BFS’s (Big Frackin’ Salads) and Depression Ambushes

I hate it when someone brings something for lunch that smells damn good!

You see, I pack a BFS (Big Frackin’ Salad) every day for lunch so my lunch doesn’t smell like anything….well, maybe a freshly mown lawn.  It sure as hell doesn’t waft up the nostrils like, say, the arma of frying bacon or warm beef stew.   

It seems like everyone else that works here brings killer lunches.   Meals that scream “tasty!,” “filling!,”  and “not mine!”   

Instead, I open the fridge, pull out my salad and then….

I smell something someone has heated up in the break room, and I suffer a depression ambush.

A depression ambush is that sudden, overwhelming feeling of FML that usually comes in response to…..well, to having a salad for lunch while all the other people seem to be sporting steak and potatoes or NY style pizza or something.

Don’t get me wrong, my BFS lunches are pretty awesome.  I spend real time on my salad making enterprises.  They are packed with greens, olives, onions, etc…..  My one tip to protein is a small handful of almonds (do sunflower seeds have protein?) and the occasional bug that slips past the washing phase.  Load it with super-high-fat salad dressing, and I have a pretty decent lunch. 

I usually look forward to it every day…….largely because up until lunch time I only ever have coffee and a banana so I’m starving like toothless horse in short grass.

But then some person who hasn’t heard of the concept of healthy diet, starts warming up something from America’s Top Chef or whatever, and my salad starts to seem like what it really is; an assortment of things that humanity originally started eating only because they couldn’t catch real food. 

It’s like grade school all over again, only I have healthy food rather than the pathetically dry sandwiches on day-old bread, with mealy apples.  Lunches that I used to get, while my friend Earl had sandwiches of fresh Wonder Bread with half a pound of Oscar Myer lunch meat, Snack Pack puddings, Cheetos, Ring Dings  and other tasty things.

I’m not bitter……(okay maybe a little)...... but I realize now that I make the choice to eat what I eat.  I choose to eat things that will (hopefully) slow the deterioration process (some call it aging) that my body is going through.  Stuff that will potentially prolong my life by a few minutes…….

(Unless of course I meet an untimely demise by a car accident, home invasion gone awry, drone strike, bites by large venomous snakes, ship wreck, exploding gas lines, or errant meteors.)

……or at least make me a feel a little more fit while my pathetic life lasts.  

So what if I have to suffer through a produce department for lunch?!   

Who cares that I am desperately chewing spinach and hoping for porterhouse?  

There are good reasons for doing so……..like.

The grim satisfaction I get when I walk past all those people, eating their aromatic, drool inducing victuals, and pat my firm, flat stomach and think…….

……"Damn!!  It even looks good too!!"

That's usually when I suffer another Depression Ambush                             

Don't Poke Me Dude!, #Snowpocalypse, Tickle - Stun - Kill .....and Other Useless Thoughts.

Don't Poke Me Dude!

Someone new to Google Plus asked why they don't have a "Poke" button.  On G+?  Gasp!

I suggested they keep their seditious questions to their self and not air such incendiary sentiments in public ever again.  No I didn't.  I kindly informed them of the real deal.

Plussers can be a.......spiteful lot when it comes to suggesting that Google adopt any sort of Facebook like feature.  There is a lot of anti-FB feelings over here on the +.

I get it.  For the short time and limited scope that I was on FB (200 friends +/-), I hated getting the recommendation that I should "poke" so-and-so because I hadn't interacted with them for awhile.

Uh....I don't want to poke the dude alright?  Leave me alone about it!!

I also hated all the stupid game stuff people were always throwing around.

So-and-so gave you three golden coins and wants to give you a....... "Awww, go Jump In A Lake So-and-So!"

So when someone suggests that G+ needs a poke button?  I say hellz no!........
But maybe a taser button, that might be cool.

#SnowPocalypse

Also equipped with Wendy's salt packets

When there is a threat of snow here in the south, people bug out.  I mean, really bug the freak out.

