Oh, shit, I forgot: An update on those creepy guys I had to deal with.

One of them is gone. He was asked for his resignation back in March. This was the dude who showed me the picture that left me gobsmacked and nauseated for days. From what I hear, he's having a not-too-successful career in home health care. Good riddance for us; bad news for his patients.

The other two guys....

Well, one of 'em bought a house, and his wife got pregnant. That gave him something to complain about besides feminists and brown people, which was a relief. Given that his bigotry seemed shallow and reactionary, I decided not to do anything official about him.

The third guy? The one with the pictures of redheads in compromising positions?

Somebody else filed a complaint, and mentioned me as a supporting witness. I was called in to a Very Official Meeting a few weeks ago and asked about my experiences; thankfully, I had my little black book of notes with me in my bag. HR took a very solemn view of all that had transpired, and ended up officially reprimanding said dude, tossing him into sensitivity training (yeah, right), and putting him on six months' probation. I think he'd do better with Keeping Your Damn Mouth Shut training, but who am I to legislate punishment?

In other news, I simply must stop chasing married men.

I call them. Constantly. They either don't return my calls, or they return them, but are obviously annoyed that I've interrupted their dinner. They won't talk to me at work--none of them will--because they all claim they're not interested in my problems. They come and go and acknowledge me only when it's convenient; when it's not, even shouting won't get their attention.

Yes, my friends, it is time to get a decent, updated call list for the NCCU. I feel like a Nursing Whore Of Babylon for calling resident after resident looking for the orders and answers I need.

And finally, No, I don't have an opinion. Yet.

The first I heard about the Minnesota nurses' strike was when I got a Facebook message from a coworker, asking me if I'd like to earn $1600 for a 16-hour day in Minneapolis. Smelling scab, I turned her down. (My two non-negotiables when I started this were these: I will not assist in infant circumcision, and I will not scab.) I don't have an opinion--yet--because the strike hasn't been carried in The Stars At Night Are Big And Bright's newspapers, and I've been too drugged (frankly) to look it up online. Expect something after this weekend.

Notamus is apparently deeply distressed with the state of the world. He's yowling like his Siamese mama did. I must go see what has upset him so. He probably needs cuddles and skin-to-skin contact so he can make new track marks on my shoulder.