There are simply way too many single women in Manhattan for it to be all their fault. At least half the male population is gay (or so it seems), and the rest are completely relationship-challenged. So, instead of pulling a Carrie Bradshaw and pondering what we're all doing wrong until I'm 35 years old, I've come with an earth-shattering realization: It's not us, it's them. They're not relationship material. And because we're all so desperate to find love, we continue to give them our time, attention, and adoration. It's slim-pickings, folks. Here's what we're dealing with.