They buy bread and milk.  No one really knows why da frack they buy bread and milk, they just do.

So today we got word that there is going to be several inches of snow in the next couple days, and some ice on top of it all.

Now I don't mind snow, but ice I hate.  Ice is what knocks out the power and without power  I have limited internet access.  My brain can't function without the internet.....in fact, the internet is my brain.  Or, maybe the internet has ruined my brain.  Either way, I hate not having useless stuff (like this post) to peruse and make fun of.

Which is one of the reasons I like G+.  But I digress.

The first winter I moved to the south, we had 12" of snow.  I knew it was coming but being from the north, and having spent three winters in "The Rock" in Germany (where it snowed in November and stuck around till May) I thought nothing of it.

My brother and I were heading home from work and decided to pick up a 12-pack.  The store looked like a flash mob had taken over.  Insanity prevailed.

Thankfully everyone had savaged the bread and milk, and there was plenty of beer left.  But I could barely understand what the H was going on.

The next day, the snow came.  The entire southeast shut down, and I understood.  People here panic buy because evidently they have only one or two hours worth of food in their house at any time.

I also found out that first year that there is no such thing as snow removal here.  The weather is the removal.  If it gets warm enough, the snow will go away.  So I suppose snow removal is everyone thinking positive, sunny thoughts.  I learned as well, that Cleetus thinks a 4x4 means he can go anywhere.  Which was true if "anywhere" meant the ditch on the side of the road.

So tomorrow Snowpocalypse comes again.....maybe.  I panic bought this time and probably will do a little more panic buying tomorrow.

There was still plenty of beer on the shelves.

Set phasers to tickle

Tickle - Stun - Kill

Why did the phasers on Star Trec only have two settings; stun, and kill?  Doesn't that seem odd?  Like, shouldn't there be a setting between stun and kill?  Or something before stun?!

Maybe you don't really want to stun the creature, maybe you just want to incapacitate them juuuuuust a little.  How about a tickle setting.  You could tickle some monster just enough to get away.  That would be kinder than stunning them.

Or, maybe stunning them isn't enough but killing them is a bit.......overkill?

Say your mother-in-law comments on your job again.  Stunning just won't get the message through to her that you're sick and tired of her sarcasm, but killing......well, maybe too much.  So you could have the 30 day paralyze setting or something.

Yeah, two settings seems a bit weak in this day and age of options.  And isn't Star Trek in the future even?  (I'm not a Trekkie)  So options should be all over the map.

Could you imagine the uses for say.......foot rub setting?

Just Take Out The Trash!

There are some things that I wouldn’t buy even if I literally had all the money in the world.  

Even if I had already bought everything I ever wanted or had even thought of wanting.  Even if I and was told to spend some money or lose my entire fortune.

Okay, not that last one.

The fact is there are some things that are plain ridiculous and useless.  The Hands-Free Infrared MotionSensor Trash Can by NineStars Products.com is one of those pointless things.

I was at a friend’s house the other night.  Apparently he (or his wife) think differently than I.  They are the type to buy anything they think is techie.  It’s a Jonesing thing with them I think, so hey, why not a motion activated trash can?  I was glad they had bought one because frankly it was amusing to watch.

We were all hanging around gnoshing on snacks using paper plates, etc…, so the opportunity was ripe to see people’s interaction with the the trash can.

Ms. Touchy-feely kept trying to open the lid with her hand.  Even after a couple trash trips, she still reached for the lid to open it.  Each time she did, the lid would start to open, and sort of surprise her.  Then she would drop her trash in........ and push the lid back down...... by hand.  The automatic drop of the lid didn’t come quickly enough for her, she wanted it closed pronto!  Clearly the idea of a “hands-free” trash container was beyond her mental grasp.

Then there was Mr. Goodbye, who stood and waved at the trash can.  He grasped the touchless concept quickly enough but couldn’t perfect his usage technique.  I didn’t see his first approach, but perhaps he had already figured out it was motion sensor operated because the first time I did see him make a trash run, he walked up to the can, and waved at it.  

