Because that’s how I roll, yo.
Amazon kicks a relatively large amount of ass. Most of the nontrivial stuff I buy comes from them. Online shopping is supremely convenient for me: No lines, no dumb people, no whining kids, no traffic, no wasting gas, no putting myself in a dangerous situation just to buy things (automobile accidents kill millions every year), etc. So I have to wait a few days to get my stuff — I’m perfectly okay with that given all the pros.
Recently I’ve been thinking about getting Amazon Prime. The premise is simple — you pay $79 per year in order to get free two-day shipping on every order. Every single one. And if you want to get your stuff in one day instead of two, you pay a mere $4 extra. For someone like me who (still) buys CDs and often only one or two at a time, this could potentially save me a lot of money. And then I also get them in my hands in two days instead of six. In either case Amazon is much more convenient; Best Buy and Circuit City have failed to have what I was looking for so many times it’s beyond laughable.
Another reason I like Amazon is because they have tons of third-party merchants selling through them, and more often than not the prices are lower. I recently bought my mom the entire DVD set of Le Femme Nikita because it’s one of her favorite shows of forever apparently. The list price is a whopping $410, and even though Amazon only wants $277 for it, that’s still a steep price. Through a third-party merchant I was able to get the set for a mere $110 — brand new too. That’s kind of ridiculously awesome!
When I went to check out Amazon told me “You Save: $299.” I laughed out loud.
Prime, however, doesn’t work for third-party merchants, so even if you’ve paid the $79, the option to use Prime isn’t there. Thus, Prime is not very useful on its own or for dedicated third-party users. It’s only when you’re a frequent Amazon shopper does it stand out. I wasn’t aware of just how much until I gave it a little thought.
Here’s an example. Below are four CDs I want (I’m on an emo-ish, post-hardcore kick right now, though the past few I’ve bought have fallen into the melodic black and technical death metal catagories). In the second column is the Amazon price and in the third you’ll find a third-party merchant price plus $5.19 for expedited shipping via USPS. I could go non-expedited for $2.98, but then I’m only guaranteed to get my wares within two weeks, so it’s hardly worth not paying the extra $2.21.
| Album | Amazon | Merchant |
|---|---|---|
| Don’t You Fake It | $10.99 | $5.89 + $5.19 = $11.08 |
| If These Streets Could Talk | $13.98 | $10.18 + $5.19 = $15.37 |
| Between the Heart and the Synapse | $13.98 | $10.27 + $5.19 = $15.46 |
| The Earth Sings Mi Fa Mi | $14.98 | $9.00 + $5.19 = $14.19 |
In total I’m looking at $53.93 from Amazon Prime and $56.10 from third-party merchants. Notice how the base third-party prices are very good on their own, but when you throw in shipping for every single item, it suddenly doesn’t seem like such a good idea. That’s $20.76 in shipping costs alone — so much shipping, in fact, that the end total turns out to be higher. And then we don’t get the convenience of two-day shipping.
Amazon Prime is definitely a good idea if you frequently buy small items online, especially when you can pool together and have multiple people buying through one account for all the benefits. The $79 fee will pay for itself in no time at all, and after that it should save you quite a bit. The above example probably isn’t the best to demonstrate this, mainly because CDs are almost guaranteed to cost much less via the merchants, but it’s relevant so I went with it anyway.
Update! I found out today that Amazon allows you to add up to four “family members” to a Prime account. The idea, of course, is that people within a family/household can share the benefits without having to buy via a single person, but since there aren’t any substantial checks on person-to-person relationships, you can essentially tell Amazon your buddy is actually your “unmarried partner” or child. A child with his own credit card and address. All they ask for verification is to know each others’ birthdays. Pretty damned awesome if you ask me.
The Cleavage Conundrum
A week or two ago I became aware of a sinister plot against me. Actually, it was originally for me, but I was never aware of it, so it wound up being against me after all. “Details?” you say? Why, of course!
Back at school I had this friend. We’ll call her Mia. Mia had a roommate her freshman year (my sophomore year) whom we’ll call Molly. I, of course, noticed immediately that Molly was very cute, but like most other cute/hot girls, I just as quickly stuck her up on the “you can’t have that” shelf. Holes in your self-confidence will do that to you.
