The Hard Rock Hotel has successfully created a never-never land for grown-ups who want to behave like college spring breakers.

Most people don't imagine a trip to rehab including shots of alcohol distributed in 6-inch-long syringes, teeny-tiny bathing suits and bumping tunes. But on a Sunday afternoon, that's exactly what you'll find at the Rehab Hard Rock pool party.

Cocktail servers wearing white bikinis and designer shades attempt to maneuver through hundreds of sweaty, drunk partygoers.

With trays an arms-length above their heads, the servers wind around the curved lazy river pool and maze of purple towels thrown on chairs abandoned by guests flirting in the water, they're bombarded with questions about where to find unclaimed towels and chairs, but the lounge chairs go fast -- most are gone within the first few hours -- the party goes from noon till 8 p.m. The servers, only responsible for getting guests drinks, are groped as they answer questions beyond their normal duties.

Meanwhile, the small islands in the middle of the pool are crowded with women dancing.

The men in the water appear to have been trapped on Gilligan's Island and have just spotted their rescuers.

One especially distracting trend is the new thong bikinis.

As though they couldn't get any smaller, the thong has extended its signature back to its front. We're talking about women wearing not much more than dental floss.

And just in case you couldn't see enough, one partygoer wears a flesh tone, so from a distance it looks like she is naked.

I wouldn't have minded if she spent the time relaxing in her chair, working on her tan. At least then we could imagine she chose the suit because she is a sun goddess who couldn't stand tan lines.

But instead, she is grinding a middle-aged, unattractive man. I really don't want to stare but I can't stop looking.

Then there are people who might as well be going to fourth base: Clearly, because they are in the water, they think their behavior is acceptable in public.

An unassuming visitor could easily confuse Rehab for a convention of exhibitionists.

Those opting for traditional suits seem to favor triangle halter tops with skimpy bottoms. There are a bunch of Victoria's Secret bathing suits. The most popular design is a colored base with large white hibiscus flowers. I have a cherry patterned Shoshanna Lowenstein bikini. Men dress up their Rehab wear with straw hats, visors and even a few out of style trucker hats.

My favorite outfit is on a guy who wears a black-and-white-striped tie in the water with his black hat and shorts.

The plastic syringes filled with booze are emptied into the mouths of grown boys and girls and then used as squirt guns. My sister points out it is like baby-sitting bad kids and not getting paid.

Ideally, the syringe squirt guns become a flirtation vehicle: Guy sprays girl, girl sprays guy, guy comes over and talks to girl, girl makes out with guy, etc.

But more commonly: Guy drinks too much and sprays girl lying with friends, girl gives guy the "who stinks face," guy sprays again, wondering why it didn't work the first time, girl yells at guy, lifeguard takes syringe away from guy.

While making fun of the absurdity of unattractive, drunk, middle-aged guys going after the 20-something gals and jotting down notes, three people ask if they could borrow my pen. Two guys and one woman independently express appreciation that I am smart enough to bring a pen to Rehab. They are giving out their numbers to other partygoers, and pens are hard to find.

I don't explain that I am a reporter and actually don't plan on getting digits, or that I always carry about 30 pens with me at all times. I accept their compliments and wonder if I will ever again find myself in a place where pens are in such demand.

E-mail Vegas Girl at ekumler@reviewjournal.com. Or call 383-0477.