I mean waved, kinda like he was saying goodbye to a short dude.  When that didn’t work, he moved a little closer and waved again.  It took three attempts, with his final wave mere centimeters from the sensor.  

Of course when the lid did open, it hit his hand negating the touchless benefit.

Each time Mr. Goodbye deposited his trash, he would stand there and watch the lid drop, which usually took place about a second after the trash drop.  I estimate he spent about five minutes that evening, just staring at the trash can.

When I made my trash drops, I just got annoyed.  The advert might say it works from 10 inches away, but what difference is 10 inches from 2?  I just want to drop my damn trash. I don’t want to have to wave my trash over the can, like some magic trash-wand, and then quickly move (without dropping anything) to avoid having the lid flip my plate onto the floor.  

Give me an open topped can any day, or better yet, what about a damned foot pedal trash can?  Why isn’t the foot pedal activated trash can lid good enough?  Remember those?  They might not be touchless, but they are hands free, and make a whole lot more sense.  I don’t give a rat’s behind if my shoe sole touches the can, it touches a lot worse than that.   And (bonus) no batteries!!

Who the hell wants to replace batteries in yet another fracking device?  It’s bad enough little Suzie’s Dolly-Pukes-A-Lot needs new batteries every other day, and Tommy’s RC cars require so many batteries that a part time job is needed to supply his addiction.  Don’t we have enough batteries going into the landfills every year without thinking up more ridiculous devices that will contribute?

10,000 open and close cycles per battery change might seem like a lot, but if you have little kids, or cats, that lid might never stop moving.  Those 10,000 cycles will be gone in a day.  At some point, you’ll be standing there with nasty stuff all over your hands waving at the damn trash can and it won’t open because Morris the cat, or the two year old played flipsy-doodle all day with the sensor eye.  

When that happens, you won’t be thinking how cool your new trash can is.  At that point , the first thing that will enter your mind is, “damn!  I don’t have any batteries.”  

I bet the lid gets used by hand for a few days before you make it to the store for a new 100pack of AAs.

Even though it barely operated for Mr. Goodbye, it seemed to have a mind of its own other times.  One time when I walked by, the lid popped open.  It must have been getting hungry and decided to make a grab for me.  It felt like I was passing by the homeless guy with a sign.  I was like, “sorry man, I don’t have anything for you.”

Or what about the honest claims they make on the NineStars’ website?  Talk about truth in advertising; they haven’t even heard of the concept!  It seems they think this lid can alter the workings of biology.  As if enclosing trash in a container with a “touchless automatic lid” can:

“Create a germ free, odor free, bacteria free environment.”

Huh, didn’t know that it was possible to do that by simply closing the lid.  There are still germs and odors galore inside there.  Just wave your hand over the lid for a reminder.  And then there’s this gem:

“There will be no cross contamination to worry about when you're preparing chicken, meat and any other foods.”

I’m not sure, but I don’t think the trash can is where cross contamination usually occurs.  If it does, maybe the person who allows that to happen needs to rethink their food prep practices.  But hey, maybe I’m the only one who doesn’t do food prep on the garbage can, and it is nice to know you can:

“Turn an every-day chore into something fun.”

Okay, absolutely NO ONE is buying that one.  But go ahead; keep trying to make it seem useful.

Yup, I can honestly say.  This trash can was great entertainment for a few minutes, at someone else’s house!  It won’t find its way into my kitchen……unless it could also take an overloaded trash bag out to the curb. 

Now there’s an idea.

Won't Do The Paleo Diet

....So I Did The Beard Instead.

Last November I stopped shaving and didn't start back again.

Isn't there a No Shave November thing?  You know, to raise awareness for cancer research and stuff?

Well, there is, but I'm not that hip (if that's still an acceptable adjective) and didn't know jack about that at the time, so my growth had nothing to do with it.  That is until someone said, "Doing the No Shave November thing?" while looking at my beard.

