So, the third day of Self's Be A Better Person in 30 Days makeover strikes me as a little weird. Feed a need. The explanation prompts you to bring your party leftovers to a busy friend or neighbor the next time you entertain. I don't know about you, but I hold down several jobs and would probably not really know how to respond if one of my BFF's thrust a Glad container full of day old rumaki and bacon-wrapped dates at me. Plus, I'm not entertaining this week, so Day Three seems to be all about doing something at an ambiguous point in the future. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and apparently leftover Beef Wellington.

However, I am in for a penny and in for a pound! It's supposed to snow this weekend, and the weather has been oh so frightful, so tonight, I'm making a ginormous pot of tortellini chicken vegetable soup and also will buy some large Gladware bowls for the leftovers, which I will deliver to my grandmother and in-laws tomorrow. Happiness! Tidings of mire poux and bok choy! God bless us, every one!

Man, this being a better person is a lot of work. —Weetabix

We all know that it's a tough world out there for the average fashionista, especially when you don't look like one of the Olsen twins. LeeLee's Valise is the plus size boutique in Brooklyn that has been making major tremors in the blogosphere since its opening on May 5, and Weetabix spent a scinntillating hour talking to proprietor Lisa about fashion designers, proper foundation garments and the bullshit surrounding how much body hate can be lurking behind the door of a dressing room.

Weetabix: We all know that it's a pain in the ass to find clothes when you're wearing plus sizes. Does that mean that we shop differently?

Lisa: I feel like we have to reteach people because they are so accustomed to just going in and grabbing for sizes that fit and don’t think about shape. I’m trying to change it from settling to getting to choose what you want. You want a dress for your shape, but then, you can pick out things that can reflect your personality. You have a variety of clothing just like the rest of the world. What a concept!

Weetabix: It is a concept that I'm not accustomed to, personally. I have totally bought things just because they fit, even if they weren't perfect, because it's the only choice I have. It's depressing!

Lisa: The dressing room is psychological. People have been made fun of, everyone has, no matter what size you are. Sometimes in the store, I see that negative look cross over their face, and I am the person who reminds them to remember that feeling, that they look gorgeous right now. Remember that feeling, because that’s the now. No magic wand is going to allow me to change them into a size six, but you can dress beautiful for the size you are right now.

It's full-blown fall, and time to get cozy with comfort foods. But warming meals don't have to leave you feeling stuffed and lethargic. Soups are a great way to warm up and get a lot of veggies in the process. Check out this delicious recipe for spicy pumpkin and split pea soup from Self.

This post is going to be a little bit cheesy, and a little bit sappy and I am going to indulge in some squishy gooshy lovey dove nonsense and possibly, some overwrought metaphors (shocking!) and then tie it all up in a sentimental bow, and you may just want to yack, and that is okay. I'll probably want to yack, too. We can yack together, and it'll be even more romantic.

But listen: I want to say thank you. I don't say it enough. I am too shy to respond to you all in the comments, and a little self-conscious, and totally weird, but every day, I read what you guys are saying, and your e-mails, and every day I think thank you, for saying that, and thank you for telling me that, and thank you for being so kind, and so generous to me, for having such good ideas and such incredible feedback, for being funny and smart and lovely and for reading this site and for making it as interesting and as relevant as it manages to be.

Oh darlings, let's play pretend for a moment. Sure, none of these men are interested in the fairer sex unless they are advising them to ditch the muumuu and put on a wrap dress instead, so they will make a bemusing placement in the F category, but as one so nicely puts it, you will just have to make that work.

• Tim Gunn
• Carson Kressley
• Clinton Kelly

The comments are worried that you're going to wear white after Labor Day.

On today's Daily Special, Paris wants a baby, gold star to Jennifer Love Hewitt and, of course, your Comment Mad Libs!

Photos via Splash

Today I feel achy, and wiped out, and generally just sad. I’d like to think it is my period, because beautiful moon flow womanhood time tends to wipe me out in a very similar way, but I know it’s because I am delicate and fragile like a snowdrop, and I hate it very, very much.

Getting mugged was scary, and it’s made me realize that I should be more alert and maybe carry a flamethrower, but it shouldn’t be something that derails my life entirely and makes me feel all shaky and sends me to quake under my bed, afraid to leave the house. If I’m not careful, I feel like I’m going to become a shut-in who orders all her groceries online and keeps her shades drawn and her curtains shut and collects piles of newspapers and cardboard boxes and all the cats in the neighborhood. I’m going to become Boo Radley.

I'm feeling a little smug after I rocked day one of the Self One-Month Makeover out of the park. Easy peasy, but today is another day and I cannot rest on my laurels in my quest to become saintly and pure of heart. As I drove to work this morning, calling no fewer than four fellow commuters "fucking cocksucker!" under my breath, clearly the karma thing from yesterday did not make nearly enough impact in lessening my evil intentions. (And one of those people was a very little old man who probably has never smoked a pipe in his life. At least not that kind of pipe.)

Day Two: Make a Daily Donation

You'd think of any reality television show, a fat person would be safe from a challenge that involves running on a show like Project Runway. Except that you'd be mistaken. The first real designer of size and right out of the chute, we've got an inexplicable sprint across Bryant Park, played predictably for laughs at the expense of the fat guy.

Oh for shame, Project Runway, for SHAME. It was bad enough when you eliminated Alison Kelly for having a "plus sized" model who looked fat wearing a garment made from paper, and then ditching Robert for giving an actual plus sized model exactly what she wanted, but this was just beneath you. Poor, poor Chris March. He's too good for this abuse. Luckily, I suspect he's going to go far. But then again, I said that about Robert too. —Weetabix

Last night, my spouse and I went out for dinner. I had a small Caesar salad, a delightful seafood cannelloni and a glass of Cabernet. The only problem is that my cannelloni were almost pornographic in their dimensions: twin giant logs of scallops, crab and lobster, bubbling with what had to have been a cup of melted cheese. I knew that there would be no way I could finish the plate, but somewhere in the back of my mind, the little voice of my overeating disorder shouted OH BOY! Let's do this! as I picked up the fork.

I ended up taking home more than half of my dinner, but noticed that I kept eating even after I was more than full, because you just know that the leftovers are never going to survive assault by microwave and I didn't want to forgo the delicious, creamy, wonderful flavors. I don't feel guilty about this, but maybe I should. This week, the obesity epidemic is supposedly caused by our nation's chefs who plate ginormous triple and quadruple portions which we then mow through, docile as farm animals.

This is a symptom, folks. A symptom of our need to treat ourselves as though it's always a special occasion. Americans will always strive for the biggest and the best of everything. In Las Vegas, a very popular restaurant brags about serving lobsters the size of Buicks and tourists line up in their flip-flops for All You Can Eat buffets. But our fat asses? Clearly it's the fault of the likes of Mario Batali for serving me 400 perfectly seasoned gnocchi.

Personally? Fuck that noise!