... and that's why it's Good Friday.

I Googled images of "Good Friday" this morning and found myself with a screen-full of bloody, dying Jesus' hanging on the cross.

That doesn't feel so good to me. So instead, allow me to tell you why today, Friday, is good. All, of course, while keeping in mind the real meaning of Good Friday. Uh, amen.

Well, I think it's raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens that really do it for me. OK, no. I'm lying. I never liked The Sound of Music. Ever. And if I would've had to watch it today, on my Good Friday, it wouldn't have been good. And while I'm on the topic: I also don't like The Simpsons. Never saw an episode of The Family Guy. So now that I've just out-ed myself as the most un-American person in America, let me continue...

(And in my own defense, I think I'd enjoy The Family Guy, it's just that my TV time never seems to correlate with The Family Guy's airtime. I rest my case. D'oh).

So where was I? Oh, yes. Good Friday. Well, I woke up this morning to sunshine, which is always positive. Especially when the forecast calls for 75 degrees on top of it. In addition, my shins didn't hurt, I skipped my run out of pure laziness - and concern, obviously - and my laundry put itself away. All before I got out of bed. All I had to do was open my eyes.

The cats were especially affectionate this morning. So affectionate, in fact, that I barely got out of the shower before Harley attempted to climb onto my shoulders. And who doesn't want a cat on their bare shoulders? Not me. And Chicken? She was in my face as soon as I opened my eyes. Literally. Cat's tail in my mouth, blue eyes staring me down. It was cute. Until I realized all they wanted from me was food. But heck, they deserve to be fed on Good Friday. (Dear PETA, I feed my cats every day. Please don't assume I only fed them today because it was Good Friday. In fact, I feed them a lot. Have you seen Chicken's belly? Sincerely, Me).

So the cats were fed, the laundry put away, laziness in check, sun shining, My Chemical Romance serenading me as I prepared for the day... OK, not so much serenading as yelling in anguish, but remember, it's hot.

However, the best part of today is the end of it. It's a holiday weekend, which clearly means there's family to be seen and relaxation to be had. The Boyfriend awaits an hour-and-fifteen-minutes away, which is how long I'll be in the car when I high-tail it out of here. He'll swoop me off my feet and take me home to where our families await. Or more or less he'll say, "Uh, get in the car, we're going home," but hush. It's my Good Friday, I can dream.

And home is heaven - a hot tub in my parents' backyard, a trip to IKEA in the morning, a cookout on Sunday (filet mignon, to be exact). Pure bliss. And all of this to look forward to on one day - Good Friday.

Of course come Monday it's back to reality. An apartment to be packed, a new apartment to be settled into, work to be done, another week of whining... Sigh.

Every day should be Good Friday.

(Oh, and that's a photo of "bliss," if you need it).