I may not have known about NSN, but suddenly my laziness had potential purpose.

"Uh....yes," I said, clueless but willing to improvise.  I've always been one to jump on a bandwagon if it happened to roll by.......slowly enough that I wouldn't injure myself.

"So you'll shave it back off in a few days?" she said.  It was almost December.

"Hmmm," (I was trying to think why the heck I'd shave the durn thing off "in a few days")

"Maybe, maybe not.  Not really sure."

That seemed adequately vague.  I really needed get educated, I thought, and find out what the heck "No Shave November" was.  Being vague is great and all, but being educated is better.

I was really more into the Paleo excuse for my new found interest in sporting a beard.  You see, although raising public awareness for cancer research is a noble and worthy enterprise, my excuse had little to do with money.  I really didn't spend a whole heck of a lot of hard earned cash on grooming.

At least not the beard part of things.

I am the guy that Gillette loses money on with their disposable razors.  I used to shave twice a week tops, and I think the twin blade razor I have in the basket on my vanity is about five years old.  The three pack might take me to retirement age.  If it got too damned dull and started deracinating my face, I'd change razors. (deracinate is a great word BTW)

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a smidge but you get the point.  Grooming funds from the elimination of my irregular face scraping schedule wouldn't fund much awareness of anything.

Being the moderately honest guy I am, I couldn't go around telling people I was supporting cancer awareness (though you don't need to have an awesome beard to support cancer awareness) when I was only jonesing for the gravitas that comes with fabulous facial fur.

But I digress......

I started this off talking about paleo didn't I?  Yeah, something like that.  Now I can't remember why.  But I do know that I am NOT doing the paleo diet so, maybe some paleo grooming....?

You know, without the bugs, grease, sundry twigs and beggar lice and other junk those paleolithic dudes sported along with the fur.

Now I need some good beard conditioner.  Anyone recommend the Wild Man stuff?

How Many Lightbulbs Does It Take......

to screw up a perfectly good afternoon?

I spent most of the day today doing nothing.  Nothing that I planned to do anyway.  Well, actually I didn't have a plan which would explain why I didn't do anything.....anything worthwhile at least.  What I did do was spend almost the entire day vacuuming, mopping, and doing laundry.

I know, I know.  I understand your envy.  Many people would kill for the opportunity to have a day like that.  Blistering good fun and all.  But not all of it was pleasurable I assure you.

There was a short trip to the library, and the grocery store for a bottle of.......some sort of wine.  For all of you right now who are thinking, "huh?"  A library is a place where you can check out books for free.  Books.....you know, those things you can read.  Pages, words........  Nevermind.

Anyway, I had to return some books, renew a few, and of course check out the hipster, in crowd that was hanging at the periodical section.   So with that in mind, I hit the library and, like I said, did a flyby on the grocery store for libations, and then it was back to the ranch.

Now, where was I?

Ah, yes a perfectly dreadful day was quickly waning and I had done nothing worthwhile at all.  So it was imperative I make good use of the soon-to-be-fading daylight and accomplish something.

"Hey," I thought, "why not replace the burnt out light bulb in the front porch flood light?  The one that has been burnt out for a few days.......okay weeks months?  That'll be a quick job and boost my sense of self esteem without much effort."

I've had the spare bulb just lying around for awhile now.  It's been triggering feelings of guilt every time I accidentally discover it in the kitchen cupboard.  Why not rid myself of that unnecessary bad mojo and just install the damned thing?

Five minutes!  That's all it would take.  Five minutes and I could laze away the rest of the day with a clear conscience.  Mission accomplished, the world a bit better than the way I found it this morning, and all that rot.

With a hearty chuckle, I grabbed the bulb from the deep recesses of the cabinet I had tried to hide it in, and headed out to the front porch.  Five minutes.........yeah, right.