And it made sense — Molly had a boyfriend from back home at the time. There was nothing I could do. Fast-forward to my junior year I’m becoming aware of Mia and Molly’s increased presence in my room. They never seemed to stick around, but they drop by for a bit on a frequent basis. Often they show up twice in a given day — once before going to do a thing and then once after. Sometimes they are quite drunk. Sometimes I instead find myself over in the their room watching movies.
More often than not I just happened to notice Molly liked to wear low-cut tops. Very low-cut. All the time it seemed. It was rare that I wasn’t greeted by gratuitous cleavage — enough to faceplant in — whenever she came around. There was one instance in particular where she wasn’t quite sober and I practically got a front-row seat to Boobtown as her shirt hung carelessly and loosely in all the right places.
This was all fine and dandy except that, well, she was off-limits. Cute, probably too cute for me, unavailable, and perpetually off with Mia to do things that didn’t involve me. She and Mia also hung out with this tall guy all the time; if anything I figured Molly would’ve liked him. Not only that but we didn’t talk that much; for the most part Molly was simply a friend of a friend. One who happened to enjoy showing off a large percentage of her breasts to strangers.
That’s just the thing, however. Not even two weeks ago I was told by Mia, in discussing how oblivious I am to things, that there was a very specific reason I was privy to Molly’s curves back then — she had been interested in me. She didn’t actually like showing herself off to strangers. I mean, she did, of course, because all girls do, but apparently the cleavage I saw frequently was specially tailored for me. Additionally, by the time the boobs were coming out around me she was boyfriendless.
I, of course, was oblivious to this because that’s how I am. And why wouldn’t I have been? Molly and I didn’t really talk, so we never hung out in any capacity, and, since my room always seemed to be an intermediary stop between other more important activities, I figured Mia was merely dragging Molly into my presence while she said hi. The two of them were frat party frequenters too, so surely the boobage was intended for someone else. It only made sense that this be case. To me, at least.
Upon hearing this claim of interest back then, I didn’t find myself getting happy at the thought. Rather, I became somewhat agitated over the ordeal. Why hadn’t Mia let me know this back then when it would have been very useful information? Even the slightest, most noncommittal hint — “I think Molly might kind of like you a little. Maybe.” — would have sufficed. As vague as that is it would have clued me in to pay a little more attention to Molly and the things she did. But the boobs should have been enough, right? Why would I need another hint when there is so much excess skin involved, right? Wrong!
On its own cleavage is never enough.
And that, my friends, is the ultimate issue. Girls love displaying their cleavage if they’ve got some display. It’s a normal, casual, everyday occurrence. And guys, growing up in a never-ending sea of half-covered breasts, learn early on not to give it too much mind. Look at them, sure, but don’t look at them. They’re there, acknowledge them, but don’t pay them much mind unless you want to get labeled a pervert.
And so I’m posed with a quandary. How the hell could Molly expect me to notice her supposed interest by merely adjusting herself for extra boobage before she saw me? It strikes me as illogical. Unless you’re doing something directly for or to a guy, no amount of cleavage says “I want you.” Flirting, for instance, is a very good way accentuate cleavage’s message. Without something extra involved, even the greatest of cleavage is most likely to say, “Hi. I have great breasts. Don’t you wish you could squeeze them? Too bad!” Because that’s pretty much what cleavage means to a guy when it’s on a random girl. Without proper accentuation, there is a fairly large jump in logic:
There must be a second step if the goal is to show you’re interested, dammit! And there wasn’t one with Molly! No flirting, no hanging out, no sexy eyes. Nothing. There simply has to be more than me going, “God damn, woman!” in my head whenever you come into my room with half your boobs showing. Especially when you feel unavailable and you’re about to head off to a party and rub your junk all other some other guy’s junk. Do you know how hot it would have been if she’d looked at me and then adjusted herself and looked back? That’s an effective second step! As is dragging me off to your little party and rubbing your junk on my junk.
Alas, I was never able to bridge the logical gap, so I never knew Molly was interested in me back then. And why would I? Guys are usually fairly logical about things even when there are boobs involved. I know it’s hard to believe, but even when faced with such seemingly unsurpassable obstacles, the logical wiring of our brains is still present. Thus, I never did anything with Molly even though the potential was there for greatness.
Sigh.