I don't know whether I'm funny or if I just know a lot of film quotes.

I've learnt a lot from the wide collection of films I've seen over my lifetime.

Here are a few life lessons from a sample of films you must see.

I learnt two things from watching Big as a child.

One: A giant keyboard is the business.

Two: Growing up gets you money and bitches.

Well, I don't have a giant keyboard. I don't have a lot of money, and being a straight female I'm really lacking in 'bitches'.

The Castle taught me that digging a hole and filling it with water will get you praise from your Father.

I have a Father, he has a spade, and I have an abundance of taps.

Wayne's World was wise with its teachings.

If you need to spew because you're partied out (again), a small paper cup will be sufficient.

You don't have to know all of the words to Bohemian Rhapsody to have a good time.

Giving a dog a bone is not meant to be taken literally.

Metropolis is a fantastically amazing watch.

It taught me that swinging your breasts around with nipple tassels will get men to praise you, like they should.

Stranger Than Fiction taught me to wear a watch. Always. It could save your life.

Also, freshly made cookies rule.

Now and Then shared some sensational songs which I can sing out loud if a karaoke session ever demands it.

Little Women made me want a house letterbox so I too could use it to store fresh fruit instead of letters.

Ace Ventura taught me how to park a car, like a glove.

It also taught me how to squeeze myself out of a rhino with all of my dignity intact.

Never Been Kissed shed some light on the teacher-student relationship. It is okay for your teacher to like you. But, he will be mad if he finds out you aren't a child.

Look Who's Talking taught me how babies are made. Sperm are both friendly and feisty creatures.

Saw showed me how to cut off my foot and crawl away from a messy situation.

I Love You, Man gave me a lesson on slapping the bass. I don't have a bass, but if I ever do it's getting a slap.

Most importantly, Step Brothers showed me how to make a bunk bed. Which I now have.

Winning at life.

"To me, you are perfect"

We all strive to be the most perfect versions of ourselves. In our quests for perfection we all find ourselves (or at least I do) doing the most ridiculous things so others can turn all shades of green with envy and jealousy. We put on perfume to mask our body odour, we paint our nails to hide the chips and bite marks, we style our hair to suit our facial features, and we buy beautiful clothes to hide our lumps and bumps.

I am not perfect. Nobody is. Yet I find myself admiring people who appear to ooze perfection. There are lucky souls out there who appear to wake up polished and ready to go everyday. I wake up with hair stuck to my face and mascara running down my cheeks. My mouth tastes like a giant bag of ass cakes, and I am always in desperate need of a jolly good body scrub. Luckily nobody is forced to wake up next to the horror that is me, yet.

Today over americanos and honey, my sister and I talked underwear. My sister is one of those people who must match their bra to their underwear. It freaks her out if she has a bra and only one pair of underwear to match. This perfect match is a must for her, and a lost dream for me. I like to feel beautiful. I spent hundreds of dollars in the weekend on lingerie to make my body appear Goddess like, but the Goddess inside my clothes doesn't have to match. Give me an aqua bra and a bright purple pair of underwear and I'm ready to face the world, or at least my mirror.

What I want to know is how far do we all go to be our most excellent selves? Do we spend hours in front of the mirror plucking and pruning so we can go to the supermarket and buy cakes of chocolate? Of course we do. This seems common sense, but I feel that our less than perfect selves are left in the cold, over shadowed by our fake appearances and polite courtesies.

I asked my flatmate what she did to be perfect. We got talking about make-up and why we wore it. We want to hide our blemishes, accentuate our favourite features and generally feel pretty. Boys always find it puzzling that we paint our faces. Their misconception is that we want to impress them. This is partly true. We want to find a mate and procreate, face paint might aid us in our plight to cover the world with our offspring. But for the most part we apply foundation, eye-liner, mascara and blusher so we feel comfortable and perfect. Not for others, but for ourselves. In order to be perfect to others we have to feel perfect. Make-up is one application for girls (and some boys) that help us be who we want to be.

Think to those moments when you have to meet new people. We long for them to like us, to see this wonderful person and instantly make a connection. While they are summing us up we are inherently doing the same. We are sizing up their personalities, criticising their jokes and carefully calculating the chances of seeing them again. I have spent many hours thinking of witty one liners, choosing the perfect outfit which portrays casual day wear and classy night wear, and hundreds of dollars on the right make-up to meet new people and show them who I am. Receiving this persona which I create can be taken many ways: try-hard, satisfactory, on the spot, and negative. I know I'm not alone in this. In every country and for every person this is the same.

Travelling through Thailand the beautiful women painted their faces white to appear European, while us Europeans went through great lengths to tan and look exotic. Straight haired people curl their hair, curly tops straighten theirs. We all want what we can't have, yet the wonders of modern technology and cosmetic products let us be somebody else for a fleeting moment. Fashion magazines tell us to look thin, tell us what to wear, how to be the ideal sex partner, and what we should order when out with the girls for a cocktail. We laugh at these magazines, yet we frantically save our pennies in order to subscribe to these constructed images that society demands we purchase.

Personalities is a puzzling topic for perfection. We can be fake, laugh at bad jokes, agree to arguments we blatantly disagree with, and listen to music we would never normally buy. Yet at the same time we (at least we must all hope so) still stay true to ourselves. We say what we want because what we have to say is important, witty, or quirky. We behave like idiots or grown-ups depending on who we are with and where we are. Sadly I cannot say that I have never tried to change my personality to make somebody like me. My fear of rejection forces me to mould myself into somebody who meets the requirements of a stranger. Yet my outgoing personality and willingness to over share information always tosses aside any constructed personality types so more often or not people are meeting me, not somebody else. At least that is what I like to tell myself when I go to sleep.

While taking a stroll through the city the other day a teeny-bop song came onto my iPod. I was really enjoying both myself and the song. But when I walked past a beautiful person whose attempt at perfection was executed to an art, I quickly changed the song. The person had no idea what I was listening to, who I was, nor what I was thinking. But my desire to be loved and admired is so ingrained in me that I was willing to alter who I was for a brief moment. How fantastically odd us creatures are.

Have you ever met somebody who lies about everything? There are people among us who must find their lives so mundane that in order to portray perfection they lie about meaningless details. I know somebody who told me that he had broken a limb and later that day had removed the cast himself. The little knowledge I have about bones and breaks quickly surfaced and I could not help but call him out on this lie. His desire to make his weekend more exciting than sitting on the couch watching romantic comedies was painted with a fabricated story which was nonsensical and humorous. The need to be entertaining and thrilling is common for everybody, and we all have to admit that exaggeration is not an unfamiliar friend. But there are people who need to be the best that their life is a blanket of false tales. If only we could all be stripped bare, naked, and honest. Politicians could learn a thing or two here.

Confidence and arrogance is a show. It is a mask for my fear  of exposing my honest self to people. To stand naked in front of somebody basking in all of my flawed goodness terrifies me. To ask somebody to love my far from perfect self sends me into an anxious state. Sharing my secrets with somebody I admire sends shivers down my irrational spine. Yet, the rational part of my brain knows that everybody has dark secrets, fears and flaws. I so long to say "frankly my dear, I don't give a damn" but that will never happen.

We will always aim for perfection, living in cocoons of fabrication and pleasantries.