I forgot, after climbing up on the porch railing, that these ridiculous flood lights have a little set screw that needs to be backed out in order to remove the lens shroud to replace the bulb.  Blah blah blah.  Muttering a short epithet, I climbed down and headed back inside.

When I say little set screw, I mean little enough that the average screw driver has no hope of fitting the slot.  That meant rummaging around for about 15 minutes to locate a screw driver small enough to fit.  Mission accomplished, I headed back out to quickly finish the bulb change.

Evidently time and weather had done a great job fixing that small set screw in place.  That tiny-assed screw driver didn't have the torque needed to put the spin on the screw.  A few more choice curses and I climbed back down to find a better device.  For this, I had to go to the tool shed, and after another 20 minutes of digging around trying to figure out where one of my sons had carelessly discarded the precise screwdriver I needed, I was headed back up to the front porch to finally take care of that two-minute chore.

Still no luck.  Apparently some gremlin saw me headed to the shed for the kick ass screwdriver, and while I was preoccupied he quickly welded the screw in place.  Try as I might, I couldn't get enough grip on the screw driver handle to turn the screw.

I'm not Chuck Norris, I can't turn welded screws with my bare hands.  So, curses flying more abundantly this time, down I climbed to grab a pair of pliers with which to turn the screw driver.

Optimist that I am (and a armchair student of physics), I believed, as did Archimedes, that with a lever large enough, (or in this case huge honkin' Channel Lock pliers) I could move the world......or at the very least, that agonizingly frustrating, dinky little set screw.

Apparently, no one explained the principles of leverage to the pliers because even after spending another 10 minutes going back to the shed to get them, they failed to change the course of destiny.  That gremlin welded, tiny ass, mind bending set screw remained steadfastly anchored in place.

Time to go nuclear.

Back to the shed yet a third time.  This time for the propane torch.

As a weekend tinkerer, armchair physicist, and shade tree mechanic, I knew that at times applying heat to a screw and surrounding area causes the different materials to heat at varying rates.  Those varying expansion rates will often break the bond (gremlin weld) created by time and oxidation.

All that nifty science was careening around in my head as I stumbled back to the porch with a lit propane torch in hand, sun beginning to dip below the horizon.

I briefly considered applying the flame to the porch rather than the set screw.  Watching the house go up in flames might be an entertaining diversion, but the thought of burning up the cheap wine I planned on enjoying later that evening kept me from doing the unthinkable.

Needless to say, the idea of watching Rome burn did give me a bit of comic relief, and with a breathless chortle ( bordering on maniacal laughter), I once again climbed up to the light fixture.  I would finally show that screw that it could not defeat the combined forces of; me, science, and true grit.

After I failed to break it loose by heating it up, I was about ready to pop the cork and begin drinking.......whatever kind of wine I had bought.  This was bordering on the absurd!! I had even thrown a few choice curse words at The Tink (my loving dog-friend).  Curse words that were so neglected they` had to be dusted off from lack of normal use.  I was eyeballing the light as if it were my mortal enemy.

This was war..........but I couldn't think of what to do next.  It was a fracking light bulb for cryin' out loud!!!

So I went for a fourth (and hopefully final) trip to the shed for my cordless drill.  I would drill out the damned screw and be done with it.  If I couldn't remove the screw properly, I would remove it by eliminating it.  True victory often lies in total annihilation of the opposing force.  I would bring an apocalypse on that little threaded demon living in my porch flood light.

By the way, at some point in time (probably between swigs from the now uncorked wine bottle)  I had tested the set screw in the other light lens of the same light fixture.  You know, the one that had the good bulb in it?!?  It unscrewed as easily as the day it was manufactured.  Go figure right?  Anyway.....

To make a longer story just long, (and so I can finish this bottle), I went to the shed, grabbed the cordless drill.....with a dead battery.  Charged the battery.  Broke the first drill bit. Went back to the shed for another drill bit, and.......

Finally!!  Mission accomplished, and not a moment too soon.  The sun was down, the wine was almost gone, and I was thinking about destroying every light fixture in the neighborhood.

