There are dealbreakers and then there are dealbreakers—and a past history of domestic violence is a dealbreaker on a lot of people’s list. Salon.com’s advice columnist, Cary Tennis, fielded a question from a former abuser who’s nervous about telling his new girlfriend he physically abused his ex-wife half a dozen times during their marriage.

After divorcing, “Ex-Abuser,” as he signed his letter, entered therapy and said it helped him “understand my reasons for the abuse, and the effect it had on both my wife and our relationship.” Also after the divorce, he and his ex-wife went to therapy together and “the abuse was addressed and some amount of nascent healing took place.”

Now Ex-Abuser is in a new relationship with a woman he seems to want to spend his life with. Trouble is, he hasn’t told her about his past. Not only is he afraid his new girlfriend will ditch him if she knows, but his ex-wife is threatening to spill the beans herself. And that, obviously, would be bad.

Rich and famous Hayden Panetierre says she can’t get a man because of all the media attention she gets.

“It’s very, very difficult and people have no idea what they do to peoples’ relationships. They destroy them. The paparazzi and the public. The public wants to read about your personal life, and the paparazzi give it to them by nosing into your personal life and saying things that are just not true and horrible.”

Cry me a river, Hayden! In reality, there are worse professions when it comes to love. Try sex and relationship blogger. The potential threat of having your love life exposed on the internets is no one’s aphrodisiac. After the jump, the worst relationship dealbreaker jobs on the planet.

I’ve been doing the online dating thing for a while. Match, Nerve, JDate, OkCupid, you name it. Generally, I’m a fan. (It feels sort of like shopping for boys, no?) That said, there’s also a lot about it that never fails to appall me. Namely, what guys seem to think is attractive, funny, or sexy in their profiles. For some of these men, the dealbreaker can be small—that moment when you’re checking him out, and all is going well until you scroll down to see that one off-putting thing and it’s click, on to the next. Then of course, there are the all-around disaster cases where everything from the picture to the description is horrifically wrong.

Here, some examples (both hilarious and bizarre) of online dating dealbreakers. For the ladies out there, let us know if you agree. For the guys, take notes. Please.

I may be generalizing, but most guys are pretty into the idea of dating a girl who’s bisexual. Because, though it may never actually happen, you know that if your girlfriend likes chicks, there’s the potential there for not only some girl-on-girl action, but also possibly, some day, a threesome, that holy grail of male sexual experiences.

But what about the reverse? Are women into dating bisexual men? Totally impartial? Turned off? Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with bisexuality, but always have had the nagging feeling that being bi is basically just a pit stop on the road to gay. (Gay, for the record, is also a fine place, but not a place I’d want my boyfriend to wind up.)

I am 30 years old, single, and have been that way for a while. As I approached the big 3-0, starting around mid-28, I began to panic about my singlehood, asking myself some tough questions: “What am I doing wrong?” “Are my standards are too high?” “Do I have too much baggage?” I made a new dating motto for myself: “No guy left behind,” ensuring that all dudes got a chance. This equal opportunity dating model led me straight into the jaws of a string of freaks, losers, liars, a-holes, guys with girlfriends, and one very, er…unique guy I’ll call H.

Because I’m young and carefree, I’ve been keeping my options open and dating a couple of guys at the same time. No more than two, because beyond that, things get a little sloppy. Well, two works until decision time comes around and you’re writing out each’s pros versus cons. That’s where I am right now, paper ready, pen in hand.

Guy #1 is nice, funny and cute, but guy #2 is gloriously attractive and kind of witty. Sort of. Sometimes. Okay, barely. The choice seems clear: ditch the hot, boring guy in favor of the cute, funny one, right? Not so fast. I thought I had arrived at that conclusion, but still haven’t actually axed guy #2. My conundrum, after the jump…

Everyone knows that there are lots of fish in the sea. Some fish travel in schools and enjoy the security of being identical to their underwater neighbors. I always preferred the beta fish, however; colorful and unique, the beta fish swims alone and exudes individuality.  Just like the beta fish that attacks any gilled creature that resembles his reflection, Carbon Copy and I were doomed from the start.  The pond simply was not big enough for the both of us.

According to my mom, the three hallmarks of adulthood are appreciating jazz, a taste for cantaloupe, and sleeping in a bed that is larger than a twin. Unfortunately, Mom’s wisdom does not apply to dudes here in New York City, specifically in the arty enclave of Brooklyn, in which I dwell. Sure, they have the jazz and melon part down, but what about the boys whose rooms I’ve stumbled into, ready for action, just to discover that—really? We’re working with a twin-sized bed? 

Peter owning up to Googling me on our first date should have been the first warning sign. Don’t get me wrong: I Google, you Google, we all Google acquaintances. Doing it in private is one thing. Saying it out loud is another. 

“Did I tell you who I work for?” I asked. It was technically a blind date, as we’d corresponded only a few times through an online dating service.

“Oh, no, but I think I know,” he said.

“How is that possible?”

“Oh, well … I Googled you.” Point blank. I Googled you.

I have said and/or done the wrong thing so many times that it’s truly the eighth wonder of the world that I ever managed to trick anyone into dating me more than once. There was the time I fell off my chair and farted (loudly) just as my butt hit the ground. Or the guy I leapt away from as he tried to kiss me, gesturing frantically at the giant oozing cold sore on my lip. (I still don’t know how he missed that thing—I’m pretty sure it was visible on Google Earth.)

There are plenty other gems in my arsenal of embarrassment, but who hasn’t had a red-faced moment or ten? I used to beat myself up over these transgressions, but despite my occasionally questionable behavior, most of the men I’ve been out with have forgiven me quite cheerfully. In turn, I’ve turned a blind eye to their missteps and gaffes. What I’ve found is that it comes down to levels and limits. Here are some guidelines.

