Lived in Blonde

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• December 1, 2025

“How old are you now?” Nick Griffin asks on a road trip to a gig. At this point, Griffin and I have history. We are kindred depressive souls on a perpetual search for jokes and stories both in and out of our heads.

“Thirty six!”

“Wow,” my on and off again writing partner says, not in shock at how old I am, but how my age reflects how much older he is, having known me in my later twenties. On this drive we’ve already established that I’m one of the most neurotic comics he knows, which says a great deal because comics are generally neurotic and he’s been a professional comic a long time, so he knows too many comics at this point.

“I know. I was once a young comic with a lot of potential. People really thought I was gonna make it. Now I’m a has-been, but I never was.”

“You’re a never-been.”

“Right!” I say with a laugh— I’ve been known to laugh at stings, “a never-been.”

Don’t take Nick’s quip as crass, I don’t. Most people don’t love themselves when they look in the mirror, especially when it’s someone else holding it up to them. In terms of show-business, almost everyone is a “never-been.” I find some gratitude that I get to dance the dance at all, holding onto a semblance of hope that it isn’t over, that better times and my best work is yet to come, all while getting in bed with doubt that creeps in my dreams and nightmares.

When you’re an ambitious person with big dreams, you’re bound to live a life of disappointment. But if you live your life during the chase, you’ll recognize everything in-between that makes life fun. Sometimes it’s the reward of your hard earned work, but more often it’s the people, friends and family, places you’ve visited where your story writes itself, and cracking a beer at a beach (or wherever your sanctuary is, mine is always a beach). Because no one is really a never-been. Not entirely, anyway.

You may be wondering yourself if you are a never-been. And I’d ask a series of questions. You’ve never been in love? You’ve never traveled to another country? You’ve never ate the best dessert ever that was made by your mom or aunt? You’ve never seen dolphins in the ocean? You’ve never made people you love laugh? You’ve never laughed in a movie theater? You’ve never cried in a movie theater? You’ve never read a book that changed your life? You never danced at a concert? You’ve never lost track of time talking with someone on the phone? You’ve never jumped up and down because your sports team won, against all odds? You’ve never been to a restaurant and had a meal so good you said you’d have sex with it? You’ve never been on a boat with your best mates? You’ve never held the hand of a child you care about more than life? You’ve never been to an amusement park with your family that lives rent free in your brain as a core memory? You’ve never seen a sunrise at the beach? You’ve never had sex so good it could be classified as illegal? You’ve never done something as an adult you once thought impossible when you were younger?

Everyone has been something and been somewhere. Some of us more than others. I’m have some very successful friends in entertainment and I don’t look at anyone else’s success with a malice that I should have what they have. I mean, there are some people whose success is confounding to me, but I’m only friends with good people so I’d never root against them. It actually pains me that some of my very talented friends (which very much includes Nick Griffin) aren’t far more successful. Of course I get down on myself when I see people who started with me, or after, having more career success than myself. It’s me who I’m upset with. What could I have done better? But everyone in show business knows a great deal of luck is factored into the success equation on top of having talent and working hard.

There’s a good chance you are more than a “never-been” to people in your life. I can almost guarantee it. These people are fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, fans, coworkers, neighbors, even mere acquaintances you’ve been kind to… if you ever feel so unimportant, remember there’s people in your corner going, “I’m rooting for you, and I miss you.”

When visiting my folks in Florida, I saw my mom’s hair girl, Jen. Jen is a no nonsense Latina who actually looks like JLo, and unlike JLo, Jen actually IS a Jenny from the block. I was getting a Brazilian blowout to ease my frizzy hair. “I love your hair color,” she said, “we call it lived in blonde.”

Maybe that’s a common hair phrase, but I’m hardly a person of fashion so it’s the first I’ve heard it. “Lived in blonde.” I liked that. Because it describes how I feel. I never much cared for the “blondes have more fun” stereotype. Or, much worse, “dumb blondes.” I would’t say either offended me, but it certainly didn’t describe me. Sure, I know how to have fun. But I don’t think I’m having more fun than non-blondes and when I do it’s not because of my hair color. And I’m definitely not dumb (except when it comes to math, then I’m borderline retarded).

My body feels lived in. I’m not young anymore, but I’m not quite old. There are realities I’ve accepted. Depression shadows I’ve learned to coexist with. There are aches and pains in my neck and shoulder, warning signs of what’s going to be problematic in my future. I’ve had my heart broken. I’ve broken hearts. Wrinkles are starting to show on my once late blooming face that usually looked a decade younger than my actual age. Technology that once enthralled me is starting to scare me. Life was happening to me just as it happened to everyone else.

And yet. Life never happened to me like it happened to everyone else. Because they aren’t me. They didn’t make the decisions I made. They didn’t go to the places I’ve been. They never wrote an original sentence let alone a story. I’ve never been you, and you’ve never been me. But we all have cross overs, and in that space, meet me in the middle— you’ll recognize me, I’m the lived in blonde. Here, we’ll find some sense of belonging. With the people that stand between us and the eternal void of time.