Someone needs to find Cat Forgach, and find her now

I have a hard time believing this, but I guess it's true--you all are from the post-Cat Forgach era in the life of North. She was my best friend all through grade school and into high school. We shared a love of deeply cheesy horror movies, and watched the original two Creepshow movies, the Tales from the Crypt series, Tales of the Dark Side . . . everything, just about, from the local Blockbuster horror section. We drifted in high school and I probably haven't spoken to her in ten years. I tried Googling her name, but didn't get anything useful.

There's a new Creepshow in development, I just heard. And I remember sitting in my basement with Cat, watching the old, original Creepshow and Creepshow 2. The first section, about the box under the stairs, scared the crap out of me, but the last segment of the first movie--with the bugs? I thought it was more funny than scary. Still and all, to this day I don't like seeing more than one cockroach at time. (Luckily, this is not so much an issue now that I'm not living in dorms.) It was Cat who first discovered H. P. Lovecraft, and loaned me that thick black paperback covered in skeletons and skulls and holding with in it "The Dunwich Horror" and "The Rats in the Walls."

I heard "Like a Prayer" on the radio last night on the way home from work and remembered her Madonna obsession and how much she loved to dance. She tried to teach me, once or twice, but I was always way too inhibited, too insecure to let go and move the way she did. I think she'd be happy to know that I'm less so now. I wish I knew where she was, what she was doing. There's so much I'd tell her, if I could. So much I'd ask. I think I'll put Nightbreed back on the Netflix list, get the new Madonna album off of iTunes. I'll put them both on at once and dance around my room like a thirteen year old girl who isn't afraid of people laughing or the monster under the stairs.