So, how many light bulbs does it take to suck the life out of an otherwise perfectly good afternoon?  One apparently.

“Anger is the last refuge of fear…..”

       

I read that in a book entitled “Careless In Red” by Elizabeth George.  Good book by the way, but this isn’t a book review.

       

That phrase stuck in my head and rattled around for days after reading it.  Obviously it is still rattling around in there or I wouldn’t be writing this, but needless to say, I thought quite a bit about it.  You see.  I’m an angry man.

       

A lot of people are angry, especially men.  Since I am a man, I’ll refer to men.  It’s not that women aren’t angry; I just don’t understand women.  Someone else cam talk about women’s anger.

       

Actually I’m not really writing about anger either, I’m writing about fear.

       

We all have fear.  All of us are afraid of something.  You are afraid of something.  If you don’t think you are afraid of something, you haven’t lived long enough.  Eventually you will find something(s) you’re afraid of.  When you do, come back here and leave a comment “you were right.”

It’ll make me feel important.

       

Some people act like they don’t have any fear.  They don’t seem like they’re afraid of anything.  They’ll  ski off a cliff, naked, wrestling a lion, and flipping God the bird on a dare.  

But I bet they are afraid of fear.

If you told them they were afraid of something, they’d probably deny it and get angry.  Hmmm….why would they get angry?  Probably because they don’t want people to think they’re skeert?

       

Winston Churchill (old dead white guy who was probably angry) said, “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself,” or words to that effect.  There are plenty of people who fear fear.  They think fear is the sign of cowardice.  

It isn’t, but they think it is.  

So people are afraid of being afraid.   They don’t want to be a coward.

Actually they probably don’t care if they’re a coward, they just don’t want people to think they’re a coward.

       

You see how complicated it can get?

My fears run a bit more broadly than that, and are nowhere near as complex.  I’m just plain afraid of some things.  Of course I am afraid of fear too.   Why am I afraid of fear?

Because:

Fear is what gets your ass kicked in a fight.

Fear leads to passively accepting things which should be viewed as unacceptable.

Fear leads to lying, cheating, and other detestable practices.

Fear sucks.

Fear can lead to cowardice, but fear isn’t cowardice.  I can be afraid and still ski off the cliff, naked, wrestling a lion and flipping God the bird.  Of course that would be fracking stupid.  If you didn’t do that, you wouldn’t be a coward, you’d just be smarter than the average rock.

The point is, I can still act even when I am afraid.

Cowardice is being afraid of fear, or appearance of fear.  Cowardice is debilitating fear.  

Debilitating fear is what Churchill was talking about.  We got to have a righteous fear of debilitating fear.  Avoid the fear of fear.

A guy named Charles Spurgeon (yeah, like the fish) said, “Above all else, avoid cowardice because it makes liars of men.”  Smart dude.  You might want to Google the guy.  

So I think what he meant is, above all else, avoid cowardice, because it makes liars of men.  Wait! That IS what he said.  Like I said, smart dude.

I’ve been a liar in a lot of ways.  I’ve acted a lie, told lies, even lied about lies.  Because I didn’t understand that fear should be feared.  So I gave in to fear and became a coward.  

Then I got angry for being a coward.

You see how complicated it gets?

I get angry because, it disguises my fear and gives me power.  If I’m angry, I don’t stop to think about being afraid.  I can bury the fear in a few layers of kick-your-teeth-in anger.  But it’s still down there.  Like termites eating at the support beam.  It’ll crash, and the fear will be exposed.  

Because it’s in there.

Don’t let anyone try to fool you.  Angry people are scared people.  That’s a fact.  Think about it.  Yes you can.  Think about it.

So, I’m afraid anger really the last refuge of fear.

Decisions, Decisions

Triage Your Decision Making

My daughter turned 18 recently.  I wasn't okay with it on one level but what could I do?  Time has this way of rolling along no matter what I want.

