This weekend is the 50th high school reunion for the class of 1958 (duh!) and my husband is attending his reunion (along with his spear carrier, yours truly) at the Westin Bonaventure downtown L.A. Incredibly boring, because I don't know a soul except for my husband (whom I know only too well). So for how many hours can you talk about the weather and the freeways to complete strangers?

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate driving downtown Los Angeles? Everything is one-way and / or you can't get there from here because the freeway cuts through. There's a walkway overhead from here to there, but how the hell do you do it in a car.

The prices are phenomenally expensive, jacked up by deep corporate pockets and foreign visitors, not for the native-born, working class grunts like me.

You work fifty-odd years and whadday get?
Another day older and deeper in debt.
Saint Peter don't you call me
Cause I can't go,
I owe my soul to a government ho.

Hmmm...apologies to Tennessee Ernie et al.

Last night's fiesta dinner was held at Olvera Street. We were shuttled there by bus. I shut my eyes when he went around some of those corners. What I can't see won't terrify me. Nothing went crunch. The driver seemed quite unflapped.

The dinner itself was a nightmare. 100+ people in a room qualified for 95 (I saw the sign), plus waitresses and buffet servers. Not to mention the buffet itself, kept nicely warm on the hot table.

Did I mention hot? The air conditioning went south for the summer, in triple-digit weather. We boiled and roasted, right along with the buffet.

The food was Mexican (quite yummy) and so was the mariachi group (mediocre and loud). The conversation was even louder (fueled by free margaritas), except that nobody could hear anybody else, except by dint of full-throated roar. My ears began to hurt as the trumpets of the mariachis blared through the room. The violin was lost in the uproar.

Crowded, hot, and loud. The combination finally got to me after two hours and I fled to the front sidewalk, where the air was no cooler (even after sundown) because the brick walkways radiated back the heat of the day, but it was blessedly quiet and fairly clear of people.

Damned MS kicked in with no warning. I practically kick-boxed my way out of there.

And then the bus driver didn't show up. Some misunderstanding about the pickup time. Sound familiar, Batty?

If it weren't a special occasion for my husband, I would abandon our $230-a-day room (cheapest available--parking is $42 per day additional) and flee for my home, peace and quiet, familiar and humble. Not all the glitz in the world can compensate for the assault on my senses and sensibilities.