فشل (fashal) of the year

There are certain words in Arabic that have become part of even our English conversations. Among them:

1. ممكن- mumken- maybe, perhaps

2. معلش- maalesh- oh well. 

3. ماشي- mashi- ok, alright
and
4. فشل:
according to google translate:
failure, fiasco, defeat, dud, flop, washout, frustration.
fashal.

It happens a lot here in Egypt.
"I tried explaining to the cab driver that I live here and I know it only costs 3 pounds to get from my apartment to school, but he did not seem to understand my accent or my Arabic so wouldn't leave me alone until I gave him another 2 pounds." Boom. Fashal.
"The underground tunnel was closed due to flooding and I couldn't cross the Cornische without getting hit by several cars and buses, so I had to walk all the way down to Mohatet al Raml where the Cornische gets narrower so I could cross and I ended up being a half hour late for my Amiya test." Boom. Fashal.
"I'm sitting around with a bunch of ladies trying to explain why i'm studying Arabic here and they respond by telling me my Arabic's as good as a chimpanzee." Boom. Fashal.

Yes, studying a new language and living in Egypt, failure is something you grow accustomed to on a daily basis. I don't know how to explain to the doctor this oddly shape rash on my arm that makes me itch every time I have cinnamon. And sometimes explaining that I'm a vegetarian lands me a giant wad of meat stuffed meat on my plate. Fashal. Fashal.

So when I find myself in situations with Egyptian women, and the first thing they want me to do is dance (Belly Dance/ Egyptian Dance), a task that requires you to move every part of your body at once and gracefully, you shouldn't be surprised that the first word that comes to my head is "fashal."
Yes, yes, I know what you are all saying.
"Monica, there is no way that you could be that awful. I've seen you bust out some sick moves on the dance floor and I am constantly blown away by your skill, grace, and ease of which you move your body so fluidly and naturally."
And yes, while I agree and am flattered by your honesty and skill by which you measure dancing talent, you would be shocked to hear that I am a terrible terrible belly dancer.
Plagued with the memory of living in the dorms last summer where I would be asked to dance, then work up the nerve, dance, then be ridiculed endlessly for the rest of the summer about how I move my body like an old man, and to put the icing on the cake, and then be video taped so that that laughter could reemerge at any moment without notice, when I am asked to dance, I always feel a large pit in my stomach and start sweating immediately. I do my signature move, flail my arms a bit, and sit back down to endure the inevitable pity filled looks and jeering smiles.
So I decided to take a class. Jordan (girl)'s (we have 2 Jordans, a boy and a girl) language partner offered to show us a few moves to help us become a bit more natural when we try and dance. You see, Egyptian girls learn this sort of dancing pretty early on. Many of them learn from watching tv and movies or from their friends, mothers or sisters. Some, when trying to lose weight, go on a dancing diet and take long dancing classes at the gym to lose the weight. The main rule: no dancing in front of men who aren't your husband. Baladi dancing (as it is referred to in Egypt) is for your husbands eyes only and a special treat for him when you get married. The dancing here is a little different than other parts of the Arab word. The way they move their bellies are a little different, there is more emphasis on moving the legs than the arms.
When we asked how we were supposed to move our bellies, she told us to pretend that we were rolling a ball in there and we were supposed to move our hips in all four directions at the same time. We also practiced arm movements. She told us to flail are arms backwards and yell "la!" or "no" as if we are tempting the men folk but then refusing them. Its all very pretty when done right.
When done right. Thats the key phrase here. But as we all know, despite my class and my practice, the whole thing turned into one big ol' fashal.

Maalesh.