The color is called Dark Recession..

I’ve cheated on my hairdresser only once in the last three years. It was a disaster. I answered an ad on Craigslist that said it was a FREE haircut from a “top salon.” Feeling adventurous, I thought I would try it out. It was terrible. It was some Ukrainian guy, fresh off the boat, cut my hair in zigzags.

Vowing to never do that again, I suddenly folded last week when I looked at my roots and gagged. I needed hi-lights fast.

But as Dolly Parton says “It costs a lot of money to look this cheap.”

I’m out of money and I needed a discount. I get on Lifebooker.com. I wanted to see what salons were offered in the Lower East Side.

After scanning quickly I decided on Pimps and Pinups…sounds reputable.

I checked out there Web site to find they are a London based salon that is trying their hand at New York. They’ve only been open a few months. They have snuggled up in a tight little space over on Ludlow and Stanton and look more like a dive bar with Hollywood neon green lights than a hair salon.

I booked my appointment for a half a hair of hi-lights for 7pm. I know it seems strange to get your hair hi-lighted on a Friday night at 7pm, but given their name, I thought this might be when they get their most traffic. I don’t know… when do Pimps get their most traffic?

I tell my roommate that I’m going over to Pimps and Pinups and she said..“Hey it’s gotta be better than the Chinese lady down the street I went to.”

At that point I didn’t know what she was referring to.

She reminded me she got her hair cut by a Chinese salon that had chopped her hair to pieces with a meat clever…. But hers was 18 dollars and included a hair cut, wash, 15 minute massage and blow out. I LOVE YOU CHINA TOWN.

But my roomie reminded me that I was blonde.

“Remember how you always walk by those China Town Salons and you say all the posters look exactly the same…that is the point…they all look the same.”

Ah thank you, I felt good about her observations.

So I walk down to Pimps and Pinups and its hoppin’ on the Lower East Side. I’m not surprised; I mean it’s a Friday night.

I walk into the salon and its…crickets. The nice receptionist at the door exclaims..”Sarah!” I’m like “yes.. that is me.”

I look around and it’s a bunch of bored stylist reading magazines.

The receptionist takes my coat and walks away. I think she looks familiar in a very strange Samantha Ronson kind of way. She tells me to go sit in the chair, at which point a guy walks over and I’m thinking to myself, please god let this be the hair-sweeper guy.

“Hey..yo.. I’m Kenny and I’ll be your stylist,” said not the hair-sweeper guy.

GREAT.

Kenny is tatted out like you wouldn’t want. I think they are called arm sleeves. This is when you have your entire arm tattoed. He also had a gold tooth and sported a Jordan Knight hairdo circa 1988.

Oh God, was all I could think. He starts playing with my hair and asks what I want and I’m like, “well a half a head of hi-lights, that seems easy enough.” He continues to feel my hair. Creepy. Flipping it one side to the other, one side to the other, up down, like he had never seen hair before. He is also mumbling incoherently. I asked him if something was wrong to which he replied.

“No, I just can’t put it into words….”

Words? Words, I’m thinking. He is looking at my hair like he is planning to perform open heart surgery on my ear.

Finally, he tells me he is going to mix the color and runs away. Fast. I am CONVINCED I am on a hidden camera show. I start looking around and into the mirror. Where is the camera? Seriously?

The place is completely painted black. Black floors, black ceilings, black chairs, black towels, black shampoo bottles and I want HI-LIGHTS.

Someone offers me a few magazines, at which point the familiar-face receptionist comes over and offers me a drink. I agree. I NEED a drink.

Kenny is gone FOREVER. I am convinced he is smoking a bowl in the basement. Almost 20 minutes and 2 glasses of wine later, he comes back upstairs.

“Ragtop” Kenny starts working on my hair and asking me the most bizarre of questions. We start talking about gangster movies and Tulsa.

I’m assuming we got to this point in the conversation because I may have mentioned Bruce Springsteen playing at the Super Bowl on Sunday which led to “The Wrestler” Song he wrote for Mickey Rourke that won a golden globe. (Kenny loves Mickey Rourke. ) Which led the Larry King’s Interview with that Chris guy from WWE Wrestlmania talking about how he was going to give a smack down to Rourke, who challenged him to a bare-knuckle brawl. Well, he didn’t really challenge him. He just said he would go in the ring with him. Kenny informs me that Rourke is a really good fighter and could probably take him on. I’m convinced he couldn’t. I mean this guy is like 25 and talks menacingly but Kenny says Rourke knows how to fight, and he was a former boxer and he’s dirty. I agree. Which leads to Rourke being in some gangster movie that reminds Kenny of the “Outsiders” which was shot in …Tulsa.

So yea, apparently the manager at this store really likes gangsters and the movie the “Outsiders.” So he joins in the conversation. Kenny and the Manager start talking about how they could “take” any of the other salons in the area. In my mind at this point I’m thinking of Hair-Dresser Brawl 2009 on the corner Ludlow. Lots of scissors, really over-processed hair, bleach being thrown on black clothing to wild girlish screams…. And then every 30 seconds everyone would stop and use conditioner.

The cute manager is pretty cool, but if I were a bettin’ man I would NOT put money on him taking anyone down to China Town. I mean, China Town is really close so that metaphor doesn’t really work but let’s just say he has a British Accent and he was wearing a cardigan.

So manager keeps asking “canitopyaoff?” I just say yes and he gets me like 4 more glasses of wine and we engage in a thrilling conversation about how to manage a hair salon.

By the time I was done processing I was squinting out of one eye. It hadn’t seemed very long. Kenny unfoils me, drys and straight irons my hair like his high depends on it. I look in the mirror and ….

Well, I looked the same, except I was drunk and my hair was as flat as aluminum siding.

This was a clever ploy but it was never going to work. I asked what he had done. He was confused by the question (not hard to do)… I said, ”well I look exactly the same, so my question is ..what did you do?”

I was going to KILL Kenny! I suddenly had this urge to be in Hairdresser Brawl 2009. I was ready for a beat down. Where is Mickey when you need him.

I grabbed my coat and went to the register. I actually paid. I have no idea why. I didn’t tip him and I walked out. I was so pissed.

I cursed all the way home and repeated mantra…never cheat on hairdresser, never cheat on hairdresser, never cheat on hairdresser, never cheat on hairdresser.

The next morning I woke up, went to yoga, I was trying to meditate all my pent up hair-raising anger away when my phone rang… during dolphin pose. I un-dolphined and went over to my coat and grabbed my phone.

“Yes?!” I shouted forgetting my inner yogi.

“Hey Sarah… It’s Kenny, look ..yo…I know you were pretty pissed yesterday. …and I understand…It’s Okay….I want to fix it..soooo..if you could just give me another chance.”

Fine, I said. I mean, what could go wrong?

The appointment is tonight and if anything goes wrong I’m just going to go home and dye my hair Dark Recession.