Through her life, I watched, meddled, cajoled, coerced, disciplined, counseled, bribed, and begged while she made good decisions and bad ones.  Some of her decisions made me smile, some made me cringe, some made me angry, and some even made me cry, but all of them fully occupied my heart and mind at the time.  

A father cannot watch his daughter go from weird toddler's eye-glasses and pound puppies to boyfriends, driving, a job and college, and not hurt like hell, laugh out loud, or even cry when no one is watching.

I've always wanted my daughter to make good decisions, and avoid the wasteland of regrets, a wasteland I am all too familiar with.  The number of lousy, life-altering decisions I've made is hearth wrenching.  If I could somehow help my daughter avoid that desert of the soul, all the pain in the world would be worth it.

One evening we sat talking.  I listened mostly. She was relating some of the challenges she faced, and I did not want to open my mouth too much and ruin the opportunity to learn more about her. 

She admitted that relationships were hard for her to understand, her future seemed uncertain, she was questioning her world view.  Life was getting more confusing to her, and she needed me.

As a dad, I desperately wanted to protect her, and see her safely past the rough spots.  To offer encouragement that would soothe her mind.  

It seemed easy at the time to just tell her how she should think, or what she should do.  The answers seemed so clear to me.  If she could only see things the way I saw them after a lifetime of learning things the hard way.  

I wanted to guide her around those hard times and see her safely on the other side, but as long as we have life and breath, hard things will continue to show up.  I couldn't steer her around them, I could only speak truth, encourage her, be there for her, and love her no matter what.

It sucks, but our kids need to experience life, both the good and the bad, to grow into their own souls.

There was a lot that tried to escape my mind and occupy my mouth that night, but the less said the better sometimes.  Of all the stuff I wanted to say,only one thing needed to be said.   As it was getting late and I could see she had spoken her mind,  I decided to avoid too much blathering.  I told my little girl the following instead.

Prioritize your decisions based on a couple of aspects.  The importance of the decision, and the shelf-life of the decision.  

Decisions that affect relationships are the most important, decisions that involve self-actualization are next, and the decisions we make about things are least important.  Learn to perform a quick triage when a decision is needed.  Rate the importance of each decision before cementing and acting on it.  

If a choice involves relationships, take it slowly using love and care.  It isn't only how the decision impacts you, it will impact others as well, and the ripple effect can reach to the edges of the world.  People you affect will affect others.  Your decision could go viral and cause great harm, or huge benefit.  People are valuable, don't take decisions lightly that may benefit, or harm another human being.  Have empathy and compassion when making decisions that involve relationships.  Think about the welfare of the other people involved.

If a decision is about your personal growth, measure it against your heart's desires, and the natural aptitudes you have.  The opportunity costs are lower when you are young, choose what sets your heart on fire.  Find things that mean something to you.  Don't follow the money trail, but don't be naive and think money doesn't matter either.  Take advantage of opportunities.  Develop yourself every chance you get

If you must decide which car to drive, shoes to buy or other material things, don't sweat it too much.  Things come and go.  Don't sell you soul for Gucci, but don't waste too much time trying to philosophize about stuff.

The other way to prioritize is to determine the shelf-life of each decision.  In other words, what impact will each decision have on your lifeline?  How long will the results of each decision last?  Will you still think it was a good decision after a year, five years, a lifetime?  Will you be able to open the cupboard of your mind years later and be satisfied with what you find?  On reflection will you be satisfied you made the right decision because the lasting impact is positive?

What entree to order at a restaurant means nothing in the long run.  What car to drive impacts you for a few years, and will affect your finances for a time.  Who to marry will affect you for the rest of your life.  Have children.......?  Yeah, better think long and hard about that one!  

The results of some decisions fade quickly, others last forever; learn to discern the difference.

Each decision we make should be made based on it's importance, and shelf life.  Learn to make decisions wisely, with forethought, and it will help you avoid the wasteland of regrets.