my boy took care of them and i just stood there behind the register breathing deeply and twittering my ass off.  ice-t was walking around with some of coco’s new merch when i told him i could hold the shit while he looked around some more and he responded with “nah. we’re done.” in a way that was so frightening i thought done was his code for kerin’s-life-is-over and actually checked his side for a piece. real talk.

coco came shortly and i started to ring them up. ever so nonchallantaly i told coco that i loved her for being so true to herself and putting it all out there, and we bonded over not wearing pants (i was rocking the garter+thigh highs at the time) and then i turned to ice-t and thanked him for telling souldja boy how it really was, citing it as the most touching moment of 2008.

and then he laughed. a jolly, good natured, laugh.

that’s right: i made ice-t laugh.

and we chatted it up a bit, we said our goodbyes, and they left. and i thought: i fucking love those two. so fucking nice. really lovely people.

until 90 seconds later, when ice-t rambles back into the store with a signed picture of his almost naked wife that he throws on the desk and proclaims “bam! there you go!” and leaves just as swiftly as he came. i didn’t know what to do so i yelled “fuck yeah!” and applauded. all by my lonesome.

and now this is hanging in my bathroom. thank you, and good night.

don’t let the facade fool you; i’m a long island jew. but the first time i came to new york city (that i can remember… somewhere in the age of “4″) i fell in love. the city and i have been in an exclusive relationship since 2001 when i moved here permanently for college.

one of my favourite things about NYC is the cultural richness that despite the commodification and gentrification of some of my favourite culturally historical parts of the city (times square, the east village, lower east side, chelsea, west village, erm, well, everywhere) this city still culturally kicks ass. where else could you go to a giant metal arena show, miss out on your friends signing toys at kidrobot so you could hit a graffiti photo show, followed by a great indie rock show… only to go to your friend’s design studio for a birthday party the next day?  i’ll show you, quickly:

as a music industry ex-pat i have a lot of friends who work at labels and hook me up with tickets. in this case, it was an all access pass (note: photo is totally a mirror image.) to madison square garden for – don’t judge me – slipknot. i talk a lot of shit about my shameful nu-metal past, and you can say what you will about slipknot, but they do what they do well.  every night, in full costume, with pyro, 8 dudes take the stage, 3 of them on hydraulic drum kits.

yeah, dudes. hydraulic fucking drum kits. 3 of ‘em.

point being: their stage show is polished, and i was soback in 1999.  the wide leg light denim jeans were back, the spiky hair and precision beards were back, the tribal tattoos were back, and the eyebrow-tongue piercing one-two punch was back.  it was intense, my girl holly and i definitely sang along, and bonded over the myriad of nu-metal tours we went to see at the turn of century but never told any of our mutual friends about for fear of being socially shunned… but yeah, you know, talking about them on a blog is clearly acceptable and not at all embarrassing…

we wound up at the madison square garden vip club. which is really only cool because how many times are you going to hang out at the madison square garden vip club with the band that just played at madison square garden, right?

the photo show was amazing. i met up with my friend stephen k. schuster(as seen below) – who you might know from his photo-editor days at mass appeal (r.i.p) – he’s been documenting a group of NYC high school kids, and one of his kids put this show on courtesy of the stanton chapter in the LES.  sean vegezzi is all of 18 years old, but his work is well beyond what it should be.  :

 but, in true new york serendipitous fashion, i ran into my friend matt on the way, who plays for the fucking awesome band Murder By Death- who were playing a show at bowery ballroom.  naturally, i went to see their crazy 2-album performance, backed with great black and white film (bela lugosi and salvador dali imagery to rock and roll organ grinding incredibleness? yes please!) my friend matt is the giant thing on the right, and sarah is the girl sitting down on the left… playing the electric cello. real talk.

 my last stop on the weekend – after a wonderful shopping trip in the garment district, details of which i’ll save for another post – was at a birthday for my friend adam, part of The Gentlemens League- an incredible luxury custom bag company (take note, kanye!). not only did they design their bags, but adam spends 20+ hours applying beautiful illustrations to every bag after an extensive interview with the to-be owner of these $5,000 + one-of-a-kind goods. so yes. that’s it. i’m done. till next time.

every now and again i need to re-up my beauty game.  shock of all shocks, i don’t wake up with a faceful of glitter (most of the time…) and my hair isn’t naturally toxic orange.

backstory: i hate the term “fag hag”.  it’s insulting to both the gay and straight communities; fag and hag are tacky and degrading, plus they rhyme. but i’m deep in the gay community, from my time working at a boutique gym that catered to 90’s clubkids and celebrigays while in college… and i spend a few days a week at Patricia Field, the 40+ year old boutique belonging to the awesome-as-shit stylist. point being, i have a lot of gay friends, but my friends are not fags, and i’m not a hag. i’m a homosexual associate.

a perk to being friends with gay men is they LOOOOVE beauty.  my longtime friend, the supertalented stephen dimmick took me to the super-hidden-secret-awesome MAC PRO store.  it took me a few minutes post entrance to regain focus and stop shaking, because, well look:

giant jars of pigments line the walls.  and their colour palate is so extensive it made me temporarily stupid.  needless to say we spent time geeking out over the subtleties of undertones and finding the perfect way to turn chola-brown liner into a couture, wearable look. i’m apologizing in advance.

i spent that afternoon at another longtime friend’s house, charley brown.  charley is a friend first, and incredible hairstylist, second.  he’s assisted on shoots with gwen stefani and beyonce’s loreal hair commercial ::yawn:: no big deal.  the dear is making me a clip-on-weave out of 4 packs of various colours and lengths of human hair (because that’s how i roll…) and i helped him pack his apartment for a successful move.

fyi: you’re looking at two gigantic piles of wigs.  we packed a 2 x 2 x 4 foot BOX filled with WIGS. seriously guys, no big deal.

considering this was followed by the premiere of ru paul’s “drag race” (for the unfamiliar, it’s like america’s next top model + project runway + drag queens) i had better work.  and i MUST thank ru paul for giving america (or the small portion of america who watches “drag race”, aka: manhattan) a fantastic acronym for CUNT: Creativity, Uniquess, Nerve, and Talent.  Honey, GLADLY.

ps: i’ll get better at this blog thing. any questions about my inability to write please see post #1. xx

which sucks, because i’m blogging for fatlace.  it’s 1.30 in NYC and i just finished making a pair of blinged out shades for a private clinet.  clearly i need to re-up my word game.  yoshi, your friend and mine, asked me to blog, and i do everything she says.  as does our mutual homegirl catzie.  follow that shit too.

i just realized you have no idea who i am. so, hi. i’m kerin.rose, an accessory designer in NYC with my hand in half a dozen other honey pots.  currently, my life blood is a-morir by kerin.rose; my grind is fine as the coffee for an espresso drip.  i’m part of the savant guard, a record label out of brooklyn, i’m starting a non profit with my sister, and drinking at least 8 glasses of water a day. i’m dating my business, and i’m having an affair at the PatField boutique.  i grind hard, and when i go out, i go big.  or medium.  Medium Large.

i have a lovely and ecclectic group of friends, which often leads me to wind up in peculiar or out-of-the-ordinary situations.  New York Times Inaguration party? Check that shit below.  Drag Queen Valentines Day?  A girl can dream.  Illegal Mixed Martial Art fight in the boogie down? did that last month.  hopefully you’ll find this shit entertaining, and hopefully i’ll remember to take pictures.  in the meanwhile, enjoy the one below. i have to get to bed.