It was a drizzly night, and I was walking down the street with Luke, my boyfriend at the time, to a comedy club where he was performing that night. He held an umbrella over my head and had his arm wrapped around my shoulder. I should have been giddy, but instead I felt apprehensive. We’d been dating for a few months, but this was the first time I was going to one of his shows.

“So, you’re not going to make fun of me, are you?” I asked, flashing back to Jerry Seinfeld and man hands and close talking. What if he called me out in public on some absurd quirk I never knew existed?

“No,” he said. “That’s a cheap laugh.” His material was more sophisticated, even a touch political, he said.

I’ve already told you why guys who don’t want head are a dealbreaker for me, but what about guys who just aren’t into sex? Yes, they exist. Anyone who tells you otherwise—that all men are 24/7 sex fiends—is either lying or has just been lucky enough not to meet the kind of guy I’m talking about: the sexless guy.

I’ve dated several guys who, from what I can tell, have a take it or leave it attitude toward sex, with an emphasis on leaving it. Why, you may ask, did I, someone who writes about sex almost every day, wind up with them? I don’t really know, but I did. And the worst part about it is not the physical withdrawal; I’m not the kind of girl who needs to do it every day (though that would be nice).

We met fresh out of college, when we both worked at a law firm. All the ladies in the office chirped about his thick hair, cooed over his broad-shouldered frame, whispered about his posh upbringing and slick pedigree. I found him arrogant and self-consumed.

I took an interest in him only after he started bringing a lacrosse stick to work. My crush deepened the first time I heard him speak with passion about his gun. This was not a euphemism—he actually had a gun. More specifically, he had a shotgun he kept in pieces in a bedroom that was, I later learned, cluttered with various trophies, medals, sticks, muscle balms, beaten running shoes, and athletic tape.

TheBabyWebsite.com has released what are considered to be Britain’s most unfortunate baby names. Seymour Butts and Ivana Tinkle aren’t on the list, but some of the names include Mary Christmas, Paige Turner, and Doug Hole. Isn’t this a form of child abuse? Anyway, this got the Frisky girls and I talking about what we’d do if a we were interested in or were dating had an unusual or horrible name. Would you be too embarrassed to even tell your friends you were dating a guy with, say, the last name “Hymen”? Would you even give the dude a chance? After the jump, the list of guy names that are potential dealbreakers. .

I met him through mutual friends, and I noticed him immediately because he looked like my ex-best friend—but, like, a way hotter version of the ex-BFF. We hung out a few times, and one night, after some drunken bonding over tattoos and the psychological and scientific validity of the art of pickup, he asked if I was coming home with him, and I said yes.

What I was looking for at the time was a fun, casual fling with someone I could be friendly with—without it turning into anything emotional. Neither of us were into having a relationship, and I knew that he was seeing someone else casually, too. He was smart and sarcastic and seemed like the type to bottle up his feelings and never reveal them to me. I thought it was the perfect setup.

When it comes to boyfriends, I have never gone for the sentimental type. Maybe it’s because my dad is the sort of guy who likes to sit in the backyard and throw knives at trees.  Maybe it’s because I’m not so great at talking about feelings myself.  Whatever the reason is, I’ve always had boyfriends that appreciated my ability to chug beer and refer to my breasts as “fun bags.”  I prided myself on being above all of that romantic mush, but it turned out, I wasn’t. Because when a guy did show up and started telling me about his feelings right away, I was charmed.  What I should have been was suspicious.

I’ll admit it, I think tattoos are dead sexy. There is no better conversation starter than that little sliver of ink peeking out from under a shirt sleeve or some surprise artwork on a half-naked dude, but like many women I’m less inclined to get all hot and bothered when the ink in question is, say, a thicket of barbed wire or that little dragon from Mariokart.

I met Mr. Life of the Party at a bar. I’d spotted him from across the room because he was funnier, taller, and cuter than everyone else. I marched over and told him as much. We talked for what seemed like hours, and before the night was over, he got a kiss and my number.

He called the next day, and we bantered wittily. Finally, he invited me to dinner that evening at his “favorite restaurant.” He gave me the address and asked me to meet him there.

I primped before heading to the designated location … only to learn the “restaurant” was a bar that served buffalo wings and the occasional nacho. Maybe he was trying to see if I was high-maintenance?

Judging by box office returns, hundreds of thousands of people went to see “Marley & Me,” the movie about that goofy yellow Lab. My ex-boyfriend was most certainly not one of them.

I met “Greg” online. Actually, a friend of mine hand-selected him for me, apparently because when left to my own devices I choose poorly. In any event, Greg and I met for dinner, and I thought I’d struck gold. He was quick-witted, employed, and even mocked his own bald spot. So, at the end of dessert, when he went on a rant about how dogs smell and are “pathetic substitutes for children,” I refrained from punching him in the face and instead agreed to a second date. Besides, I thought, he might say he’s not a dog person, but once he meets my amazing dog Perry, all bets would be off. I mean, have you seen Perry?

Recently, I described a mutual friend to my friend T. as “the guy with the big c**k.” Then I felt a little guilty, like I was giving away a huge (zing!) secret; she was surprised at this description, having never thought about him in a sexual way, whereas I meant it as both a compliment and simply what I remember best about our time as f**k buddies. It also made me remember another guy with a unique but still vexing sexual problem: the too-big dick. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there is such a thing as too much when it comes to penis size. Bigger is not necessarily better, and while I’ve been with one or two guys who bordered on overly large, this one should win some sort of booby prize.