So, on Friday I went and got my Olympic accreditation authenticated, validated, activated, laminated, and whatever other -ated I needed to officially be inducted as a member of OBSV's Production and Tech Personnel for the upcoming Olympic Games.

The process was surprisingly quick and easy - no problem finding the Whistler Accreditation Centre, no problem finding parking, not even a single line to stand in.

I walked right up to to the registration desk, and was like "Hi, I assume you know who I am ... " (which, surprisingly, she did not) and handed her my accreditation to authenticate, validate, activate and laminate.

Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom. She hands me my credentials, all -ated to the max, and sends me on my way.

I'm totally tickled pink that the process was so easy, and I skip out the door, my accreditation gleaming in the sunlight, when something catches my eye.

No ... it can't be. I go in for a closer inspection.

Oh no. No. No, no, no, no, no. All of the sudden the horror sets in.

Of ALL the things that could be wrong ... name mispellings, wrong venue access, improper punctuation, someones pinky finger caught in the blades of the machine and accidentally laminated into my accreditation ... of ALL the things that could have happened ...

... the evil registration lady has laminated mine crooked.

Of the possible 30,000 plus Olympic volunteers and employees to hand a misaligned Olympic accreditation to, and the gods choose ME?

Okay listen.

I can't benchpress if I lie down and the bench isn't lined up with the ceiling tiles.

I can't cut vegetables if the cutting board isn't lined up with the counter, and I certainly cannot wash dishes if the bakers cart isn't lined up with linoleum.

The deepest book on my shelf dictates the distance that the rest of the books are from the back, and I use a straight edge to make sure that all books are equi-distant from the front of the shelf.

My cereal boxes must be wedged togther between something sturdy enough to keep them from leaning to the left, as they are wont to do on my unlevel pantry shelf.

I have probably lined something up on your desk when you weren't looking. I have definately lined up the magazines on the back of your toilet.

And now, everyday, from February 7th to the 28th I am going to be forced to daily parade around with a permanently misaligned piece of identification draped around my convulsing person.

To my therapist: You win. I will stop lining up the chair with carpet pattern before I sit down for our sessions.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some trimming of some plastic to accomplish.