westbound: weebee

"Made ya nervous, didn't I," the short, Hispanic-looking officer said cockily as he slid my papers on the table.

Dates make me nervous. Movements in the Billboard Hot 100 make me nervous. Gaining weight makes me nervous. This isn't any of those so I took my documents, paused for a moment and said, "Uhm... No."

Jerk.

I had a little trouble at the immigration. This just puts the cherry on the cake that is this whole trip. Homeland Security was questioning why I needed that span of time. I am hungry, sleepless and tired from an eleven-hour flight so I just handed the letter of invite. "You ask him," I said pointing out to the signatory at the bottom part of the paper.

He took the letter and went inside the room. I assumed he made the call, and got the answer that he wanted to hear that's why he stamped, signed and handed me back my passport when he got back.

This trip just won't quit hassling me.

Four hours earlier, I was looking out of the plane's window, amazed by the view of a range of snowcapped mountains. It was just breathtaking. It felt wonderful to have crossed the Pacific and have the opportunity to see how majestic this side of world is. The terrain is like a whole bunch of chocolate cakes partly covered with icy vanilla. Or just several clumps of land with humongous bird droppings at the top.

It was refreshing. I felt rejuvenated until that unfateful immigration incident. And now I'm back to being grumpy.

And also, I'm still hungry. I wanted to try something new so I ate at McDonald's. They have this chicken that tastes fantastic. It goes with a healthy serving of fries and refillable drinks. It costs around $6 if I'm not mistaken. If you convert it to our local currency, the large amount of serving would probably be enough to compensate for its steep price.

Anyway, the last leg of my itinerary is a two-hour flight to Washington, D.C.. Oh, and a thirty-minute ride to Gaithersburg, Maryland.

The flight was delayed for an hour (good thing there were so many eye candies), and the limo was nowhere to be seen when I left the airport. It came thirty past eight, with my surname flagged on its window. Just the welcome I needed. It would've been effective if there were still like tons of people, and if I were standing on a red carpet.

Driver's name was Patrick. Like the starfish. He made small talk about the city's climate, Obama and Oprah while I was busy keeping my lower jaw from dropping as I stared out of the car's window. Unfortunately, my mobile has ran out of battery so I wasn't able to take pictures.

But take my word, it was awesome.

And I'm glad that for the next few weeks, I'll be calling this town my home.