Over the summer, I planned and plotted exactly what I needed to take back to school. (Okay, so I waited until I was trapped in the family minvan traveling across Nebraska, where I made a list.)

Between me and my roommate, we seemed to have all of the necessities — along with about one of anything else we could ever want. I think that we are probably even prepared for a natural disaster between the two of us.

With a TV and VCR, a refrigerator, a stereo and a microvave we are ready to tackle another year of food service and homework evasion.

Last spring, we had spent all of our remaining pizza and movie funds to buy a platform loft, knowing that it would be worthwhile in the long run by creating more floor space.

So, after filling every family vehicle with the things that just had to go back to school with me, I was ready to make the trip back to Ames.

First things first, I went to the post office to check in and get my keys. Moving in early was worth the extra money to avoid the crowds and overcrowded elevators. There was no way that I was going to carry my carpet or my loveseat up to the eighth floor.

The first thing that I found out was that the loft we had purchased was illegal unless a hole could be cut in the middle allowing a speedy escape from the room in the case of a fire.

It’s too bad we own the sturdiest loft, and cutting into it would have caused some major structural damage.

I am not willing to risk a trip to the emergency room simply to free up floor space. I’m sure that falling seven feet would be a rude awakening for me and for the people in the room below mine.

But after some serious complaining, our parents helped us put together our newly-purchased — but legal — standing lofts.

Now, my roommate and I can have one hell of a bonfire with our $70 of .scrap lumber.

Besides the fact that I had to manage to fit an entire Geo Prism load of clothes into one tiny closet and five little drawers, we had no other major traumas while setting up our room; at least none that couldn’t be solved with a little duct tape or another power strip.

Our room was now almost intact, or as close as it was going to get until we get the TV off the floor.

Funny thing: I keep offering to build something, but my roomate insists that I let her boyfriend play with the power tools.

Personally, I just think it is just another excuse to have him over. After all, who wouldn’t trust me to use scrap lumber to build a shelf to set expensive electronics on?

After clearing a path through the boxes, it was time to hook up the cordless phone and answering machine as proof to the outside world that this really is where we live. Even though I am electronically impaired at times, everything was hooked up in no time.

All we had to do was think of a message to put on the machine. This might sound like a minor detail to some, but nothing is a minor detail in my life.

Yes, I admit that I am one of those people who wastes time trying to figure out the “perfect” outfit to wear.

I think that having a good message is important. It is the first thing that a person may learn about me.

If a future employer called and was greeted by “A is for academics, B is for beer, one of those reasons is why we’re not here,” I’m sure that wouldn’t help me make very good first impression.

I’m sure my parents would feel very proud if they thought that was my theory on life, too.

I am aware that going with the “this is Laura’s room, please leave your name and number” jingle is always an option, but that wouldn’t give the caller any insight into what my roommate and I are like (which in itself might be a good thing).

It might, however, be the sign of a healthier mental state, rather than spending so much time in search of just the right message.

A singing message, similar to a few noteworthy ones I heard last year, could work, but I think being greeted by my singing voice has the potential to traumatize the average caller.

Some generous person felt the need to leave perfectly edited movie clips on my machine last year, but I was informed that no matter how much I love the movie, “Field of Dreams,” there was no way it was going to our recording. “Is this Heaven? No, it’s Iowa State.” Okay, even I will admit it is a little clich‚.

My roommate hit the record button, and it struck fear in my heart.

Now, anyone who gets the machine will be informed that “Martha Stewart doesn’t live here.” (So much for giving the caller any insight into who we really are.)

Next time I have too much free time, or a sudden flash of brilliance (not something that I count on happening), I’ll change it.

Until then, just leave your name and number after the tone and we will call you back.

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Laura Luiken is a sophomore in English from Webster City.