Full of razor blades and anthrax?

I've been a little stressed out for the last few days, because I haven't been able to decide which team to root for in the Superbowl. It makes me uneasy to watch a game and not at least in the back of my mind be cheering on one team over the other. If I'm watching a game of any sport and don't have much of a preference, then I usually just pick the hometown team. But that doesn't work for the Superbowl. Or, for championship games, like the superbowl or world series, I'll just automatically pick the AFC or the American Leaguge. Anyway, there was a long thought process this morning in the shower, but I decided that due to my unexplainable liking of Peyton Manning since his college days at Tennessee, I'm going to have to root for Indianapolis. Really though, I'm rooting for some good commercials and tasty snacks.

With that problem basically solved, there's another issue to deal with here in our apartment. It's this:



This is a giant lasagna. Why do we have a giant lasagna in the fridge? Well, on Friday afternoon, I ran into our crazy upstairs neighbor, D3, who I regularly try to avoid since he cornered each of us and asked why we ignore him when he tries to come downstairs and hang out. Or asks when we want to go camping, or shopping, or cook dinner in his apartment.

So, when I ran into him, I made sure to make a quick getaway by not saying "See you later!" since the last time I used that phrase, it prompted him to say "Well when is later?" and I refused to take his phone number and call when I'm free, for the 2nd time. But just as I was heading inside the apartment, he told me that he made this lasagna and then realized he was going to be away for the weekend, and would I like it? Uhh...I quickly said I was also going to be away for the weekend, so thanks, but maybe my roommates would be interested. After another painful two minutes, he was finally satisfied when I said that IF my roommates were interested, they'd go upstairs and get the lasagna.

I got a text while at the bar later that night from Gillian, who had been just walking into the apartment when crazy neighbor came flying down the stairs, lasagna in hand, insisting that she take it. When I returned several hours later, there was a note on the door with baking instructions. So now the giant lasagna sits there...we're not really sure what to do with it, because we're pretty sure he's not above looking through our trash to make sure we didn't toss it. And it's in a glass baking pan, which means we're going to have to return it, and he's going to ask how it was. I'm going to maintain that I was away for most of the weekend and have no idea what happened to the lasagna, or just how yummy it was.