Vertical Confessions: The Rise of Ursula

A Tale of Power, Pettiness, and Sea Witchery in the HOA Underworld

Once upon a time, in a land where perfectly manicured lawns and color-coordinated mailboxes ruled supreme, there emerged a creature of legendary infamy: Ursula, the Sea Witch of HOA Boardrooms. Now, if you’re conjuring images of a well manicured, glamorous, manipulative villain with tentacles and a sultry voice, let me stop you right there. Compared to Ursula, Ursula from that beloved under-the-sea tale is a downright Disney princess.

Ursula's legend was birthed from the murky depths of HOA lore. She wasn’t managing sprawling, high-end, master-planned communities like yours truly, oh no. She hailed from the portfolio world, where managers juggle several small communities remotely from the comfort of a corporate office. Think of it as the HOA equivalent of babysitting goldfish in tiny bowls, while I’m out here managing a sprawling marine park filled with sharks, dolphins, and the occasional crocodile. Need a clearer visual? Imagine your local big-city zoo… versus the Tiger King. Yeah. Famous for all the wrong reasons.

Ursula? Medium-length white hair, a reputation that could make even the boldest property manager break into a nervous sweat, and a talent for quoting laws and state statutes with the accuracy of a dartboard in a blackout. Most didn’t apply. Some were straight-up fiction. But hey, in HOA land, confidence can sell just about anything to the untrained ear.

The Rise of Ursula

It all began when I was asked to take over a problem child community. You know the type-where board meetings require popcorn and maybe a referee, or an off duty policy officer. Enter Ursula, newly elected to the board. The annual meeting had barely adjourned, and the ink wasn’t even dry on the sign-in sheet before she made her move.

The board president vacated her seat and in mere seconds in swoops Ursula, dragging her larger-than-life uh, lets say presence to the head of the table. Grabbing the microphone with the vigor of someone about to launch a coup, she declared, “I am calling an emergency meeting!”

Wait… what in the actual f**?* Emergency meeting? For what? Was the clubhouse on fire? Did the pool spontaneously combust? Nope. Ursula had a different kind of emergency: she wanted to slash my authorized spending limit as General Manager from $10,000 to… wait for it… $300.

Now, for those unfamiliar with large master-planned communities, let me break it down: $10,000 barely covers the basics. Irrigation repairs, mainline leaks, emergency tree removals—these things pop up faster than HOA violation notices for “unauthorized” holiday décor. A $300 limit in a community this size? Ridiculous. That wouldn’t even cover the clubhouse’s monthly toilet paper bill.

Thankfully, the association attorney was present. After some quick legal maneuvering, we compromised on holding a properly noticed meeting in two days to discuss the matter.

The $300 Limit Debacle

Fast forward to the day of the meeting. Ursula, armed with the confidence of someone who had never managed anything larger than a postage stamp, proudly declared that $300 was industry standard.

Now, as professional as I strive to be, sometimes my mouth operates faster than my PR filter. So, into the microphone with my verbal diarrhea:“While $300 might be standard for a portfolio manager - which is what Ursula specializes in - it’s not for a General Manager overseeing a master-planned community of this size.”

Then I went on to educate the room (and Ursula) with real-world examples:

• Emergency mainline leaks that can flood entire streets.

• Irrigation failures that could kill thousands of dollars in landscaping.

• Emergency repairs that can’t wait for a board vote.

The result? I won that round. The $10,000 limit stood. But if you thought Ursula would slink back to the depths from whence she came, you’d be sorely mistaken. Our battles continued, a saga of pettiness, power plays, and one woman’s desperate attempt to wield influence in the only way she knew how.

After countless aggravating board meetings, there was one where I almost crawled across the table to get my hands on her (even though my time at this property was almost over, and let’s be real, the potential prison sentence might’ve been worth it).

But in the end, the account was in good shape, my sanity intact, and I walked away with a new, larger project and a client that looked down on this Tiger King situation. Guess who’s the real winner now?

Reflections on the Sea Witch

I’ve often wondered why women, especially those who could be my mother - feel the need to tear each other down instead of lifting each other up. Ursula could have been a mentor... hahaha - I digress. Okay, definitely not that, but at the very least, a neutral party. Instead, she chose the path of pettiness.

But here’s the thing: I don’t make deals with witches. She won’t take my voice, my confidence, or my career. While Ursula is busy micromanaging from the shadows of a portfolio office, I have bigger aspirations.

So, dear Ursula, enjoy your moment in the spotlight with the most notorious board of directors in the state. You may have tried to dim my light, but I’m not a goldfish swimming in circles. I’m a shark. And I have oceans to conquer.

And now, off to therapy.