The Palms Resort Spa in Las Vegas is Sure to Impress

Like, it's where all the cool people go in Las Vegas.

Really, I'm trying not to revert to my high-school days (which, honestly were not all too cool), but such simplistic speak is the best way to capture the essence of The Palms. Towering on Flamingo off the east edge of the Strip, The Palms beckons to all those who are hip...or at least aspire to seem hip.

The MTV generation will immediately recognize the hotel & casino as home to the flesh-baring Las Vegas cast of "The Real World"; other reality-show fans might remember its lavender-hued pool as the picturesque setting of has-been child star Corey Feldman's melodramatic "meltdown" during the taping of the WB's "The Surreal Life". And for those of you of the name-dropping, Hollywood-gossip persuasion -- you've definitely read about The Palms in gossip columns nationwide; in fact, it oftentimes pops up in Ted Casablanca's "The Awful Truth" as the place spoiled celebs elect to party in Vegas.

So, when my gal pal and I had the opportunity to experience the Palms firsthand, we jumped at it. Not only were we going to spend a day relaxing in the spa, we were determined to try one of Vegas's "best martinis", described as such by Möntley Crüe frontman (and Feldman's "Surreal Life" co-star) Vince Neil. Ahhh yes...two Detroit girls were ready for some star-like treatment.

And did the Palms ever deliver.

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We had the strangest sense of déjà vu when stepping through the crystal clear sliding glass doors of the Palms. We had never been there before, yet we'd watched episode upon episode of The Real World: Las Vegas. It's much like the sensation of walking into the Bellagio and suddenly picturing every delicious moment of Ocean's Eleven (yeah, we did that too -- but that's a totally different story).

The vibe we initially got at the Palms is slightly different than any other casino in Vegas. It's a shiny new adult playground -- TVs flickering on the casino floor, pop music blaring from above, trendy nightclubs identified with black velvet ropes and beefy security guards. Where the Bellagio, Venetian and Mandalay Bay aim for upscale elegance, the Palms aims for trendy comfort. You might feel like a millionaire while strolling through the Bellagio, but you'll feel like a belly-baring Britney Spears at the Palms.

After taking a brief tour of the casino level (including glimpses of the resort's seven restaurants, including Little Buddha, where we'd be eating later), we ducked inside the subtle doorway to the spa lobby. The pinging of slots and thumping of bass disappeared with the click of the door, quickly replaced by a quiet atmosphere that can only be described as pure Zen.

The friendly staff greeted us and directed us to the elevator, which took us up to the women's spa level. A smiling Palms employee met us at the entrance and gave us a quick tour of the 20,000 square foot spa, including the whirlpool, deluge showers, sauna and steam room. Slipping on the spa's plush robes, we couldn't help but sigh in relaxation. What to do first?

The whirlpool was our first choice -- and not only because the area was sunny and inviting. There was an optional rainshower above the pool that, when turned on, emitted a steady, cool drizzle to contrast nicely with the warm waters of the whirlpool. If you're wary of baring it all in the whirlpool, make sure to bring a suit. We went au naturel by default, having forgotten our suits at our hotel. That said, the experience was a bit of a confidence-builder, if nothing else. And definitely a bonding experience.

After a relaxing soak in the whirlpool, we explored the spa's steam room and sauna, both of which exceeded our expectations. My friend had to literally force me out of the sauna (alright, so I was beet red - but it felt sooo good!). The deluge showers, though quite nice, were not really our cup of tea.

One of the best parts of the spa is outside (where, yes, you must be wearing your robe) on the terrace overlooking the hotel's pool area. On our visit in February, it was a bit chilly to be sitting out in the gusty wind while still wet from our whirlpool adventures. But one gutsy, thong-wearing woman braved the elements. The view (of Vegas, not the bare ass) was entirely worth checking out, though.

After having fully explored the spa facilities, it was time for my signature massage. Fully robed, my therapist led me out of the women's spa area and into an elevator, which we took to a lower level. I got a quick glimpse of the cute, buff men sweating away in the spa gym while I waddled (the spa slippers kept wanting to come off) to the treatment room. That pleasant view (and the valiant slipper struggle) was as close as I got to exercise that day. Just because I aimed at a Britney-level cool quotient didn't mean I actually desired to work out. Heaven forbid.

The massage was top-notch. My therapist quickly identified problem areas (like my fellow computer geeks, the neck and upper back) and silently worked away, hardly speaking more than ten words to me in the hour I spent on the cushy table. Her capable hands, I noticed through my haze of contentment, did not leave my body for a single moment -- from the delicate motions on my toes to the more intense pressure on my shoulders. It was easily one of the best massages I'd ever received.

I returned to the spa smiling sleepily. A long, lather-rich shower later and we were ready for dinner at the hotel's Little Buddha.

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Little Buddha. Photo/Doug Fogelson

All that pampering sure helped us build a hearty appetite. But even our growling stomachs took pause to admire the rich, exotic decor of Little Buddha.

Dozens of variants on the color red - scarlet, crimson, burgundy, and a host of others - dominated the restaurant, accented by bursts of deep blue and warm yellow. A sushi bar was nestled along a long wall near the back of the restaurant, where we were seated. Dramatic chandeliers hung from elevated ceilings and earthy world music chanted to us from every corner, creating a mysterious, yet surprisingly comfortable atmosphere. It was the kind of place where both a trendy hipster and a mother of three would feel at ease. (Although the hipster would be more intent on people-watching while the mother would be mentally assessing the possibilities of duplicating the design scheme back at home.)