Who didn’t love John P. Stamos as Uncle Jesse on Full House?
That mullet. That smirk. Those eyelashes. **sigh**
My 4 year old heard just couldn’t handle it. John P. Stamos was my first “bad boy”, and let me tell you, I’ve been addicted ever since.
My first run-in with John P. Stamos was when I was 5. The Beach Boys would be appearing with John P. Stamos on drums after the Tribe double-header at Municiple Stadium, and my mom decided to take me. I had never heard anything so loud in my whole life. My mom kept assuring me that John P. Stamos was indeed there, but we were in the nosebleeds so the band looked like little ants running around a drum kit to me.
But my primary concern at the time was NOT John P. Stamos, if you can believe that. My primary concerns were A. Is the stadium gonna fall down??! It’s shaking, Mom. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna fall down. B. Are they gonna play Kokomo? What if they don’t play Kokomo? It’s pointless to even be here if they don’t play Kokomo, Mom.
Mom, who also was unconcerned with John P. Stamos, but who just wanted to see The Beach Boys, damn it, was probably seriously questioning her decision to bring a 5 year old along at this point. But they did eventually play Kokomo, featuring John P. Stamos on the drums, as the encore. How on earth did John P. Stamos get into The Beach Boys, anyway?
Fast forward to 13 years later. I was now 18 years old. My aunts took me on a graduation trip to New York City. As a surprise, they bought tickets to Cabaret at Studio 54, starring…you guessed it, none other than John P. Stamos!!! I was thrilled. John P. Stamos was in the role of The Emcee. Molly Ringwald played Sally Bowles. Who knew that broad could sing, eh?
We had tickets to a matinee, and our table was right on an aisle that led down from one of two sets of stairs off of the stage. After intermission, John P. Stamos came down our aisle into the audience, in character, looking for someone to dance with. All of the little old ladies shied away, blushing and looking bashful and flapping their hands at him as if to say “Oh, stop!”. I, however, practically stood on my chair. I put my arm up and yelled, “I’ll go!!!” And wouldn’t you know it, John P. Stamos grabbed my hand and said “You’ll do.” And proceeded to lead me up onto the stage. At Studio 54. During a Broadway Production. Holy. Crap.
So John P. Stamos led me in a lovely little slow dance, during which he teased me about my height, told me I smelled nice, and then decided it was himself who smelled nice after all. When I responded that yes, he smelled like coconuts, John P. Stamos grabbed his crotch and said “Thank You!” with his penis. Then it was time for me to go back to my seat. So John P. Stamos leaned forward, puckered his lips, and coyly tapped them with a finger to indicate that I was to kiss him. Well, I wasn’t going to deny John P. Stamos a kiss, so I smooched him and turned to head back to my seat. It was at this point that John P. Stamos smacked my ass.
Later on, my aunts and I stood outside the stage door in hopes of getting my program autographed. Molly Ringwald, that cunt, “doesn’t do” autographs, but John P. Stamos sure does. John P. Stamos is not above interacting with his adoring public. So I got John P. Stamos’ autograph, and my aunt took my picture with him. But she was really excited. And this was before everyone had digital cameras. So when I had the film developed, I was crushed to find that I had a picture of myself with John P. Stamos’ chin. I had it re-developed, because there is often more on the negative than the photo they actually print out, and I was able to get all the way up to his eyebrows on the second try. So I now have definitive proof that I met, and danced with, John P. Stamos.
John P. Stamos and Rebecca Romijn divorced shortly thereafter. You do the math.