Severe weather. I hate it. I can’t possibly count the number of times my stomach turned last week everytime that map of Iowa popped up on TV showing me which counties were “in the path of a dangerous storm.”

My first reaction is always panic.

A prime example of this occurred a couple of weeks ago when I took my favorite pair of shoes, my pictures of Europe and my stuffed animal to a friend’s for safety. I sat in the bathroom until the storm left — Webster county.

I was convinced that although the storm was moving north, it could hit Ames at any given moment.

Last week was another example of me overreacting. It was the worst weather week for me in ages. Everytime I heard a report of severe weather, I was glued to the TV and no one was allowed to talk to me.

My boyfriend gave me a “weather radio” (a radio that plays the local weather 24/7), thinking I’d feel more calm if I knew where the storms were moment-by-moment.

It made me panic more. I walked around outside holding the weather radio looking at the sky saying, “It’s getting darker, isn’t it?” (Of course I was outside. Isn’t that where every Iowan goes when there is a threat of severe weather?)

Although it hasn’t been confirmed by any meterologist, I’m convinced that last week was just the beginning of what’s certain to be a summer of severe weather hell for Iowa.

According to a news report I heard, last week’s threats of high winds, golf-ball sized hail and (gulp) tornados can’t be blamed on El Ni¤o. According to the report, El Ni¤o is supposed to make our summer cooler than predicted.

This report took me by surprise because it was the first time in a year that bad weather hasn’t been blamed on El Ni¤o. I thought that everything could be blamed on it: I even recently told a friend of mine that guys weren’t jerks because of testosterone overload but because El Ni¤o was affecting their thinking processes.

Since I couldn’t blame my summer of seeking shelter on El Ni¤o, I’ve developed the theory that severe weather threats are going to be numerous this summer because I wasn’t in any danger of being blown away last summer.

Last summer, I wasn’t threatened by one single watch or warning. True, I was out of the country, but I wasn’t threatened.

Now, I have a whole summer of crappy weather to make up along with this summer’s usual storms. In light of this emotional challenge, I’ve tried to develop a couple of ways to help me panic less.

I hope they help those of you who are like me and take cover even when the tornado warning is in Western Nebraska. (Yes, I’ve been known to do this before. Growing up in the summer meant playing outdoors until 9 p.m. for some, it meant many lonely nights in the basement for me.)

My best advice for you is to move out of Iowa. You’d be even safer if you left the Midwest. The farther away you get from tornado-prone areas, the better.

But if leaving is not an option, here are a few suggestions that may calm your nerves in the event of an emergency.

First of all, have a plan. Think of every possible situation you may be in this summer and make a plan of action: Where would you go if there was a tornado?

I’ve been working on mine. My two big fears are that I’m going to be in my car or apartment when a tornado comes barelling toward me.

Last week, I discovered that if you’re driving through a residential neighborhood during rush-hour and the sirens go off, it’s OK to run into the nearest house that looks like it has a basement.

I think this should also work if you’re on a walk/jog/bike ride.

But if you’re like me and live in an apartment complex that has no “safe” place to go, make friends with the good-looking neighbor men that live on the lowest level. That thought alone makes being trapped in a bathtub under a mattress a more pleasant thought.

Second, take a radio and a road atlas to safety with you. This way you can track the storm and determine when it is going to hit or listen to your favorite station and plan your vacation.

Happy thoughts will take your mind off of your impending doom.

My third tip: drink. I discovered this one last week. In an attempt to get me to shut up and stop pacing, I was given alcohol. If your vision is too blurred to look at that map on the TV screen, then chances are you’re not too concerned anyway.

With this, I wish you all luck this summer. I hope Ames pulls through tornado-free, but if it doesn’t, I hope those neighbor boys smell as good as they look.

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Heather McClure is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Harlan.